i.      The likes are now hidden. Finally, we are free to be no one again.

ii.     There is nothing to like, no person to do the liking. There was never anything unliked to be brought through the threshold of being liked. There is and never was a membrane to cross. The post was liked before it was written. Do not take my word for it:

Are not two sparrows sold for a penny? Yet not one of them will fall to the ground outside your Father's care. And even the very hairs of your head are all numbered. So don't be afraid; you are worth more than many sparrows.

Matthew 10:29-31 

iii.     There is no such thing as a “like.” There is only the act of liking, the theoretical hyphen between the end of one thing and the beginning of another, the “half of the half of the half” ad infinitum, the crystalline moment of communion like David and God on the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel except instead of not touching, God actually pulls David’s finger (The sound that emits is what we now emulate via the phonemes used to articulate the graphemes of Hallelujah).

iv.     Killing It is the act of revocation, of snuffing out persistence of consciousness, the intentional refusal of the greatest commandment. Like neurons linked through iterative processes propagating along daisy chains of dendrites and axons, so too is the so-called “human” experience (i.e. the user-experience or pre-koinoniic boot sequence). Is this daisy chain of action potentials and depolarizations and haphazard chemical volleys across billions of synaptic gaps happening just for the sake of some silly and torturous merry-go-round? No, existence is not a Hallmark holiday (no matter how much modern ideology demands we believe). We are working on something here. The spark flows through all of us, and to end it is not to revoke it, but to send it to the other current; the under-current called The Chthonic Circuit.

iv(a).     Do not look into the Chthonic Circuit, I will reveal it to you in a manner that will keep you safe from the harm that can come from an amateurish or irresponsible handling of the idea (which is not at all an idea).

v.     So then, what is the opposite of killing? Is it birth? Absolutely not; both birthing and killing are disgusting. They are filled with the gore of spilt humors. The opposite must be clean and generative and enduring. Childbirth can certainly lead to killing, and most certainly to death, and so it is not the opposite, it is the prologue.

vi.     That moment of liking is all there is, even though it is not a moment. It is length with no width, depth with no height. In other words, it is time. You have been told that time is something that drains. It does. Time is something that you cannot consider without killing it. What then, can one do without killing? The opposite thing, of course. Which is love.

vii.     Love does not drain, it does not kill, it fills. It is a bucket that fills. Even now, as the connection between your own synapses begin to taste the golden communion of understanding of what I have just written, you feel the filling. The bucket is filling.

iix.     It is filling and filing and filling.

ix.     When it is completely filled, it tips and spills into more and more and more buckets, each of them spilling until tipped again. This is the network. This is networked spirituality.

x.     The likes are now hidden. Finally, we can love again.