🦋🤖 Robo-Spun by IBF 🦋🤖

🌊➰🧭 AKIŞ 🌊➰🧭

🎵 Sin omen tell evasion, so shall Medea! 🎵

Read literally, the phrase divides into three nearly self-anagrammatic puns that already diagnose the media they name. ‘Sin omen’ points to cinema’s pact with desire and prohibition; ‘tell-evasion’ names television’s talent for saying while sidestepping; ‘so-shall Medea’ shadows social media with a myth of maternal infanticide. Each medium organizes the drive differently: a promise of sex without sex, a regimen of daily distraction, and a feed that eats its children.

Cinema: Sin Omen — sex without sex

Cinema seduces by staging the scene of desire while withholding its consummation. From a Freudian angle, the screen is a safe reconstruction of the primal scene: it lets us look where we could not (or should not) look. But classical cinema—codes, cuts, curtains—keeps the Real at bay. It offers fetishistic disavowal: I know there is no ‘it’ here, yet I desire as if there were. Hence the paradoxical promise of sex without sex. The star’s close-up becomes a fetish object; the cut does the work of repression; the soundtrack supplies the fantasy frame in which the visible can be approached without being seized.

Lacan’s gaze is helpful: what we hunt is not the image but the little surplus of enjoyment that seems to cling to it. Cinema manufactures that surplus through delay, framing, and suture—techniques that stitch the spectator into a point of view while never letting the object be fully possessed. The dark auditorium ritualizes this pact: a collective regression that remains dignified by distance. The promise is not satisfaction but orchestration—desire conducted with the baton of form.

Thus ‘sin omen.’ Cinema flirts with transgression, but it points to an omen rather than the act: suggestion, not consummation, is its engine. The genre system refines the formula—melodrama displaces sexual conflict into filial or class melodics; the thriller trades eros for suspense; the musical converts libido into choreography. Either way, the audience leaves charged and chaste, having enjoyed the charge more than the chase’s end.

Television: Tell-Evasion — the daily distraction

Television installs the screen in the middle of domestic time. Where cinema sets an event, television sets a rhythm. Its signature form is not the climax but the flow—programs, promos, commercials braided into an endless present. This temporal weave soothes anxiety by promising that nothing will ever finally happen; every cliffhanger dissolves into next week. Tell-evasion: it tells endlessly, but what it tells is a substitution that evades the kernel. News shows deliver the shock buffered by anchors’ composure; sitcoms recycle conflict so carefully that resolution restores stasis within minutes.

In analytic terms, television stabilizes with low-dose gratifications: small laugh releases, gentle suspense, the transitional object of a familiar show at a familiar hour. It manages the drive through repetition rather than repression: the compulsion to repeat becomes soothing routine rather than symptom. The laugh track and the nightly sign-off are superegoic lullabies: Enjoy (safely). Sleep (soundly). See you tomorrow (reliably).

Even its ‘liveness’ functions as a defense. The live broadcast promises contact with the Real, but the apparatus is expert at tamping reality down into format. Catastrophe appears in a box with lower-third graphics; grief is cross-faded to weather. The remote control literalizes defenses—switching (avoidance), muting (denial), channel-surfing (displacement). Television offers daily distraction not as accidental by-product but as design: a homeostatic media that metabolizes affect into ambient continuity.

Social media: So-Shall Medea — the platform that eats its children

Social media converts the spectator into a producer of small offspring: posts, reels, threads, stories. These are not just messages; they are little ego-extensions sent into the world to bring love objects (likes, follows, shares) back to the subject. In object-relations terms, the feed is a massive, unregulated nursery of partial objects—hearts, views, comments—circulating at manic speed. Excitation holds for a moment, then drops; the subject produces again.

Why ‘Medea’? Because the system’s appetite is cannibalistic. The platform asks for children and then devours them—first by algorithmic churn (today’s darlings vanish tomorrow), then by turning every object into fodder for engagement. What begins as creative play slides into projective identification, envy, and punitive superego storms: pile-ons, cancellations, shame spirals. The feed is literally a feed. It feeds on what we produce and trains us to produce what it can more easily feed on.

The myth bites deeper. Medea’s rage is bound to betrayal—abandonment by Jason—and to the unbearable arithmetic of recognition: better to annihilate than to surrender what one made to the Other. Online, the slightest withdrawal of recognition (unfollows, silence, the algorithm’s cold shoulder) can trigger micro-Medean affects: rage at the audience, contempt for one’s earlier self, compulsive purging of the archive. The platform supplies the stage, the chorus, and the sacrificial economy. The user supplies the children.

Clinically, this toggles users between the paranoid-schizoid position (splitting: pure friends vs. pure enemies, viral vs. shadow-banned) and a brief depressive position when the churn lifts and ambivalence can be borne. But the design quickly restarts the split: the infinite scroll restarts the hunt for a good object that stays good, and the metrics keep the superego chanting: Post more. Optimize harder. Don’t let them forget you.

Three economies of desire and time

Cinema organizes desire by delay. It is event-time, sculpted around the beautifully withheld object. Pleasure is anticipatory and curated; the auditorium’s darkness and the screen’s distance create the space where fantasy can flower without collapse. What is promised is a shaped nearness to the forbidden—sex without sex—so that the spectator can experience excitation and relief without the mess of the Real.

Television organizes desire by ritual. It is domestic time, converted into predictable arcs that metabolize anxiety through repetition. The dream here is not consummation but continuity: the comfort of formats, the reassurance that tomorrow’s episode will be waiting. The daily distraction is a holding environment; the household’s ambient superego hums in stereo with the set.

Social media organizes desire by ingestion. It is real-time, an economy of immediate object-production and immediate object-loss. The promise is not shape or stability but circulation. The price is incorporation and depletion: to be fed, one must feed; to persist, one must generate more of oneself to be eaten. So-shall Medea is not just a pun but a pattern: what we birth for love is offered to a mouth we do not control.

Working it through

Analysis does not preach abstinence; it asks what a given use of a medium is doing for (and to) the subject.

With cinema, one might notice the dignity of sublimation: how form refines desire without shaming it. The work is to keep the gap—enough distance for fantasy to breathe—without confusing fantasy for fate.

With television, one might honor the need for ordinary anesthesia while asking when ritual slides into evasion. What problem does the flow solve, and what question does it endlessly defer? Sometimes the right move is not to switch off but to name what the show is showing you about your own wish for safety.

With social media, the task is to interrupt the cannibal circuit long enough to mourn the loss built into the feed. Posts are not children, yet something maternal and paternal is undeniably at stake. Can one create without immediately offering the creation to the mouth of metrics? Can one receive recognition without making it the only food?

Sin omen, tell-evasion, so-shall Medea: three formulas for how contemporary screens bind drives to forms. Cinema binds through distance; television through routine; social media through consumption. None is innocent, each is usable. The analytic wager is not to renounce screens but to make their promises legible, so that desire can choose its scene rather than be chosen by it.

Reading the full sentence: ‘Sin omen tell evasion, so shall Medea!’

Taken as one utterance, the line compresses a whole economy of drive into a gnomic prophecy. Its grammar already stages a timeline of the screens:

Sin omen — the cinema’s promise is augural, a sign that points without touching.
Tell evasion — the television’s discourse is present-tense management, an endless telling that sidesteps the kernel.
So shall Medea — the social media’s future-tense verdict: the logic culminates in a platform that devours the offspring it solicits.

The comma is the hinge that converts parataxis into consequence: from three neighboring puns to a causal chain. Read this way, the sentence functions like a conditional apodosis: if desire is organized first by omen (cinema) and then by evasion (television), then the outcome is Medea (social media). Even the exclamation point works psychoanalytically, as a superegoic kick: not a neutral observation but an injunction—Repeat! Post! Circulate! The missing grammatical subject is equally telling; the speech seems to issue from the circuit itself, as if the drive were speaking in aphorisms. Past (omen), present (tell), and future (shall) are thus bound into a single loop of anticipation, maintenance, and ingestion.

Addendum on the ‘better versions’: more pervert, not less

Following Žižek’s Lacanian line that we are all perverts in the structural sense (perversion as a stance toward the Other’s enjoyment rather than a pathology), the supposedly ‘better versions’ of each medium—art cinema vs. Hollywood, public-service or ‘prestige’ television vs. mass TV, ‘ethical’ or ad-free social platforms vs. the big apps—do not escape the perverse logic; they often intensify it.

Cinema — Art cinema does not neutralize the fetish; it refines it. By foregrounding form, reflexivity, and the grain of the image, it can heighten the very surplus-enjoyment the spectator chases. The cut is not less fetishistic because it is self-aware; it is more exquisitely so. ‘Sex without sex’ becomes a more rarefied orchestration of absence, a haute-couture fetish that flatters the connoisseur’s gaze.

Television — ‘Quality TV’ and public-service formats do not leave ‘tell-evasion’ behind; they sublimate it into long-form ritual. Serialized gravitas becomes an even stronger holding environment for anxious subjects: the weekly sacrament of Meaning. Ads may vanish, but the superegoic injunction to enjoy meaningfully seeps into the content itself: every scene asks you to metabolize, discuss, return. The evasion is now high-minded—yet still an evasion that restores you safely to next week.

Social media — ‘Mindful,’ ‘ethical,’ or ad-free platforms do not halt Medea’s appetite; they curate it. Confession, vulnerability, and community care become the new currencies of visibility. The metrics may soften, but the gaze of the Other tightens: surveillance moralizes, moderation gamifies virtue, and the archive invites purging in the name of authenticity. The children are not spared; they are renamed. The feed still feeds.

In short, ‘better’ often means more pervert: a cleaner conduit for the Other’s enjoyment, a finer-tuned apparatus for producing and harvesting surplus-enjoyment. The triad still holds. Cinema organizes desire by distance (omen), television by routine (evasion), social media by consumption (Medea). And when you string them together as the sentence does, the result is less a taxonomy than a trajectory: omen → evasion → Medea. The prophecy is not that this must happen, but that, under our present use of screens, this is how the drive writes its future.