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

"If the punchy, claustrophobic anti-sociality of programs in early lockdown recommended a particularly dark vision for the future, the Movement for Dark Lives block uprising of the late spring believed like its wondrous opposite—a future where tools were answering and being structured by the activities on the ground, rather than those activities being organized by and formed to the demands of the platforms. This is anything worth our time and loyalty, something that exceeded our compulsion to publish, anything that—for a moment, at least—the Twittering Unit couldn't swallow.

Perhaps not so it wasn't trying. As people in the roads toppled statues and struggled authorities, persons on the systems modified and refashioned the uprising from a block action to an object for the usage and representation of the Twittering Machine. That which was happening off-line would have to be accounted for, explained, judged, and processed. Didactic story-lectures and photographs of properly filled antiracist bookshelves appeared on Instagram. On Twitter, the most common pundits and pedants sprang up challenging details for each slogan and justifications for every action. In these matter trolls and reply people, Seymour's chronophage was literalized. The cultural market doesn't just consume our time with countless stimulus and algorithmic scrolling; it eats our time by creating and selling people who occur only to be explained to, visitors to whom the entire world has been developed anew every day, persons for whom every resolved sociological, scientific, and political controversy of modernity must be rehashed, rewritten, and re-accounted, this time around making use of their participation.

These people, using their just-asking questions and vapid open words, 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 spend our time. That, however significantly we would protest, we find pleasure in countless, rounded argument. That people get some sort of fulfillment from boring debates about "free speech" and "stop culture." That individuals seek oblivion in discourse. In the machine-flow atemporality of social networking, this seems like no great crime. If time is an infinite source, why not spend several ages of it with a couple New York Occasions op-ed columnists, rebuilding all American thought from first axioms? But political and financial and immunological crises pile on one another in succession, around the backdrop roar of ecological collapse. Time isn't infinite. None folks are able to afford to spend 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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