The Internet Intraflânerie
a poem about the truest nature of procrastination
This piece is a contribution to the STSC Symposium, a monthly set-theme collaboration between STSC writers. The topic for this upcoming issue is Procrastination.
Felix’s here. Today I have a poem for you. Never wrote poetry, but that STSC’s creative emanations are so powerful that it nudged me towards higher artistic states right after I joined the club. A technique I used to write it was simple – once again, I opened my third eye and peeked into L’Сonscience Transcendantale to see it, the truest truth about procrastination.
Surrounded by a horde of tabs, I sit and scroll myself deep down into the web of unexplored sites, stroking my mouse, lost and gone in "Useless" Knowledge Powerhouse, craving the dopamine influx, cracking the crux of modern leisure, devouring drugs of guilty pleasure, keeping a simple goal in mind – to find that lost abandoned website. Thus, lingering, my morning flows. You call it mindless scrolling, sloth, procrastination, waste of time, the travesty of rest, the crime against your precious future. But know, my snob, you're wrong as fuck, you're the fool of Destiny neglecting luck, not knowing how 'awestruck' feels, when for a week you trace a trail of an evasive URL, you fail but finally, prevail and read that page: a stream of facts, obscure quotes, the dankest memes, archives, backlinks, the 4chans sleeping giant's dreams, You get that feeling when you touch untangible, when an impalpable and unimaginable enthralling piece opens its Sésame in front of you. You fly, transport yourself to realms unseen, where unforeseen discoveries await their libertine, procrastinatus maximus, transfixed to caffeine, where every page becomes a foe of ordinary, a catalyst exalting to the realm of visionary, quite extraordinary. You jump up from your chair and scream in awe, Am I the first at all? Has no one dreamed of that before? Was not I punctual enough to put a toe on Serendip and pioneer the breakthrough? There, on the edge, after you read the file, you stop and smile at new and unbeknownst land uncharted on the maps, your terra incognita, your L’Сonscience Transcendantale.
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