Distractions lead astray. Sure, a Kurosawa film stimulates differently from the re-imaginings of ancient worthies in capes and spandex. Abstract jazz resonates differently from funk rock as a grapefruit from a melon. To explore French Symbolist paintings is not to scavenge polemic discussion boards. Turn-of-the-twentieth-century surreal poetry differs from the graphic novel. To fill the idleness with melancholy evanescence is not to tap the smart phone or wristwatch. To conduct inner dialogue is not to mingle on the messenger.
Some indulge in any entertainment within reach. Some are more particular with their distractions.
I overindulge in seeking means to further enhance my Linux workflow, refining automations, updating clever configurations, eliminating redundancy, all well past the saturation threshold. I take to the discovery of new forms of what one might term digital minimalism. I’ll read endlessly. I’ll sometimes browse online art galleries for an hour or two. Not without guilt will I entertain an unwatched Kurosawa picture, pretending to transcend film frontiers. I’ll ruminate until mental fatigue. Intriguing micro projects present themselves. Many turns and twists deviate from the path: the former fading into the wood, the latter into the horizon.
This isn’t meant to critique or discredit others' choices, nor laud any of mine. I hope my subconscious doesn’t betray in that regard.
Distractions lead astray, however elaborate, however conscientiously catered, however erudite or subliminal, however sugar-coated or acrid. Concerns as much myself as anyone.
Questions, comments? Connect.