I love the forest. It is bad to live in cities: there, there are too many influencers.

Is it not better to fall into the hands of a murderer, than into the dreams of Mark Zuckerberg?

And just look at these men: their eye saith it — they know nothing better on earth than to like and share with a flick of their fingers.

Filth is at the bottom of their profiles; and alas! if their filth hath still followers in it!

Would that ye were engaging — at least as GIFs of animals! But to animals belongeth innocence.

Do I counsel you to slay your smartphones? I counsel you to innocence in your sharing.

Do I counsel you to delete your Facebook account? #DeleteFacebook is a virtue with some, but with many almost a vice.

These are continent, to be sure: but doggish privacy looketh enviously out of all that they do.

Even into the heights of their selfie sticks and into their deleted profiles doth this creature follow them, with its discord.

And how nicely can doggish privacy beg for a piece of your Instagram Stories, when a Signal invite is denied it!

Ye love tragedies and all that breaketh the heart emoji? But I am distrustful of your doggish privacy.

Ye have too cruel eyes, and ye look wantonly towards the sufferers. Hath not your privacy just disguised itself and taken the name of fellow-suffering?

And also this parable give I unto you: Not a few who meant to cast out their devil, went thereby into the swine themselves.

To whom #DeleteFacebook is difficult, it is to be dissuaded: lest it become the road to hell — to filth and lack of likes.

Do I speak of filthy things? That is not the worst thing for me to do.

Not when the post-truth is filthy, but when it is shallow, doth the discerning one go unwillingly into its waters.

Verily, there are offline ones from their very nature; they are gentler of heart, and laugh better and oftener than you.

They laugh also at #DeleteFacebook, and ask: “What is Facebook?”

Is #DeleteFacebook not folly? But the folly came unto us, and not we unto it.

We offered that guest harbour and heart: now it dwelleth with us — let it stay as long as it will!” —

Thus spake Zarathustra.

A designer trapped in an engineer’s body.