I just read a very interesting article on the never-quite-risen “cyber flaneur” and the death of wandering through the Internet at the hands of everyone’s favorite scapegoat, Facebook.  (I say that without rancor –– I loathe Facebook, and realize that now I sound like a bandwagon hater/bleeding heart Luddite, the latter of which I am, the former I am most certainly not.)  I don’t even want to share the article with you because the writer does his job so well that I feel guilty even about recommending anything to anyone, virtually or otherwise, but I will point to the adorability of the fact that, “there were reports of flâneurs taking turtles for a walk.”  Can you imagine, Andre Breton walking little Skipperdee?

Do I deign to call myself a cyber-flaneur?

One thing the writer sort of fails to mention, though, is that unfortunately, a lot of the flaneuristic (neologism alert) works that came out of the surrealists (and various fringe groups) were just pretty bad.  They lacked the same thing that Facebook and Twitter do now: a narrative arc.  God grant me a plotline!


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