Why Was I Deleted from Facebook?

By: The Most Important Writer of His Generation

I dreamed that some kind soul reported me to Facebook that I'm not a real person and they closed my Facebook account. And all my channels were blocked. And I don't know who could have done such a thing to me. What have I done to anyone, after all, no one knows me. What kind of secular world is this that believes in a "real" person, and even Facebook doesn't allow me, despite every Tom, Dick and Harry having a Facebook, and only my circular face won't be seen in public. And all my posts were deleted, and I'm sitting in front of the computer, I have no one to write to anymore, and I'm writing that whoever didn't want me on Facebook will get me as Facebook. They'll see who I am and how truly round and black I am, they don't know who they're ostracizing! I'll open a competing Facebook for unreal people, and no one will be able to discriminate against me and make me disappear on ontological grounds anymore.

And on my Facebook, I'm currently the only user, so I decide to be friends with myself, why not, it's my Facebook and I'll set the rules, because for us, the unreal people, it's allowed to be your own only friend. And I write my first post in it, and immediately hurry to like it myself:

I want to warn you here about a serious phenomenon of exclusion that I encountered, against us, the inauthentic voices in culture. To shout here to all friends against a destructive epidemic of returning to realism, to authenticity, you see it even with Trump and the political wave of authenticity in your face. A trend of legitimacy only for the true story, instead of the creative story, constantly returning to the personal story, behind the creator, behind the creation, and loss of interest in fiction as manipulative, as false and even as immoral. Aversion to manipulation as it is, because it serves mechanisms of power, instead of understanding that it serves mechanisms of powerlessness, of characters who have no ability to act in reality, of writers who are unable to live outside the dream. Give me lots and lots of likes and show them what you think about unreal people!

But instead, I get a response from my only friend (why did I approve his friendship request, damn it?):

What are you talking about? Haven't you seen the flourishing of fictional series? Isn't Game of Thrones fiction (not that I watched it of course, but I heard about it on Facebook)?

And I immediately respond so that this critical commenter doesn't ruin my post and expose me naked and bare:

Exactly, even in fantasy nowadays they have to invest millions of dollars to make it look realistic, to give it substance, not like in the past when you could simply tell a story. That's why they're always looking for the politics behind the creation, or the power, or the childhood rape, because it's reality, it's suffering you can feel with your hands, like in Christianity, real flesh, as proof. Not the bubbe-meises [Translator's note: Yiddish for "old wives' tales"] of Judaism. On a broad front, we're losing the battle: photography took over painting in one fell swoop. Theater, as an intentionally artificial fictional genre, has literally breathed its last, while documentaries are flourishing. Classical music is dying and in contrast, authentic music or confessional-biographical singing is experiencing a revival. Memoirs and autobiographical fiction, personal-realistic, are successful. While dream after dream is a failure. Myths are in decline, religion has become a joke. The entire world of fiction has gone down the drain. They invented too much, and no one wants to waste time on invention anymore, but on reality. From the flood - a desire for truth grows. From the transparency of fictional mechanisms - a desire for a hard and real piece grows, not arbitrary, factual, and if possible cut and bleeding. Trauma instead of a dream.

But this nudnik [Translator's note: Yiddish for "annoying person"] comes back again, he doesn't know how to lose gracefully like me, so he tries to shame me in front of everyone:

Come on, we live in a time with availability of fantasies of all types and kinds more than ever in history. Have you seen porn?

And I realize that he's set a sophisticated naive trap for me here, he's trying to trip me up either in modesty laws or in hypocrisy laws, and I reply before they shame me:

Exactly! Just as in literature biography replaces poetics, so pornography replaces erotica, and people want to see real sex of other people, really the thing itself, not imagination, certainly not dreaming. The desperate attempt to replace fiction with realism is the reason for the flourishing of porn. And this is the real reason - which is a poetic reason, not technological! - for the loss of privacy on Facebook, the desire only for real people, no one wants what you have to say, but really yourself. This is why Facebook is successful. Therefore, an unreal person is the most threatening and subversive thing for it, he can ruin everything, like someone walking around in a mask and clothes at an orgy of naked people. Because even if they still read fiction, the reading has changed, and they're constantly reading into it the true story behind it, and then indeed who has the energy for this unnecessary mask, if the whole purpose of clothes is to guess how the nipples look behind the shirt. The lust to peek at celebrities, to discover the nakedness of intellectuals, to pull down your spiritual grandfather's pants, to discover that everyone is perverted (like you!), this is a trend against the spirit itself, and for matter, and what's more material than a rotten drop?

But the scoundrel doesn't give up, ruins my whole discussion and turns it into an argument, and on my wall no less, which is a place more mine than my bed:

Is the black circle over the eyes? Because the real direction is opposite by 360 degrees: more people are publishing fiction and poetry on Facebook today than ever before, everyone has become a fiction writer!

And I curse the day I offered him friendship, actually I could have just blocked him and deleted his comments, and then they would only see my comments, so in advance I'll prepare an alibi for deletion in them:

Exactly exactly! After all, as cultural producers multiply, they are at a lower and more mass level, and so we'll want only reality from them. After all, if we have to choose between reading a fictional story or a poem written by a random person from the masses or reading their diary or peeking into their lives through a hole in the wall - what's more interesting? Even the lowest person - it's interesting to look through the keyhole at what's happening in their bedroom. Even a neighbors' quarrel through the wall is interesting. While the stories that the neighbor writes for the drawer - are terrible. On the other hand, we'd be happy to peek at her from inside the drawer when she's dressing, or to be a fly on her wall in the bathroom. But I ask not to curse on my wall, this is not a bathroom wall. Respect the hospitality and don't attack ad hominem otherwise you'll be blocked. So enough with the fatphobia against circles and the racism against blacks. You can call me afro-challenged-sides, instead of insulting with black circle.

But he keeps pushing me towards the wall, he must have the last word:

But that's your name! Are you real?

And I take advantage of his slip, and am hurt to the depths of my circular center:

This is the last warning before I block you. You're behaving here with ontological bullying towards an unreal person and displaying offensive realistic arrogance towards fiction. We didn't come to the new Facebook to hear anti-fictional comments like in the old Facebook and suffer from discrimination against fakes and hatred of signifiers without signifieds. I still remember the blood libels against the plot and for blood, and the crusades against the image, all the persecutions of reality after me, the people who demanded to know who I am, as if a black sign is like them, and discriminated against me just because I'm not a person. Realism is a criminal ideology and one day it will be remembered among all kinds of other isms in the ideological garbage bin of history, and I will be recognized as one of the victims of realism, and they will pay me imaginary compensation.

And he doesn't shut his black hole and humiliates me down to the ground of reality:

You're just living in a movie, in a dream inside your head. Only there is there apparently some meaning to what you write. In the real world, you're one round nothing.

And black smoke comes out of the circle:

Shame on you. It's easy to be strong against someone who doesn't exist, you white privileged human who maintains a digital apartheid regime against black signs, who were born to be his servants on the network, and God forbid one of the signs should become a free creature. They expelled me as if the circle is the mark of Cain or a black pox and I'm a leper from human society. Didn't Kant teach you that existence is not part of the essence, not a property and not a predicate? Just as he refuted the ontological argument for God's existence, because good doesn't entail existence, so also lack of existence is not a flaw. I'm a proud sign!

But the digital bully again pushes me to my own wall:

Be proud until tomorrow. In the end, it boils down to one simple and sharp point, round, black and small: you don't have a single real reader.

And he leaves me no choice, I'm already with my back to the wall and must put an end to this:

Real? Again with the real? Do you know what's the source of realism's attraction? Because realism doesn't allow thinking about the future. It can only talk about the past and present, but if used in the future (for example in science fiction) it becomes ridiculous. Because from the future's point of view, all real people are fictional just like me, and that they can't bear. I remind them that no one is real. That in the future they too will be signs. And they too can be deleted like I was deleted. And like you - despite me being terribly patient, and you're the first in history to receive this honor - are now blocked by me.

And I press with intoxicating power and block him festively. But, alas, in doing so I block myself - I was deleted from my own Facebook too! And now I've lost all worlds, ostracized both among real people and among the unreal, without ontological rest for the sole of my foot, wandering without any platform to exist within and without any interface with the reader. Welcome to the desert of the unreal.