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

"If the punchy, claustrophobic anti-sociality of systems in the first lockdown suggested a particularly black perspective into the future, the Movement for Dark Lives street uprising of the late spring believed like their wondrous opposite—the next where tools were giving an answer to and being organized by the events on the floor, rather than these functions being structured by and formed to the needs of the platforms. This is anything price our time and devotion, something that exceeded our compulsion to publish, something that—for a moment, at least—the Twittering Device could not swallow.

Perhaps not so it was not trying. As persons in the roads toppled statues and fought police, people on the systems modified and refashioned the uprising from a road action to an object for the usage and reflection of the Twittering Machine. That which was occurring off-line must be accounted for, defined, evaluated, and processed. Didactic story-lectures and images of effectively filled antiracist bookshelves seemed on Instagram. On Twitter, the typical pundits and pedants jumped up challenging details for every slogan and justifications for each and every action. In these problem trolls and response men, Seymour's chronophage was literalized. The cultural industry doesn't just eat our time with countless stimulus and algorithmic scrolling; it eats our time by creating and selling people who occur and then be told, people to whom the planet has been created anew each morning, persons for whom every resolved sociological, medical, and political discussion of modernity must certanly be rehashed, rewritten, and re-accounted, this time using their participation.

These folks, making use of their just-asking questions and vapid open letters, are dullards and bores, pettifoggers and casuists, cowards and dissemblers, time-wasters of the worst sort. But Seymour's book implies something worse about people, their Facebook and Facebook interlocutors: That we want to waste our time. That, but much we might protest, we find pleasure in endless, rounded argument. That people get some type of achievement from monotonous debates about "free speech" and "cancel culture." That individuals find oblivion in discourse. In the machine-flow atemporality of social media, that seems like no great crime. If time is an infinite source, you will want to invest several years of it with a couple New York Situations op-ed columnists, repairing all Western thought from first principles? But political and financial and immunological crises pile on one another in sequence, over the background roar of ecological collapse. Time is not infinite. Nothing of us can afford to spend what's remaining of it dallying with the ridiculous and bland."

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