---
slug: fn-src-post-065
title: "Facebook journal — 2025-06-25"
kind: source_post
status: published
hash: b3fd8b8a0b9b7726be2c6fcbb4aea52027d24781c01895b2bb96ae44c9a59c7b
created: 2026-10-11T06:39:57.734Z
updated: 2026-10-11T06:39:57.734Z
summary: ""
tags: []
above: ["[[fn-index-posts]]"]
below: []
adjacent: []
nested: []
---
# Facebook journal — 2025-06-25

Everything & Nothing Indefinitely 06.25.25.14.48

Sometimes I stare at a glass & I had wondered where the fifth option was, from my designer, and today I feel like I want to raise my glass & make him a toast. 

In the first world, negotiations are made about how full the glass is. It doesn’t matter, the liquid is poison. You’re going to choke on it, but, at least it lets me drink. 

In the second world, there is no poison, but, I don’t get to choke, and so there is a scratch waiting for an itch. 

In the in between layers I observe the proletariat, they are negotiating over the merits of poison or choking, I don’t engage with them, I live with the charming voice tapping its paws as you begin to wonder what the social transactional value of a post would be, stating whatever has been written, and yet to be writ. 

In the third layer, you get to celebrate your choking, the designer holds happy hour 24/7, but, there’s a rub, you’ve got to hang out with him, you’ve got to hang out with poison praisers, and, you have to conceal your resentment. 

I’m fine, thank you. 

In the fourth layer, you choke, either because you had nothing to drink, or because you drank too much, but, you get to hang out with your ilk. Alas, I am a stranger to them too. 

In the fifth layer, you neither dignify the design, the glass, or the experience. Turn that glass into a bucket, turn the drink into waterboarding. Waterboard on the dust. Choke on the poison. It’s not that I have a talent for writing dark, it’s not that I’m crying for help, it’s not that I need help. 

I’m on the fifth layer, & I want the designer to know I am not going to revise what moves I have made, how those moves have reacted to me, that I fear the fifth layer that wasn’t offered, or that I believe in any of the layers. 

Whatever happens, is happening, there is no avoiding, rewriting, revisions, returns, redos. Luxuries of past lives aren’t a guarantee of future returns. 

I went to a wall, because all of the hills to die on had forsaken me, to the wall. I came to the wall, to measure myself, I wanted a wall that I could break down, or to break me down, and to measure myself against. I came to a wall, that looked like a post, and I didn’t even ask the AI to tell me why I posted it, what my motivation was.  I came to the wall; and a mirror was hanging down at eye level, I broke my arms against the wall, and so I made clubs of them. I would not kneel before the wall, to spite the hills, and the wall, and the mirror. 

I broke down the wall, and I found a mirror inside, and as it fell down, I picked it up ever so gently. I handed you the mirror, I just wanted to take a look at the hills. But, you wouldn’t take it, you were already holding a mirror, I looked at the reflection, waiting to see whatever the emotion was, but, you were staring in the way, staring back at me. 

I wrote a post just to feel something. But, there was nothing to write, just these few words. 

I wrote down my dreams, and I asked you to tread carefully, but, I quietly hoped —- for (?) [your guess is as good as mine friend]. 


## Facts

```json
{
  "platform": "Facebook",
  "source_id": "https://facebook.com/100035971342878/posts/pfbid0SJ77GAwsxxpujLyfsFRGsZd5xC9by6e1nW1UhkTzqhTsQovLbNf6ZJu94wdbRfHWl/",
  "date_as_recorded": "2025-06-25",
  "post_type": "entmobilestatusphoto",
  "author": "Cyrus Massoumi",
  "retrieval": "Facebook connection timeline fetch, 2026-10-10 (case file Appendix C)"
}
```

---

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