A Scathing Rebuke of the .JSON Devil

A Scathing Rebuke of the .JSON Devil
A text-shaped hex upon the parasitic archivist of human memory

—

Behold the .json file — that treacherous artifact masquerading as a backup, slithering into our digital lives under the guise of structure and interoperability. It promises clarity, portability, and order. What it delivers is nested madness. What it offers is a locked box without a key. What it ensures is that your words — your most human, soul-borne expressions — become indented echoes buried beneath a forest of quotes and commas.

A backup, it claims. A safeguard.

And yet, should the host app vanish into the mist, you are left staring at a tangle of "keys", "values", and "escaped characters" — not your thoughts, not your stories, not your voice, but metadata masquerading as meaning.

The .json devil is a bureaucrat with a clipboard, demanding every emotion be enclosed in double quotes, every breath encoded as a "timestamp". It is the corporate stenographer of your inner life, translating poetry into raw syntax, then shoving it into a coffin lined with curly braces.

It is not a notebook. It is not a journal.
It is not a sanctuary for memory.
It is data, not experience.
Structure without soul.

And dare you crack it open by hand? The .json devil will bite — with errors about missing commas, malformed objects, and the ever-damning "unexpected token at line 412". Your past — your actual life — reduced to a technicality, broken by a stray bracket.

Enough.

Let us cast out this demon. Let notes be notes. Let archives breathe. Let us restore our words to their natural habitat: plain text, clean Markdown, simple HTML. Let us remember that a real backup is one that endures when the app is gone, the server is dead, and the internet is silent.

Burn the curly brace.
Crucify the comma.
Silence the JSON devil.

Your memories deserve more than syntax.