The Procrastination of Stination: or, Dancing with the Stars on Mars

Stination idly idled as he stared at an upside down poster of a low-resolution, slightly blurry-faced depiction of an old philosopher reading a book of jargon (Plato). After he was done doing that he wrote thusly…

“Timothy idly idled as he stared at an upside down poster of a low-resolution, slightly blurry-faced depiction of an old philosopher reading a book of jargon (Plato).”

He sat back and smiled at the absurdity of it all and didn’t feel hungry, which was a relief. Usually at times like these he would become hungry and then, well, any hope of productive and slightly creative writing was lost to the endless need to satiate what Des Cartes would call our material requirement of sustaining existence.

The motivation of Stination began. Slowly. “I could really get a lot done right now. Yes, a lot. I’d better get it all done then. Now is the best time for doing it all. Waiting for another now would be pointless because I would, without a doubt, regret wasting the now that is now.” Of course, Stination began to write. And he wrote thusly…

The role of the writer in this new and confusing 21st century ruled by up-and-coming LA chic nightclubs not in LA is a difficult one to play. How I wish that I, Stination, could have been born in 19th century Europe and had the opportunity to mingle with the likes of Coleridge and have intimate, opium-induced nights with him speaking of things like words and nature. We would have had such a grand time criticizing Byron and fantasizing about what the Revolution could have REALLY been. ‘Le sigh,’ a famous animated animal once wisely said.

He sat back and smiled at the absurdity of it all and felt hungry, which was a relief.