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

"If the punchy, claustrophobic anti-sociality of programs in the first lockdown recommended a really dark perspective for the future, the Motion for Dark Lives block uprising of the late spring believed like their wondrous opposite—another where platforms were answering and being structured by the functions on the ground, as opposed to these functions being structured by and shaped to the needs of the platforms. This was something worth our time and commitment, something which surpassed our compulsion to publish, anything that—for a minute, at least—the Twittering Machine could not swallow.

Not that it wasn't trying. As persons in the roads toppled statues and struggled police, people on the systems modified and refashioned the uprising from a road movement to an item for the consumption and representation of the Twittering Machine. That which was happening off-line must be accounted for, defined, judged, and processed. Didactic story-lectures and pictures of effectively stacked antiracist bookshelves appeared on Instagram. On Facebook, the usual pundits and pedants sprang up demanding details for each and every motto and justifications for every action. In these matter trolls and answer guys, Seymour's chronophage was literalized. The social business doesn't only eat our time with countless stimulus and algorithmic scrolling; it takes our time by making and promoting individuals who occur and then be explained to, visitors to whom the planet has been produced anew every morning, persons for whom every resolved sociological, clinical, and political debate of modernity must certanly be rehashed, rewritten, and re-accounted, this time making use of their participation.

These folks, making use of their just-asking issues and vapid open words, are dullards and bores, pettifoggers and casuists, cowards and dissemblers, time-wasters of the worst sort. But Seymour's guide suggests something worse about us, their Twitter and Facebook interlocutors: That we need to waste our time. That, however significantly we may protest, we discover satisfaction in countless, rounded argument. That we get some kind of achievement from monotonous debates about "free speech" and "stop culture." That we find oblivion in discourse. In the machine-flow atemporality of social networking, this seems like number great crime. If time is an infinite source, why don't you spend a few years of it with a couple New York Times op-ed columnists, repairing all American thought from first maxims? But political and economic and immunological crises pile on one another in sequence, over the backdrop roar of ecological collapse. Time is not infinite. None folks can afford to pay what is left of it dallying with the stupid and bland."

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

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