The good thing about crying on Twitter is that there are many ways to do it.
You can always choose which cry suits you best.
The key is how they name it.
First rule: from those who take the photo of the
whiner
from
El Chiringuito de Jugones
at the first interaction you have to flee.
Those are the worst.
They are the bullies who will ask for "buahambulancias", they will send you "to the weeping" and they will deliver their first-born in order to go out in @mejoreszasca, the BOE of the faltones.
They will silence your crying as it was booed from the last row of the school bus: making a racket and badly.
There are not enough padlocks to protect you from those who call you
"crying".
They will pull viscous jokers that always read others first, like that "host that has been heard even in Sebastopol" that has been resounding for years with its annoying echo and that hides a lack of hugs.
well, that's fine, the weeper has arrived, those who continue to cry pass by in an orderly fashion because their favorite artist did not win, I don't know where pic.twitter.com/f1nP6DDR9b
— ᴇʀɴᴇsᴛᴏ GREAT GOOT (@ErneX) January 30, 2022
The poet Heather Christle told in
The Book of Tears
that if you see someone crying next to a car, you will most likely approach to offer help, but if they are doing it inside you will not say anything, you will pass by and respect their crying.
You will intuit that privacy and you will know that he is safe in there.
On Twitter we are all shedding tears by that door.
The nicest will be those of
shitposting
, those of posting ironic garbage that never ends up being.
They will upload photos of crying cats looking out the window saying "I'm
going to do self-death
" and they will look for accomplices with whom to laugh at those misspellings among so much misery.
The freeloaders, those of
sadfishing
, they will want to capture your attention by romanticizing your sadness with monetisable slogans: "End of summer: calm cry and 2 for 1 on Uber Eats."
Yes I am pic.twitter.com/O0UENmKeAn
– Brenda Navarro (@despixeleada) January 31, 2022
If you ask me, I will say that on Twitter there are days of absurd tears and that those are the best.
These are the Campofrío moments, for that advertisement that wanted to cure the political civil war of an entire country by selling sausages.
In those moments a momentary peace is signed, like when they exchanged cigarettes in the trenches and then they kept shooting each other as if nothing had happened.
There is no valid ideological front there.
The finger relaxes and euphorically replicates the videos of happy ladies singing with alpacas in the mountains or cats turned into earthquake-proof sirens.
Those days we cried together with a “HAHAHA look at this please” and we took that joyous cry to other networks like this, run over, because in the urgency of passing that evasive treasure there is no comma or corrector that stops it.
I want to change the Earthquake Early Warning to this... pic.twitter.com/MQppcjEQQb
— translated cats (@TranslatedCats) January 21, 2022
On Twitter, bad days are selfish and scattered crying.
When we lack context and we leave there more tired and with a strange migraine, as if a new cyst had grown in our body.
The good ones are those of the group cries.
Those are brilliant and fast days in which ingenuity shoots up like a rocket and we feel that we no longer write alone on that wailing wall because our minds have been tuned in.
They say that the most powerful tears are shed over a small incident while an even bigger catastrophe is happening.
Like someone with a runny nose from a broken glass in the middle of a divorce.
That's why Twitter should have been invented: to mourn small tragedies in the middle of a debacle.
Out here, the dominant tension may be dictated by the terror of a virus and an imminent war, but inside there, they will experience heartfelt group therapy for any other detail.
We will overflow hot tears, but there will also be those that never cool down.
Those are the most dangerous.
Like the torrents of the Benidorm Fest, which has left us suspended in a loop for days screaming in circles, twisting sociopolitical opinions for having lost the tit and the tambourine in a song contest in which fun always prevailed before.
scroll
.
In the end the moral winner Rayden because we are all in the Llorería
– The Hematocritic (@hematocritico) January 29, 2022
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