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

"If the punchy, claustrophobic anti-sociality of programs in early lockdown proposed a particularly dark perspective of the future, the Motion for Dark Lives block uprising of the late spring felt like their wondrous opposite—the next by which platforms were responding to and being organized by the functions on a lawn, rather than those activities being organized by and designed to the needs of the platforms. This was something price our time and devotion, a thing that exceeded our compulsion to create, something that—for an instant, at least—the Twittering Device couldn't swallow.

Maybe not that it wasn't trying. As persons in the roads toppled statues and struggled authorities, persons on the tools adjusted and refashioned the uprising from a road action to a subject for the consumption and expression of the Twittering Machine. The thing that was happening off-line needed to be accounted for, described, evaluated, and processed. Didactic story-lectures and photos of properly stocked antiracist bookshelves appeared on Instagram. On Twitter, the most common pundits and pedants sprang up demanding details for every mantra and justifications for every action. In these concern trolls and reply guys, Seymour's chronophage was literalized. The cultural market does not only consume our time with countless stimulus and algorithmic scrolling; it eats our time by creating and promoting those who exist and then be explained to, people to whom the entire world has been made anew every morning, people for whom every resolved sociological, clinical, and political discussion of modernity should be rehashed, rewritten, and re-accounted, this time around making use of their participation.

These individuals, with 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 people, their Facebook and Facebook interlocutors: That we need to spend our time. That, nevertheless significantly we may protest, we discover satisfaction in countless, round argument. That individuals get some sort of fulfillment from tedious debates about "free speech" and "cancel culture." That we 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 don't you spend a couple of years of it with a couple New York Occasions op-ed columnists, repairing all of American thought from first axioms? But political and economic and immunological crises pack on one another in series, around the background roar of ecological collapse. Time is not infinite. None of us can afford to pay what is left of it dallying with the ridiculous and bland."


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