Slow Media as Rebellion

Imagination is autonomy after all, and a wonderful form of rebellion.

As a child, I reveled in my ability to lose myself. I was obsessed with books, even before I could read, and they became my favorite method of total immersement. I’d disappear all day long, camped out in a living room nook with a book I’d likely finish that very afternoon. Sometimes I’d feel nauseous from the dizzying pace of my brain analyzing word after word, stringing together sentences, absorbing narratives and context clues. It was second nature to dissolve myself into whatever I was reading, stepping back from the consensus reality to live within a literaryscape of my own choosing. Imagination is autonomy after all, and a wonderful form of rebellion.¹

Child Lyss, with a good book or two, and a view of nature.

Upon the reflection of writing this, I realize I’ve let this ability become dormant. I find myself skimming pages while reading books that are supposed to be for leisure, if I read at all. I’ve largely stopped engaging with slow media entirely.² My orange Turner’s Tea crate of vinyl collects dust.³ The time between entries in my handwritten diary grow larger and larger still, much like the list of books, zines, films, and albums I’ve set aside for later. My collage and zine-making supplies haven’t left the attic in months.

It’s such a feeling of lack — missing the fullness of it all. To process, digest, think critically, challenge, imagine, be curious. I guess nowadays complete immersement feels dangerous, like I’m letting down protective walls keeping out some amorphous danger. But when I stop to sit with this anxiety, I realize I’m losing a vital avenue of knowing. I’ve always used media as a way to both ground me in myself and in something larger than myself — a way to dissolve myself into a greater collective, a rebellion against a lonely-making culture that wants me to feel so very individual.

I’ve been pondering lately an understanding of abolition as a felt sense, weaving the systemic analysis I’ve been cultivating through readings and movement work with an analysis of how I situate myself in relation to myself, and interpersonally in how I treat others, the wilds, the spiritual. What abolition feels like in my body, not only in my mind. Immersement can feel like a luxury, escapism in a burning world, but it also taught me a patience necessary for sitting with dissonance and discomfort as I engage in liberation work with consistency and sustainability in mind. So when I’m stripping myself of the very comforts that keep me interconnected in favor of isolation and dissociation, who am I benefitting? Maybe it’s the collective knowing that really feels dangerous, and for whom?

As it is now Imbolc, a wonderful time of year to germinate new… I want to be in my body more and feel, really feel. I want to start learning again in a way that makes me lose myself, consuming media that challenges me to deepen my understanding of abolition and collective liberation. I want to take time for slowness in my routine — make a leisurely breakfast while singing and dancing to vinyl.

This piece feels a bit wild and meandering and unfinished, but I want to commit to sending out pieces that aren’t entirely polished or finished. Just my unbridled processing and thoughts. Happy 2025, all.

<3 Lyss

1. This reminds me of the quote by Vladimir Nabokov, “Curiosity is insubordination in its purest form.”

2. My definition of “slow media” is more of a process rather than a specific type of media. It’s using any media, including digital, in a way that is in defiance of quick and mindless consumption. I don’t want to feed into ableist ideas around which type of media is most “valid,” but rather challenge a culture that dissuades us from the full experience of learning at the pace that suits each of us.

3. Yes, I am a Pittsburgher through and through.