a few times i have found myself mentally reaching for the search box in books, once or twice my mouse finger has even twitched
PSYCHOPATHOLOGY OF DIGITAL LIFE, 1.—F.: “More and more often, I feel as though I’ve lost touch with
the objects of physical space. All around me, physical space is becoming a limbo, a huge attic in which
objects randomly accumulate behind a closed door no one dares to open, terrified of the chaos that
awaits on the other side. Before, I used to know in the blink of an eye where to find any one of my
innumerable books; now it’s much more difficult, just as my relation to all things I’m not connected to
on the internet has become more difficult. On Google, I can’t ask where I put my keys; I can’t act upon
them. I can’t summon my books to my side. More and more actions are accomplished entirely on the
internet; those that still require physical action have become strange and nearly impossible. If someone
asks me to fill out forms and send them by mail, I become disoriented. It isn’t familiar to me anymore.
The thought of having to look for a paper I’m supposed to have in my possession causes me great
anxiety. Everything that isn’t digital suddenly seems fragile, lost, not to be grasped in any way, like
trying to find a needle in a haystack. And when I have to sift through papers, either those that I’ve had
for a long while or those that still arrive in too great a number, I tell myself with horror that all these
insignificant documents that I’m about to throw away—cinema tickets, tourism brochures, old bank
statements that I thought would one day compose a remarkably precise archive of my comings and
goings, etc.—might in time have acquired considerable value, as they became traces, testimonies, spurs
to recollection, and even, in a slightly more distant future, collectibles, historical documents, materials
for a work of art. In digital extension—I can’t help calling it that—at least we can keep everything
without having to choose.”