A brief theory of who we become behind the masks of user names and profiles.
|There comes a time when writing does not fall off the pen and spread across paper a masterpiece that indulges every reader and keeps them coming back for more. As a writer you will find many times in life that time seems to get the better of you and that one can't find peace amongst the demand of good novels and stories. So, the human mind can only take so much before going to drastic decisions. Some may consider the profound idea of hiding themselves in a world that only exists to alternate egos and half-minded psychopaths. The internet can in no way become a home. You are greeted by usernames, not human beings. You are never welcome in the place and neither do you eat nor sleep in the place. There is no since of privacy or confidence, and no need for whispers or conculence. For why would you need conculence when you have pornography, bootleg movies, and instant messaging? Everything unethical or immoral can be found on the internet. Suicides happen just about everyday over an internet relation gone bad. Those who commit the suicide earlier say they are doing so because they thought that a person was their friend. When writing, you are open to more attack from critics than ever. Your work is publicly displayed on a domain that belongs (once again) to only usernames. Without thought or discretion they butcher and chop away every tiny thing that they see unfit in their eyes. Is it unfit in their human eyes, or their alias' eyes?
Let us take an example. I will fabricate a username of Ms._Ego2008. She may come across as a troubled young girl with the issues of insecurity and blatant ignorance. However, her true potential for becoming an astounding creator of stories shows another girl...a human girl. This side of Ms._Ego2008 holds a name that belongs to a real person. This person is intelligent, free of the overbearing critics in cyberspace, and untouchable by the remarks posted against her. In truth or tale, posts can be discouraging, but when someone pushes out the idea of holding a virtual world close and dear to them, it becomes clear that these posts are harmless and meaningless. We enter alter egos whenever we become to indulged, and this forces our minds to rise above what we actually are and become god-like in others' eyes. We'll wave a sword on the internet, but a pen in the real world. We'll boast of our accomplishments on the internet, but only speak of our aspirations in the real world.
To say that this place is a home (whether second place or not) is like saying the sky is brown and the grass is purple. We are all of us who we chose to be on the internet. This is because we feel secure behind our little computer screens. We are like Zeus holding lightning bolts whenever we move the mouse. We become Hephaestus when we pound on the keyboard. We are like Hera when scanning the screen for details to point out and laugh at. In all, we are a mixture of injustice, immorality, and unethical thought. You have all heard me ramble about these things before. I must admit that many a time, my own alter ego has stepped into play. I try my best to be who I really am on the internet. But as mentioned before in this website's history, no one in cyberspace can be trusted.
Ernest Hemingway (The Man and the Sea) and F. Scott Fitzgerald (The Great Gatsby) were good friends. They were both prestigious authors and highly regarded by their's and our society for their creativity and accomplishments in writing. However, they were both also different. Scott was a heavy drinker and party animal who could write a societally-approved masterpiece within a month. Hemingway, on the other hand, struggled to write. Why? Ernest Hemingway was a man who knew how to lay down that sword and pick up the pen. He is the one who got in his friend's face and told him, "You write the truth when writing fiction." Shortly afterwards, Scott wrote and published the Great Gatsby. It was a story about him more than a story about an ego that he wished he had. Gatsby was a con man and an immoral character. He was no hero or protagonist in the story. When he was shot, the students in my English class wanted to throw the book out the window. I shook my head in their misunderstanding.
Scott learned how to write the truth when writing fiction through criticism and a good friend. I have learned this same thing, except through a father...something more than just a friend. Many a time, I have taken these truths to the internet (including here) and fabricated them into stories and roleplays. Each have been nearly ruined due to the misunderstanding or the overly stressed egos of usernames.
I cannot say that rouge47 is human. I cannot say that Mahz, or Candi, or Lordlynxx are human beings. I cannot even say that Jay117 is human. Nor is 76, Manda-Panda, Mikodite, Sai Raven, or Anonymous Knight. For these are aliases. They are names twisted into egos that portray not who we are as human beings...homo sapiens...but what we desire to be. I am no reporter. I am no Sagen. I am no All Seeing Eye. I am definitely no hero. I am Paul. A sinner. A man. A son. I am not rouge47.