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

"If the punchy, claustrophobic anti-sociality of systems in early lockdown suggested a particularly dark perspective of the future, the Movement for Dark Lives street uprising of the late spring thought like their wondrous opposite—another in which systems were giving an answer to and being structured by the activities on a lawn, rather than those events being structured by and shaped to the requirements of the platforms. This is anything price our time and loyalty, something that exceeded our compulsion to publish, anything that—for a moment, at least—the Twittering Equipment could not swallow.

Maybe not so it was not trying. As persons in the roads toppled statues and struggled authorities, people on the platforms modified and refashioned the uprising from a block motion to an item for the consumption and expression of the Twittering Machine. The thing that was occurring off-line must be accounted for, explained, evaluated, and processed. Didactic story-lectures and images of well filled antiracist bookshelves seemed on Instagram. On Facebook, the usual pundits and pedants jumped up challenging explanations for every slogan and justifications for each action. In these problem trolls and reply people, Seymour's chronophage was literalized. The cultural business doesn't only consume our time with countless stimulus and algorithmic scrolling; it eats our time by producing and marketing people who exist simply to be told, people to whom the planet has been created anew every morning, persons for whom every settled sociological, scientific, and political controversy of modernity must be rehashed, rewritten, and re-accounted, this time with their participation.

These folks, making use of their just-asking issues and vapid start letters, are dullards and bores, pettifoggers and casuists, cowards and dissemblers, time-wasters of the worst sort. But Seymour's book suggests anything worse about us, their Twitter and Facebook interlocutors: That we want to waste our time. That, nevertheless much we would protest, we find satisfaction in countless, rounded argument. That individuals get some sort of satisfaction from monotonous debates about "free speech" and "stop culture." That individuals find oblivion in discourse. In the machine-flow atemporality of social networking, this may seem like no good crime. If time is an infinite resource, why not invest a couple of years of it with a couple New York Situations op-ed columnists, rebuilding every one of Western thought from first maxims? But political and economic and immunological crises heap on each other in succession, over the background roar of ecological collapse. Time isn't infinite. None of us can afford to invest what's left of it dallying with the stupid and bland."

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