I've calmly endured some truly impressive crap over the last year, but reading the last few posts summons troubling, pink tinged mist obscured glimpses of a beserking that can't possibly have happened...
How successful is the Independent's venture into a solely on-line existence proving?
Because I find it hard to believe that their core readership could have endured what I perceived as a drop in the quality of the reporting and editorial content after the move away from print.
And that's before I consider the fact that between banners, adverts and side bars it was quite common to not even be able to read an entire line of text before having to scroll to find the rest of the sentence. I mean, how is the 'paper' serving its supposed purpose if you can only read 'substantive' reporting and opinion half a sentence at a fucking time? Half a fucking sentence before scrolling sideways, or down, or fucking both. Nnnghh. Here I am trying to keep my bubble expanded and the cruel price is that - by reading widely and therefore living with the consequences that sully my future suggested reading lists; gritting my teeth at the prospect that to find out if that obnoxious arsehole really meant what it seems they said, that those fools really believe the evil that is being spouted, that maybe, maybe someone has a valid point - then with each little click the arseholes are being minusculely rewarded. That irritates me somewhat. Actually that irritates me quite a fucking-lot-fucking-what. And then, then the innocuous, insipid, Independent makes reading the most neutrally phrased reportage such a fucking chore it would be hard to think of a way that they could turn people off from the bare facts any fucking quicker. Oh wait, there is, and they did. How about making the banners; the sidebars; the ads in the middle of the text; the unnecessarily illustrated teasers to other, totally unrelated, inane 'reporting' - wait for it - update constantly! while you browse! Then the tiny little sliver of text, that barely consequential item of interest is surrounded by a sea of flashing, attention seeking colour that metaphorically kicks your eyeballs right in the pupil every time your fact starved brain thinks it might, just might, get to read a fucking verb, but no it has to go off to swipe, or scroll, or axe something to death in the head.
Breathe.
I'm probably making this sound worse than it is. Well, let's face it, I am making it sound worse because, guess what? It is worse! So much very fucking worse. Every shitty picture, banner, ad, gaudy bauble of net optimised capitalism is resizable. Fucking resizable! Hahhhhaahhahaha A-ha. So nothing, nothing stays in the same place for more than five seconds! Which is just... not rage inducing. Beyond that now, this is enabling. Almost allows for the attainment of a transcendent state. It's like you can taste the blod. So, nothing, nothing stays in the same place. Especially not the meagre collection of words, lopped from the body of their text. They're bobbing about in a bloody sea of html and burning applets. And there comes the genius, it can't be anything but. It is inconceivable that this whole edifice has been constructed for anything other than for us to offer up the sacrifice of our personal digital devices, inhale the toxic fumes rising from their smashed screens and gnaw upon the sundered rubberised keys of our Bluetooth accessories after being mesmerised into an unquenchable, justified, wordless fury by the following:
not only does the pathetic collection of words move around the screen, the composition of the visible text changes each time.
Each time a banner resizes a different section of the article is displayed.
Your perception of time is changed.
You have memories of battle that are not your own.
They will guide you.
Og så begynder modene...
I don't read the Independent now. Aside from my own issues I hear it is now a nest of btl trolls feathered with clickbait. I don't think I should go look.
