I haven’t deleted Facebook. That would amount to locking the door after the assassin has entered the house.
I open FB in order to dismiss notifications. Then I quickly exit, like slamming a window shut to keep a hornet from flying up my nose. I’m sure FB continues to snoop, but at least it doesn’t have my explicit connivance.
Nor have I downloaded my FB data. It’s too disturbing to revisit how I’ve opened my kimono there, spreading my cheeks, munching engagement bait to feed the worm.
If I sound dyspeptic your hearing is acute. Personal computing in the eighties, when I stumbled into it, wasn’t corrupt and invasive and predatory. It had promise. But the promise is broken, and I spy no fix ahead.
(Copyright 2018 James Mansfield Nichols. All rights reserved.)