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Zen and the art of forever browsing Netflix

I’m down for an evening Netflix, but only to chill. I’ve long passed watching the movies on the platform, now I solely use the menu to binge-watch mindfulness.  

 

 

We’ve all found ourselves in that familiar pose. Legs crossed on the couch, palms turned upward, shoulders shrugging at cinematic nirvana, as we all vocalise: “….oohhhhmmmm, dunno. What do you feel like watching?”

I find myself in this cycle on a daily basis, the routine pursuit of enlightenment that arrives every dinner time, or when it is time to sleep. I stand at the embarrassment of Netflix’s collected wealth, but I chose not to watch anything, instead I browse. It’s window shopping, but you loot the joint. If you must.

But consider it, as I do, as a mindful walk through a field of long grass and reeds. Except the burrs that stick to your sock are the movies of Adam Sandler, and the itchy sensation on your neck is the blurb of a movie you loved as a teen. Maybe it’s new to you. Or not.

The act in itself is the most important. Browsing, but never selecting. You are a transient force, not settling in one place for an entire running time, you are a dandelion slept across the narratives of cinema, you visit many islands on the internet stream, but you do not stay for supper.

Ohmmmmm. Maybe Casino?

I often find myself doing this during dinner. I enter it thinking I’m looking for something to watch during the final meal. Instead, I cycle through the possibilities while mindlessly masticating. I’m fucking hungry after all, and there’s too much to choose. I chose what to have for dinner, so I shouldn’t have to choose this too, so instead, I cycle. Never clicking, never deciding. By the time I’m almost convinced, the plate is empty, and it is time to do the dishes.

The other easy part of this couchbound mindfulness is that it supplies something that we’ve lost in our adult years: The bedtime story. Back in our youth, we sampled the first three pages tops, as the mellifluous sound of whoever we knew nodded us off completely. With Netflix, we have the same, but pitched to an adult audience, with gunfights, whip pans and explosions and shit. We never wanted to hear the end of the story, we just wanted to hear the start.

Ohhhhmmmm. New Releases. Trash. Ohhhmmmm.

Remember. Scroll, but never click. Look but do not touch.

Once upon a time, there was a Colombian drug lord called Pablo. These are the cops who brought him down.

 

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