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

"If the punchy, claustrophobic anti-sociality of platforms in the early lockdown proposed an especially black vision for the future, the Motion for Dark Lives road uprising of the late spring believed like their wondrous opposite—a future by which systems were answering and being structured by the events on the floor, as opposed to these events being organized by and formed to the demands of the platforms. This was something value our time and loyalty, something which surpassed our compulsion to publish, something that—for an instant, at least—the Twittering Machine could not swallow.

Perhaps not that it wasn't trying. As people in the roads toppled statues and struggled police, people on the platforms adjusted and refashioned the uprising from a block motion to a subject for the use and expression of the Twittering Machine. What was happening off-line would have to be accounted for, defined, judged, and processed. Didactic story-lectures and pictures of well stored antiracist bookshelves seemed on Instagram. On Facebook, the usual pundits and pedants jumped up demanding details for every slogan and justifications for each action. In these problem trolls and answer people, Seymour's chronophage was literalized. The cultural business doesn't just eat our time with countless stimulus and algorithmic scrolling; it eats our time by making and promoting those who occur simply to be told, individuals to whom the entire world has been made anew each morning, people for whom every settled sociological, scientific, and political debate of modernity must certanly be rehashed, rewritten, and re-accounted, now 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 guide suggests something worse about people, their Facebook and Facebook interlocutors: That we want to spend our time. That, but significantly we may complain, we discover pleasure in endless, circular argument. That we get some sort of happiness from monotonous debates about "free speech" and "cancel culture." That people find oblivion in discourse. In the machine-flow atemporality of social media, this may seem like number great crime. If time is an endless reference, why don't you spend a couple of ages of it with a couple New York Occasions op-ed columnists, repairing all Western believed from first principles? But political and economic and immunological crises pile on one another in series, around the backdrop roar of ecological collapse. Time is not infinite. Nothing of us are able to invest what's remaining of it dallying with the ridiculous and bland."


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