A Resounding "What-the-f..." for Ultra Cryptic Posts

Ultra cryptic posts are those that I consider, upon reading, to only please the writer for it begs to be translated by the general reader in a googleplex number of ways. These are usually personal opinions and experiences that are published in snippets to purposedly not make sense. They oftentimes contain a conveyance of strong emotion targeted to, as an example, a dear beloved who suddenly turned into the devil through something they've said or done. Or a highly personal or domestic situation whose narration, if published, might reach the person concerned and they might not be ready to handle the truth (modulate voice for the last three words). The reality is, the storytellers do not have the balls to malign nor tell their tale staight on or is restricted by some stronger force than what they themselves are ready to face at the moment. And so goes the tale of how a pseudo-post comes to exitence with all the sugar-coating, disguising, rewording, and renaming making the final output not look and sound like the original thought at all. And the readers are treated to a pointless waste of time. Double whammy if you happen to read one on a Monday, starting your week off with BS.

Below is an example:

Realized too late. Had I been her, upon realizing how it is I do not anymore have someone I never placed real value to at all in recent times, I'd sing me this song. A girl song because I'll be singing from her perspective.

If you had known that I do not currently have a lovelife, thank you very much, you'd be left wondering what this shit is all about. Geez. Really, really pointless if not expounded on. Perspective-wise, most may not understand it but those for whom the message was intended to, hoping it reaches them, it might be that the writer wanted to have a tale driven home. Hoping it sinks in, stays there, and wrecks havoc in a painfully agonizing fashion. Like pulverized glass mixed with beef and made into a really delicious burger patty served with garnishings and all, fed to the revenge-subject, only later doing its tiny cuttings and slicings on the innards from the stomach all the way to the organs at the end of the digestive process. Short and sweet. That's the opinion I got from someone who always writes in this merry-shitty way.

I'd never get the hang of it. Honestly. End of discussion. And, by the way, a Merry Christmas to all!

Labels: Vertigo

posted by Fritz @ 7:19 AM