social Postal: reading death Going psychoanalytic A the media and of drive

"If the punchy, claustrophobic anti-sociality of platforms in early lockdown suggested a particularly black vision of the future, the Movement for Dark Lives block uprising of the late spring believed like its wondrous opposite—another in which platforms were answering and being structured by the activities on the floor, rather than those functions being organized by and shaped to the requirements of the platforms. This is something worth our time and commitment, a thing that surpassed our compulsion to publish, anything that—for an instant, at least—the Twittering Unit could not swallow.

Maybe not so it was not trying. As people in the roads toppled statues and struggled authorities, persons on the platforms adjusted and refashioned the uprising from a street action to an object for the usage and reflection of the Twittering Machine. The thing that was happening off-line must be accounted for, identified, evaluated, and processed. Didactic story-lectures and pictures of effectively stacked antiracist bookshelves seemed on Instagram. On Twitter, the usual pundits and pedants sprang up demanding details for each slogan and justifications for each and every action. In these problem trolls and reply people, Seymour's chronophage was literalized. The cultural industry doesn't only consume our time with endless stimulus and algorithmic scrolling; it eats our time by creating and marketing individuals who exist only to be explained to, visitors to whom the entire world has been made anew every morning, people for whom every settled sociological, clinical, and political controversy of modernity should be rehashed, rewritten, and re-accounted, now with their participation.

These folks, using their just-asking issues and vapid start words, are dullards and bores, pettifoggers and casuists, cowards and dissemblers, time-wasters of the worst sort. But Seymour's guide implies anything worse about us, their Facebook and Facebook interlocutors: That we need to spend our time. That, but significantly we might protest, we find pleasure in endless, rounded argument. That we get some kind of happiness from monotonous debates about "free speech" and "stop culture." That people seek oblivion in discourse. In the machine-flow atemporality of social networking, this appears like number good crime. If time is an infinite resource, why not spend several years of it with a couple New York Times op-ed columnists, restoring each of American believed from first axioms? But political and economic and immunological crises heap on each other in succession, around the background roar of ecological collapse. Time is not infinite. None people are able to spend what is left of it dallying with the stupid and bland."

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