Re: Guilt….
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From: Cyrus Massoumi <massoumi.cyrus@gmail.com> To: emma.j.bennett15@gmail.com Subject: Re: Guilt…. Sent: Mon, 24 Feb 2025 05:12:40 +0000 Sent (UTC): 2025-02-24T05:12:40.000Z Sent (America/Los_Angeles): 2025-02-23T21:12:40.000-08:00 Account: 62ca724fdabf40deba435e42eb88ef18 Gmail message: 195365f2555179a1 Thread: 1952f131225f9ba8 Message-ID: v1-eM86elH11Qu5HwN1o-257d14bb2d70e65552136d025f288655@gmail.com References: v1-YgXWdHvNdIQmjoa6J-da4db80154fca7cfc81107cc807ec016@gmail.com Body coverage: full Body format: markdown
Body
Are you going to keep me blocked?
I was in a mood when I wrote this.
I miss you.
Sent with Mixmax
On Sat, Feb 22, 2025 at 11:12 AM Cyrus Massoumi <massoumi.cyrus@gmail.com> wrote:
Grammar check
Editors Intro Note: I’m sorry this became a rant, it started as a missive, but, if this was how I needed to plead guilty, and, how I can have confidence in your future adjudication, that is how it will need to be. It started as a FB post but I couldn’t keep typing on my phone, it was crashing the app; then I moved to notes, and that was 3 hours ago. I will not re-read this email before hitting send, & I will I do not think be needing to write again. I needed to plead I suppose guilty , but, it was only in writing about my life, that the opportunity to write this, came to me. Which sounds illogical, but, it’s hard for me to rationalize an admission of guilt & plead for fair prosecution on anything pending void of doubt it on my terms. I also, felt it needed, adequate room , so that, at least, if you aren’t going to maintain affection for me, you need not hate me, once you understand me, because despite my coarse words, I’m the type of person you’d enjoy having a drink with (but, not with you reading this, you are indeed beneath me, which you are about to find out….)
Obstacles are opportunities in disguise. Every flaw is a hidden feature.
What looked like a loss was scored against me today. It wasn’t. It wasn’t anything I wanted, which could be taken from me. My ex fucked up my flame.
I was on the phone with my “best friend”, evaluating it. In my mind I was relieved. My flame keeps me in the Bay Area. It’s an Area beneath me. I can’t be me without shedding my attachments, our “assets” are often chains.
I don’t want to stay in the Bay Area. I want to go. My life, my real life, it’s somewhere else. It’s in Dubai, it’s in New York, it’s in London, it’s in Miami, it’s in Singapore & Macau, Moscow, Mumbai, & anywhere else where there’s money. That’s the currency, my currency is currency. Media Mogul. It’s the only tbing I’ve ever wanted to be.
Media….. marketing, that media. The best marketer. A marketer that can defy gravity. The marketer that is the deciding variable between companies. The marketer that can drive the media that can make a market.
Politics was beneath me. I was #1 in the US in politics for 10 years. I drove 4 billion clicks from Meta. 4 billion. There’s about - $4 billion that at that time was spent on a presidential election, that’s once every four years. The last job I was offered was CTO of GreatAmerica, to spend a $1 billion budget for them….
But, that’s only $1 billion a year. And then I looked around my vineyard, after my family died, and I saw worthless vines. I hated them. And then came the blessing of COVID following my mother’s death. I learned wine. Napa wine at that time was about $4 billion a year. That was 4x politics. I drooled. I looked around the Napa wine & it was too small for me….
I had to go all the way to London, to find Wine Investment, which was the world’s largest wine investment fund, holding $300 million in vaulted wine, which was so fun to make media for, but, fascinatingly most of the money for the fund came from some few clients.
I learned about wine as an alternative asset. Non taxable, performance commensurate with equity funds, and then I learned about other alternative assets…. I came to learn about Birkins, which when I learned about them was roughly a $4 billion a year market, but, more centralized than Napa wine.
I learned about allocation luxury assets, among other alternative assets, and this came to me after already having been a media buyer for investment companies I was head buyer for with volume up to $1 billion in gross sales. But, it’s just….. not enough, it was never enough, because when I was 21, out of 20 million advertisers worldwide, I was quantified as #3 worldwide (I have never met these two people alleged to be above me, nor do I accept a reality than any other marketer could ever be above me, I would die of shame. The dishonor. To be number two.
In the context of a vertical phone feed, a feed which only allows for one item to be shown above any other item, the item which is marketed best, as to have; highest performance; it’s always the same guy, who is number one.
I learned that when I worked for Israeli criminal syndicates, after I took my first ban, I had to turn to black markets & black hat . I had to learn to ghost, undetected, since I was banned from advertising, but, I was so good at this one thing, this beautiful marketing thing, and, I was banned because I worked in politics, and everyone at the time who worked in partisan politics was banned, they banned 500 people that week they banned me. But, they didn’t just ban my 23 million Facebook fans, that made my net worth $20 million ish, they took away the only thing I cared about, my ad account, which to them was incidental, but, to me, I would rather have lost my arms, than my ad account. I can’t make media marketable without my ads.
I’ve levitated, I’ve defied gravity in my work, I’ve held 73% CTR’s in content arbitrage when the best in the world (beneath me) were at 35-40% CTR.
In any event:
Coming from that background, to maintain my status as the world’s best, I created software, software to mechanize the creation of headlines, I wasn’t just magic at making headlines. Without software, by hand, on Googlele sheets, i play beat my headline. The game is simple. Two copywriters meet on a row. You start with a headline in the first row, and the copywriter must beat the copy above him. You play it out until a copywriter admits their loss. Then you can proceed to the next column. I don’t lose. I know I don’t lose. Because after I got my companies web traffic to 1 million clicks a day, my team, I asked them, should I lead them, there was a dozen of them or so, a burden to me in hindsight, everyone is always a burden to me, slowing me down, the best decision I made was to have two assistants, to work 18 hours a day, with me, to speed up me, I’m the common denominator in every great success & collapse. Explaining to people under me, how to do what I want…. Ihhhhhhhh.
So: from being king of beat my headline, I needed to know, am I the best? So, I hired the most expensive copy writers I could find for sale. $100 an hour $300 an hour $500 an hour. I couldn’t find anyone more expensive than $500 an hour. And copy isn’t my peak skill. But, they came, and I played them, then I’d input their best copy into the ads I ran, against mine, and they’d always be beneath me. Only one can be above. Only one thing can be an exception to any rule. Only one apex.
Not interesting. King of copy? How boring. Headlines are from hell. The words, they waste away, my brain is broken, I’d play with the words. I started to shell them, Break a headline into fragments, quantify my work, I hired a physicist who was a software engineer team lead, to work with me, my most clever partner. Ever. He was me, me, in code, to what he did.
I took what I saw, what looked like the talent from the copywriters who made fragments I viewed as clever, and I started to fragment - Fronts, Middles & Ends.
Which became F / M / E or in subsequent work f / m1 / m2 - e
m is mandatory. The middle.
Headline from Hell: 25 reasons why my headlines make me suicidal - You won’t believe the reasons.
Headlines From Hell is the “front”
25 reasons why my headlines make me suicidal is the middle
&
You won’t believe the reasons is the end
F is optional.
E is optional.
M is required
So, he took my best work, and we made it into a software sheet, where we had a headline machine on an excel sheet. One was for the market at large. Where word rules were always true. One was for sub markets. I’d modify per market.
I went from being able to write 100 headlines in 10 minutes by hand (I can fucking fly, it’s a muscle, for peasants, copy is, but a muscle all the same)
To 10,000. With the headline machine.
Not interesting, not interesting enough. I could beat everyone suddenly.
I’d take their copy, I’d look at the world’s top performing ads, and I’d segment the headline into its fragments, i knew that if -
Data = Same
& targeting = Same
& site performance = same
Then, in a heads up game of arbitrage; between two marketers, I know that in the variance between 4% and 6% CTR is a cost spread of 2x (ie, if I rip your site content, and rip your creative, and I slap a front on it, and lift CTR from 4 to 6, I can reduce cost from 2x to x. Eat shit, novice.
Not good enough. What about the image. I got tired of having to stand over my graphic designers. They didn’t have eyes. They couldn’t see into the souls of the apes. This drooling jello, this thing that you are, this creature, behind your screen. Abusing your behavior, it’s my world, when we are here. But, they couldn’t see what looked good, what was superior, what needed to be. So we took the work I had to baby these people to produce, and looked at the outputs, then came my other partner. The third member of the team. He was a professor at two Ivy leagues and did AI at Google. He was under 30, and a genius. He made me feel stupid. I loved it. They both made me feel stupid. Like a clothed ape. How I view you, that’s how I felt around them, they loved me, thought I was magic, I thought they were magic. They were salary boys, they didn’t have the stones to take. The business of making & taking. Thats why I’m a marketer. I love the democracy . You don’t need a silver spoon, a college degree, if you have the internet and an ad account, sit down, let’s play, can you afford 50 clicks, come & take it or be shown to be false.
It’s so pure. It lets us see who will be best. Who is best today will most always be best tomorrrow . Make a market today, take a market tomorrow. The day changes, but, you have to be best, moment to moment, count - the time. If you stay still, long enough, I’ll tear your media apart, make your meat my money, sell your concept, trivialize your media. Fuck you, beat me, if you’re better.
Our AI guy used his logic, made the rules for the image program, coded by the physicist, from my best work.
We had our background file, our subject file, and we’d take background patterns background colors subjects & that would = outputs.
Suddenly 10 10 10.
Finally, relief from the peasant graphics people. The proportionality of the background pattern, the vibrancy of the colors; the proportion of the subjects, the required DPI for an image to be true. The symmetry of the subject; their eyes, their optimal expressions, codified by my brothers who could see the fruits of my work & codify rules, guidelines, for the peasants beneath them. I worked in the mud with the staff, all day, all mother fucking day; every day, with this filth rabble. Babying them. At night I’d work with my brothers, my people, my colleagues.
The images and the headlines were producing outputs mechanically.
Who could we test it against. I wanted the biggest site. So I had the physicist track down the bigger content arbitrage site, and we found it, a site with hundreds of millions of paid clicks, on schedule, he ripped up their code, put the hooks in, and made spreadsheets showing me view counts of everything on the site, thousands of pieces of content making money every day.
Filter by total views. Hundreds of millions. But if it had the most historical views that didn’t mean it has the most views day over day. A day later the program is mapped to show day over day view changes, spend.
Filter for the adjusted piece, with the relative highest performance, their gem. The #1 piece of content arbitrage in the world. That’s what I wanted, so, I put it as our goal. & I selected some number of what I viewed as susceptible targets to overtake.
We will rip their best work. Take it. If I can take that, if I can take their beat from them, take from them, because their huge company, is weak. A coding prodigy, an AI guy, and the marketer. Against your 300 peasants in your building? Fuck off, we’re not even the same species. Their best people couldn’t shine my shoes, their best people aren’t worthy to take up my teams time.
I told them we should take it, if we can take this, we can take anything and everything from anyone in the future. If we can take this now, build a road here, we can build process , create the framework, for perfection.
AI & coding would talk for hours without me. Conferring on what they would build. The result was beauty. AI wanted to take the content on the site, the content you monkeys need, that you must click, to justify your life, you identity, your motivations. You’re a rounding error. Your time, your attention, click my ad, you can’t help yourself, making it better than someone else’s, it’s cake. Give me something to rip. Take. If I can make another marketer lose. If I can show someone they’re beneath me, there’s no stopping me.
So, AI said that a site isn’t a site. A site, is merely a series of optical DIV’s. It’s a series of DIV’s which we can order numerically.
He wanted to make the logo of a site a div, the headline a div, the font size a div, the font style, in an article like 25 reasons why your girlfriend isn’t as hot as the hooker that kissed my beak last night, that’s 25 blocks of content.
We found the most beautiful content arb site, doing celebrity bull shit. And I told coding how much I loved it, he ripped it up for me. Turned this beautiful thing into our beautiful thing. Its name was list - app.
Our creation. They made line padding a div. Everything became a div. A list like 25 reasons has 25 images, 25 paragraphs, 25 sub headlines.
I’d have my staff pumping out 5,000-7,500 words a day of honed content. Maybe 50 of these bull shit items. It was a buffet, taking from this bloated whale, I could just choose from their grand list, what I knew I’d rip, I’d work with the rabble staff, baby them, baby them, write a word. Write this series of words, better. Such pain, working with the rabble, bless their hearts, they were maybe in the 99% in their fields, but at the top 1%, suddenly the curve changes. You see, I’m not 1% better than a marketer in the 99%, no. My brothers, they weren’t 1% better than people I could contract for $500 an hour. No, no, no. They were 100x better. 1,000x better. It’s just not the same road. When you are #1-3 in the world in your field, you aren’t, .1% better than 99.9% you’re 10x better. You aren’t 100x better than 99.5%. You don’t even know their name. Why bother. We’re not doing the same thing. We are making models at the top, you’re shining my shoes on the carcass of yesterday, at 99.5%.
The staff, they’re just not the best. Bless them, for not causing me too much suffering, I had to fire at least person a week from the team, keep the smell of blood fresh. “Pedestrian” is what I’d call them. A helpless thing. Some, dirty thing , out of control. Bring the staff to me fresh & hungry, if they can be motivated by the desire to be excellent, like me, to make me proud, to make me satisfied, I knew they would aspire to be more, I would have thirsted for them to be above me, in their fields, I did not desire for them to be beneath, I would have beamed with pride, for one of mine to ascend to become more. Be better. Beat me. Beat my headline. The best copywriter in the world I could pay money too, he was veritably suicidal, by the time he quit. I would shame him, in front of my team, for sport. “Brandon” was his name. “Brandon, can’t you write some better headlines? One hour and you only have these 25?” I’d put in my general staff chat. I decided to call the headline program while we built it “Brandon” so, I would tell Brandon “Brandon, we are nearly done building Brandon, can’t you be better? Don’t you want to beat me? Don’t you want to beat my headline?” Alas, over time, no matter how much time my blessed contractor spent for $300 an hour, I when Brandon was done being built, Brandon was the most basic bitch there was to me. Blood, in the team chat. The scent of blood. The team must smell blood to stay fresh. We can not retain pedestrians. “Ashley, once a week is a good amount” Ashley would work 8 hours, my first assistant, then my second one would man their station, for another 8. That’s a workday. 16. If you’re a bitch. When the second one was done, there’s still shit to do. I would work, I’d fucking inject the god damn Adderall into my fucking eyeballs if a doctor told me it would keep me at my station.
Work is for slaves. Showing others you’re above them. Shining. Cursing the god that abandoned your craven, whore, filth soul - to allow a path, to be best, that is all there is. That is all that has meaning. That’s all there ever can be.
Duty to our station in life. We have to man our station. Your station is to be Bob. You work 8 hours a day, you gently give the less than optimal Jane your beak with the lights off, but, only if you’ve done your chore, if you kept Jane happy. Maybe in between your life can have some fraction of meaning, you could click on something I made, you could click on something striving to be best in the world. From your glum and abandoned mediocre life, here in Sonoma, here in the bay area, here in America, here on this world, here in this universe, you can escape the mediocre position you have been occupying.
Click something of mine, give me your time, forsake my enemy competitor, be part of my vision, and you are part of something more. I can promise you, when it’s mine, it never arrives, no matter how much you love whatever shit I’m selling you, if it made your day, if you shared it with all of your miserable cunt friends, I assure you, I can promise your peasant heart, it keeps me awake at night. I hate it. Everything about it, the sight of it, my creations are cursed. I’ve made so many things which on the scoreboards they allege are the best, best in world, best in market.
But, I wear my truth on my armor. I’m not afraid to tell you everything about me. I can not lie. Liars? My peasant family? They were flush with money, and they believe they were great, that they were classy, people in Sonoma, living in these bitch houses, $1 million, $5 million? It’s peasant bull shit. My street in Napa that my painful childhood misery unfolded on, where they reared me, where I was taught to be best, that wasn’t rich. My family, in Marin, with their houses on the hill, at the top, that was only the top of Marin. It’s like $30 million now?
The ground hosts my cunt uncle. He learned to fly, after he bankrupted Sonoma Community Bank. Yes, maybe you cows have known my bloodline, before . I’m not a complete stranger! Yes, the fraudster developer who took your cow bank, where you sheep took your coin, he bribed the officials there (so it’s said) and they gave him your coin. He did what you’d call “dirty shit”. He burned down a building that he built to claim insurance on it twice. If it didn’t seem flammable he’d fill it with my cunt families investment. My family is filled with money, or…. Was. He’d ask them to buy units, he’d find the renter, and the rent would be more than the loan, print money, was the promise. Hundreds of units. From that motherfucker to the motherfucker who shares my cursed blood.
He was rich. My cousin’s always made me feel small. Nothing could shine around them. He had the newest best Mercedes. They had to have the gadgets of today, today, and it was just incidental to them. Nothing could shine around those motherfuckers. I had a beany baby; my cunt cousin had to have the $500 camel, and use it as a fucking baseball. I had the fucking $200 one with a plastic on the ear. My cunt mother, thankfully in the ground, fuck that whore who broke me, couldn’t afford to buy me that shit, so, it seemed logical she’d plastic the ear. But it makes your dick feel small, when your cousin has better and trashed it.
I fucking hated every moment of them showing up. And, yet, my cells needed it. Come, come from your blessed hill, come to my peasant vineyard, suck the shine out of my pride. Show me whats new. Thats why I’m in marketing. The power of my greed, the promise of now. My family grieved as if I had died, when I abandoned my duty to those whores, to become a doctor, an engineer, or a developer. That’s for slaves. Why? To go to college. Out at 22. The promise of $150,000 at 22, for what? To keep my training wheels on, a guaranteed (then) path to $500,000. When? At 40? And, where is the money, that’s not money. You can’t have more and be mediocre.
That’s why I’m a marketer. Because I have to take . Bu it’s 7:20 PM. I got angry at 6. I was craving mushrooms, I wanted to savage them like a craven lunatic, my ex, she took some flesh off me, she ruined shit with my flame. I was d supposed to have dinner at 7. At some whore place. Omakase or whatever they call it, book a day ahead. In Castro Valley.
Tancho.
She knew me from my old life. She used to be an 8 and change. Now she’s mid 7? But I knew her 8 years , and I was fond of her, so, she got a boost. I was going to move, until I woke up to a text that it’s over. At 9 am, today. Keeping her on my book required being old me, that means, dinner was going to set me back $500+…
Tonight, $800. It’s nothing? But, it’s a lot? But, it’s not? It was a lot last week. But, now it’s just slut food. Feed some hen, so we can make banter with ambiance. Fine. It drives off your average CPN (cost per nut). But, I am now, meeting the dawn of my prime, my second ascension, today, was a gift in disguise. It’s not blood, I’m not broken, I was trying to tell my best friend, I was trying to tell another, recently, it’s something that broke, when I finally realized my ex was done. It marks a time, of 4 girlfriends, over 8 years, coming to an end. Reflexively, you reach for another. It wasn’t desire, it was reflex, it was….. in my code. Read a moral animal, it was great to read in high school.
It’s 7:28, this is taking up time, and I want to curb this out, but, I want this thought on the pixel.
It’s that my best friend, let me down. I told him, thank god, it’s a gift in disguise. Now I can accept an offer issued to a place that deserves me. To the noise, to the volume.
He saw her and he told me, it was as if the gods had issued me a gift, to compensate me for my suffering. This reduced peasant position, in your town.
I didn’t see that, she’s allegedly hot, and nice, I used to love her, I strived to love her, but I couldn’t, I didn’t want to lose the ex, because the ex liked me when I wasn’t worth saving. After I was bloody, after I was broken by another mistake, that kept me in this hell, after I sold that hell vineyard.
She took me when I was down, when I wasn’t worth saving, and I needed that. In my bones I needed it. But; my ex also broke me, 6 months ago, we were fighting, and she wasn’t talking to me.
I’m loyal, I forgot to mention that. 7:33. I don’t have the patience. The only currency you can buy with me is loyalty. I’ll be loyal to you, you’ll be loyal to me. It’s not about you, it’s about me, I’m broken.
My grandfather, is dead, my patriarch dead. I was loyal to him, i am loyal to his bloodline, I am the last person who carries his name, and - since all of my family are dead, the last are gone, save for my aunt, his daughter; who will not speak to me, who did not come to her mothers funeral, who I would take a bullet for, to save the drop of his blood, that exists, in this place, gladly give all of mine.
7:38, The thread is losing focus and I don’t have time. I have a call with Singapore I need to prep for, but, all I have is my truth, my version of events, how I see it. I need the truth.
I love the girls because when they love me, I think it validates me, I may hate all the ads, but, they take me as I am. I hate them for it, but, you can’t help but love them for it.
It’s that, it’s addicting, it fed some need, the loyalty thing? 7:41, I’m exhausted and the thread has gone on, why post it, you might ask, I’m nearly there, I’m struggling also, to keep up.
It’s not the reason I started writing, I started writing because my best friend abandoned me, by telling me he thought I needed sleep, because i thought it was a gift, to lose the flame.
Losing the flame is the gift that may show the universe is organized. I need to leave this area. I hate it here; you can tell from how I write, I am something ugly, something awful, something horrible, something is broken, but I’m also beautiful, and striving to be something meaningful, to me. My goals don’t require conformity, to your interpretation of a productive life.
And, so , this is a new period for me, I can finally go far away, far enough away, somewhere I am invited to, by a client, I keep getting invited, and I keep not going, because of my dogs, and my girlfriend of the moment. But I don’t have a girlfriend anymore, and I don’t want one again. I put myself into a coma to be in my first relationship, it’s a mediocre but addicting drug, girlfriends, reliable sex, being with someone, but it has drawbacks.
Sometimes big ones.
I put this, thing , my working brain, to sleep, in order to live among people who enjoy life. It required duloxetine, and klonopin, alcohol, & 300 hookers who I fucked to gain my confidence when I was 21-24, ish, and a handful here in Sonoma, when I first moved here…. It’s miserable to want to be the best, it’s easier to be mediocre. 7:49, I’m starting to realize how little I want to publish this, and yet, the end shimmers, it’s something I need.
Sam text screenshot.
Here’s the thing.
I have to finish writing, because this is a crazy email, but, the function part is getting there. Here’s what I need & I’m sorry but, all I needed this whole time was the truth, and I’ve been deprived of it, my truth.
The truth is I’m guilty, guilty - most likely. I can’t remember. I have to say the truth, because without it, and pairing it with my values, the pursuit of perfection, I’m amiss, no guiding compass. I don’t have morality, but I’m not a psycho, or something 7:54 & were there:
I’m too tired of this & I will say it & I will send it because I can’t be without the truth, and I am about to be the victim of a lie, potentially, and the last one —— broke me, made you all think I needed a cage, to be my house, but I don’t. I’m fancy with words, but, I think you can see why.
Now that you’re here, if you’re here, someone is, the prosecutor, the judge, the jury, by the grace of god, perhaps the mental health diversion people, I didn’t know that was an option….. please, let that be an option, because I can’t be without the truth in my life, I don’t want to be not guilty if I am.
7:57.
I have a problem with working, and stress. If I’m fighting with a girlfriend. I can’t sleep. My whole family is dead. They’re all I have. That and my work, but I didn’t want to work if I couldn’t have my ex.
Michelle’s husband cheated on her (my old client, employer. (Oh my god, for the first time, I think I am exhausted by my own email, being nonsense). I basically was the #2 at the world’s largest Birkin ($25-500k handbags). Shop sold $50-100m a year in Birkins. I was going to be CEO. She was going to retire. Job pays $5m a year, probably, ish , I’ll try and clarify in a subsequent email (as long as I can tell the truth now, I will have to clarify some details later, to give you a more clear vision. So, lost my job, because my client and I fought. She was having personal problems.
The ex stopped talking to me. And, I’m here, in Sonoma. And, then we fought publicly because clearly as you can tell above I have a mouth on me. Then she stopped talking to me. It had been two weeks. How did this go from a blog to a guilty plea anchor? 8:02
8:15 max goal. Taking mushrooms was the only thing that made me feel even a little bit of joy, since I was 22, took them for the first time two weeks ago, ish, aside from….. a few months ago on a hike with my Ex. Made me realize how badly I wanted to be me again. It’s the first time I wanted to be me again, I can remember. And, not only me again, but, I didn’t want to drink, I didn’t want klonopin. I have such bad panic attacks. It’s a need to be perfect. I had my first panic attack trying to talk to my “gf” about our breakup when I was 19? Ish. Just shaking a bit. Then, a business meeting with some private equity guys who wanted to invest in my rapidly growing blog.
8:06 - & 8:15 goal, so let’s hammer out my bull shit excuse so I can get to the truth:
I take klonopin for anxiety.
I have horrible anxiety. I hate myself and everyone else. It quiets my nerves. Quiets my thoughts.
You’re not supposed to take it with (too much?) alcohol. Which is obviously why I do.
I also can’t focus without Adderall. (Before you roll your eyes, if you’re one of those, and I’m with you, I’ll have you know that anxiety (they diagnosed me with PTSD (my family fucking brokeeeee me, bad, made me need to be perfect) my brain needs Adderall to work.
So I lost my job, and, I take klonopin, & I drink, and I take adderall, and my ex wasn’t talking to me, and, if you’ve ever met a motherfucker who has a way with words, it’s me…… maybe now you can see why this crime(?) makes sense, but, it doesn’t. 8:10 I’m bringing it home, now .
I had money bleeding, lost my promise job, she wasn’t taking to me, then, we don’t talk for two weeks, I talk all this bull shit publicly, we fight .
Omg I was texting Sam, 8:13 AM. 8:15 goal.
I wrote it in the texting screenshot, if I’m truthful about all of this, why would I lie about anything.
I thought he had spread images and bull shit about my ex around. That was why I was angry, at him, but, not very angry, by any means? I don’t care about him? He doesn’t occur to me. At all. The sheriff seemed so confused by my lack of any animosity, in my mind.
8:15 times up. I had been awake two nights, I was drunk, I was pilled , I was high, and I had just been threatened by a bouncer, who is a bouncer at his bar, who it felt to me was physically confrontational in the parking lot.
8:17…. The last thing she texted me I remember, was, “you never defend me” she had just started being responsive, after two weeks, no talking.
It was the thing she had threatened me with, the night prior, because of my drama, she told me she was going to make a claim, against me, and the claim, is obviously not true. But, why would you people believe me, it added to my stress, made me, stay awake another day and night, I wanted to fix things.
8:19 - I am probably guilty. But, her text is the last thing I remember. I can’t remember, I think, because I was having amphetamine induced psychosis(?) I read about it in the days after the arrest, because, the stress of everything induced it, the same evening that Brandon Cutting interviewed Me.
I was not slept, that day, either, for multiple days, and I was trying to think of how I got to the police station, or how you would 8 :21 - from the square, and in my head I couldn’t figure out what direction the police station was. Then I was thinking about the shape of the police station building for whatever reason, and trying to remember where in the building the EOC was, (I remember the acronym because it seemed ridiculous to me that Cutting used it).
I couldn’t interpret the shape of the building, in my head the shape of the building was broken. I couldn’t - I can’t describe it now, but, I think it was happening that night.
And the third thing - I was at my ex’s sisters house in - wherever? Can’t remember now, umm…. It’s to the right of that ghetto Scandia & I was answering questions she wasn’t asking me.
I couldn’t distinguish direction, I couldn’t distinguish shape, and I was answering questions not asked to me.
The combination of factors, substances, and conditions, which can never be replicated again, led the worlds greatest headliner (aren’t I such an asshole? The above, hey, we got here together, so, it’s fine).
There’s two things missing:
Cocaine. I think I had done some —- the night before, the lie.
It’s the threat made against me, in the email, the day before this all went down, after I pissed her off, but, before she started talking to me again, and if the lie was never true, if the stress of the lie, is what, on top of everything else, brought a guy who plays with words, among other media shit, to use words you people can’t imagine, in ways you can’t imagine, because there was no intent behind them? I read them, and it sounds like a fake imitation of me. That’s probably because I wrote them, after:
The threat of her lie in that email that kept me awake into day 2 or 3
+
Our fighting
+
Losing my job
+ alcohol
+ benzodiazepines
+ being physically threatened a few hours prior
+ the last thing I do remember - a text from her, saying, you never defend me….
And there it was, some cheap anger with him? And, she was in a group chat with him, and - it’s now 8:29 and I just saw a notification pop up, showing me that she started following me on Instagram. That’s how she destroyed my relationship this morning.
But, she made the threat of reporting the lie again. And, I have no legitimacy left, with you people, but, I do have the truth.
If she puts forward the lie, perhaps these words, and this rant, and this explanation; will allow you to understand, I can’t be guilty of the lie.
I won’t say the lie , because I don’t need to. But, it’s in my inbox, from the night before, and I’m happy to produce it before any charges need be filed , if the lie is issued (which I doubt it will be).
I don’t want to live in a world of lies. I need the truth. So badly. It’s my gravity…..
I’m almost certainly guilty? But, I can’t plead guilty, because I don’t remember, and, I can’t remember because of the psychosis.
How the fuck did she just almost bring it all together & prove my point? Like 4 minutes ago.
The above is the truth. I’m a mouthy cunt, who is above you, and I am incidentally down right now, and I can’t stand your disregard for who I am, I’m not some thug, I got my tattoos as a way of claiming my autonomy, from ever working for anyone. It’s my company logo, my black market nickname, it’s a tree with dates to honor my dead families death days, and, a Maltese cross twice over, to remind me of the rules of chivalry, which I needed on my hand once, since I got it on my shoulder, to honor him, but, wasn’t being honorable, so, I thought, I’d see it on my hand, that would be better. It didn’t matter in my old life, the old me, didn’t need your regard, but, the old me, could afford to hire Aaron.
And, I may hire Aaron, again, certainly if the lie is made, and probably very soon, to bring closure to this charge.
I believe that I am unable to plead guilty, due to my lack of ability to recall guilt.
But, in light of the facts, if I were to take the stand, and issue this testimony in full, I would find myself:
Not guilty of counts 422. (Because it required the victim to endure an immediacy of the threat, and a sustained belief in the threat, which wasn’t there, because they didn’t even call the cops until almost 9-10 hours later, and they both knew me, well, and if you’ve read this far, you know me too. It’s words, bitch. You can’t beat me at beat my headline.
Without the stipulation of that,a reasonable jury should find me guilty, but, only because I have to concede you all, can’t wrap your head around how insane it is to be me, and, not remember writing those words, as colorful as they are, and have zero intent. It’s possible if you’re as wild as me, at words.
And as to the second count of 653m * 2 : it’s basically not designed for this situation, I’m guilty (most likely, again, I can’t recall, but, sounds about right) - Because, I hit enter. I guess? We’re posting. I hit enter a bunch of times. So, that makes it repeat communication? That doesn’t seem like what the intent of the law is.
The guy - was a friend of mine. Again, I have hardly thought of him, 8:44 —- I do think he never read it seriously, and, since I tried to get him fired, get back at me.
& - as to the girl : he said before the “judge” when getting the restraining order, that, she had been having panic attacks, or something. She seemed super sweet, we were friendly, I had given her a ride once, with a friend, that’s awful, if my stupid word skills made someone feel anxiety, to be….. harmed, and, it’s hard to think seriously about the words (time is - 8:47) but, those words correspond to things I am not correlated to.
Truth is very important to me, so is my job, but, I can’t - make hostilities against the weak. Those who can’t issue their own defense, to offend, impose, upon the weak, in male or female form….. I would never correspond with those words.
Because I am; broken; if you’d like to call it that, but, you can see how smart I am, also, I have a psychological need to live in duality, to be weak & strong, and so, for ex:
This situation;
A crowd of you humiliate someone, say, a mob of you, you being filthy savage things, which you all are to me, you all are tribal chimps in cloth, in that situation, I would, immediately go to defend the individual.
This is because my ego, in tandem with my life, and my complications, produced an identity which prefers to reduce its survival chance, but, maintain affinity with a sense of alignment, in knowing - basically, I’m so awesome I can fight you with a hand tied behind my back?
8:52 - & so, if the lie is issued, that lie brought us here; and, if you are here, and you are sitting in judgement or adjudication, and you are a human; and you are beautiful, because we are in court, where there is law, & law & judgement & adjudication lift us to be good, like many things, but law is good. I could never do any of these things. I’m a super nerd. Not a thug. You look at me like I’m a thug. I can’t stand it.
If you find me truthful, then, you will understand that the lie must be a lie, and my addiction to the truth, and added stress,in tandem with the horrific threat of the lie, brought about by my mouthy ways, which made for this, incident, also likely provoked her to issue the original lie, to me, bringing us here.
I need the truth. It offended me because you fucking animals would put me in a cage, because you look at her, and see innocence, and me, and - they marked my race as other, when they arrested me? Why? I am not other . I am white. My blood is more pure than your blood aspires to be. It’s beyond pure Aryan blood.
I’m 83% tethered to a 5-10 mile radius (Tehran) and the rest is tightly in Iran. Iran, that wasn’t always the name, it was Persia, it was the land of kings for 2,000 years, the world’s longest standing monarchy until the fall of the Shah, and my grandfather came to this country, because he was already here for work, at the White House, at your military branches; he was an ambassador , in charge of receiving state visitors, his official positions were:
Minister of Agriculture
Minister of Forests & Lakes
Minister of Military Fitness
Ambassador to Geneva (which was a huge position, that’s where all of our class hid their money)
He was a Colonel in the military, also….. all of his brothers were generals, all of them, every single one.
And, he was Chairman, of the largest agricultural manufacturing company, he brought drip irrigation to Iran, from Europe.
9:02 ….. so much for the 8:15 goal.
The thing is, my blood is pure, for longer than you people understand. You are the filth of Europe, none among you are half as patriotic as me. My title, my company, Mr. Conservative… I was a state champion policy debater, in high school.
Other? Race other? Persia, assumed the name Iran, as a salutation to Hitler, to celebrate aryan greatness.
Iran means Aryan - in my families language, Farsi.
I’m mor white than any of you, and you peasants are not worthy of your assumed duality, you can’t be beneath me, and above me. You can’t beneath me in quality, and above me in your judgement.
The truth is the truth.
For thousands of years; my bloodline raised superior stock, every generation, superior. Military only, politics only. I come from a martial and politics bloodline, my genealogy explains my preferences, for politics, policy, and power.
But, not to drone on, but, it’s necessary for you scum to understand: I’m not a little different than you, I am, different.
I come from better bloodlines, I was raised by honorable men, I am resolved to be great, I am both by condition & blood incapable of being someone to carry out the words described, or, capable of the lie.
And, it caused too much bull shit last time, 9:11 pm - how would I, who - have been cooperative with the FBI & DOJ & HIC who before the age of 20 worked for:
The republic governors association
The national republican senatorial committee
The national republican congressional committee
The republican national committee
& the national democratic congressional committee
If you want to break something, give me an IQ test, I won’t tell you the number.
Give me a lie detector. I am a human truth machine.
If you are being even marginally honest with yourself, you can’t adjudicate against me for the lie, it’s not my fault, that I - to amuse myself; while bored play the logic games in PLSAT books.
You think you’re a good prosecutor? You may be a capable and ethical prosecutor, for example, but, if I was a lawyer, you would have lost to me in debate, and in the courtroom.
And, the sheriff, they can’t stand me, because something is off and they can’t reconcile the contradiction:
I’m from a martial line, everyone in my bloodline assumed top tier command positions. All you have to show mis is mediocrity, and you wonder why we have an uncomfortable relationship, if my bloodline had any interest in martial acts here, I would be your commander, it doesn’t matter who among you we are referring to.
I will not apologize or lie for your amusement or to pander to you.
My honor; and my code; and my truth, are more important to me than my freedom. If the truth is I am guilty, and if guilt, results in prison, then I am to be in prison, and that is American justice, and that’s fantastic justice
(American judicial systems established by the founders, said in correspondences written by Franklin, “look to Cyrus” (for reason).
Cyrus refers to Cyrus the Great. 9:21 PM - Cyrus established the world’s first religiously free society, codified on the Cyrus cylinder.
The Cyrus cylinder and the Persian (Aryan) empire included the American system (your young system, which is obviously superior)
I was born here, I am of here, I am not your thug, I will not live another hour of my life under the tyranny of the lie which may very well, without it, be the seed which without , we aren’t here.
I will never email you all again, because, you’re B list press, and D list lawyers and officers.
I will state the truth, and summarize, why you received this email:
You are peasantry unworthy of imprisoning m for a lie, after thousands of years of pure breeding, in America, I am the last man and heir to my family name, which you are not entitled to deprecate in your cage. You’re a mob, of peasants.
And, how can I be both crazy, unhinged, so void of reason, and yet so complex, i don’t need to make sense to you, you’re not relevant. I am shocked I have to pander to you.
And before anyone mutters “mouthy Arab” because you think I’m other while you have cloaked Aryan pride amongst your shitty sheriffs, who boast mud blood whiteness at best; your martial abilities are as impure as you comparatively reduced Aryan purity.
I went to an army office at 18, as a nerd, policy debater, and I chose not to move forward out of deference to my grandfather and because I only wanted to do 2 years.
“Race - Other” - I am not an other.
I am not what is worst about your society, OUR CULTURE.
9:30.
• So you understand, it’s the anxiety of the idea of being locked up, over a lie, to people I don’t know, who can’t without knowing me offer me proper adjudication.
While I don’t respect the Sheriff. I have religious devotion to justice. I will respect, honor, and adhere to the consequences of my actions as they are in - truth & actuality - as it corresponds to our justice system, which I admire.
While resenting that it’s force component, is led by men that don’t inspire me or allegory their officers.
9:35 —- I’m 1 hr 15 m over budget.
I had to say what I had to say. I need the truth. To rationalize my world.
Here are images I screenshotted while writing. I now need to get back to work. You people robbed me of 7 or 8 months now, not another minute, or email, or word for you.
Best Regards,
Cyrus
-- Best Regards, Cyrus G. Massoumi
T | 415.745.5411
Sent with Mixmax
Best Regards, Cyrus G. Massoumi
T | 415.745.5411