Death in the Metaverse, by Jorge Fauró

Must see how well one dies in the metavers, the social network formerly (and I met for a long time) known as Facebook. One dies and in less than the time it takes to embalm you have already done the ‘post’. “Today the author of my days has left us …”, followed by the signer of the expanding text to shine the figure of the deceased with a more or less neat, emotional and sincere narrative, with quick tears, immediately supported by 294 remarks – more than followers – most of which were written by those who had been gossiping there for a while and in which the laziness of those who show compassion is appreciated, so that the family member’s wall is populated with DEP, DEP, DEP, may the earth be light for you, DEP, DEP, rest in peace, he was a good man and little more than to accompany the feeling. We have always been people of few words.

I read a columnist a while ago, I also did not really know what to say at these events. that he decided to choose the “I’m not telling you anything” formula, that it was just as useful for a funeral as for a birthday as for a silver wedding anniversary. All he had to do was change the tone of the sentence, from exuberant to dramatic, depending on the circumstances. Happy birthday, I’m not telling you anything. I’m so sorry, I’m not telling you anything. I tried it and it worked. I’m not telling you anything. Since most of those who sympathize in the metaverse will not come to the funeral director, I will let them say before I die that whoever notifies them on networks report at least the room number, day and time, because if Facebook has one positive thing as an obituary display, it’s that you’re saving the obituary.

I use that network little, but every time I go in I meet more often with obituaries, people who pray, lovers of writing and weekend barbecues. And also, I admit, to see who died. It was then that I realized that I was going through an irreversible age, the same age that those older gentlemen who bought ‘ABC’ to see the obituaries. To temporarily take away from me the awareness that I have turned fifty, I come to the conclusion that what is now being reinvented as a metaphor is a network for those of us who are half a century gone without a trace of that youth of the first decade of the century in which Facebook was created, and in which we dived to see what became of that girl or boy who became the impossible love of our high school. And it turned out that those same people were also looking for us, and that we grew up and grew old with that network, until you die one day and someone writes it, and our death is measured in ‘likes’, and then you can not see how many ‘likes’ your death has because you are gone.

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If I have to die in a social network, I prefer Facebook over Twitter. You die on Twitter and there is always someone who is happy. If Juan Belmonte had lived, he would have died on Facebook rather than on the square, but never on Twitter. Unlike this one, so prone to conflict, or Instagram, which falsely projects the idyllic image of our lives, Facebook retains a certain friendly air, stagnant in the relief of the fifties, obituaries, Hail Marys and Sunday paella, and where those same kind people try to keep the ‘trolls’ away, which on Facebook they are training animals who prefers to move to Twitter to give the roster there.

But nonetheless, it’s in that decadent forum where the business is still. Death and frying continue to climb higher. Twitter lost money the first year of the pandemic and also in 2021, when before the end of the year it announced another negative balance of more than $ 400 million. Zuckerberg’s company, on the other hand, moved in in the third quarter $ 29.9 billion in revenue and $ 9.2 billion in profit. At Twitter’s birth, the “founders” users saw the network as a simple tool for smart people, as opposed to Facebook, which they despised as a smart platform for simple people. They appealed to the prestige of the one against the simple daily life of the other. Prestige. Under whom, under how much. Until the markets each sat in their place and the great paradox came to light. Hate does not quote. Death, yes. Like funeral directors, it remains a safe value.

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