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WARNING!  THIS IS A SPOILER THREAD!  (more below the fold)

If it hasn't occurred to you by now, ek hornbeck (your humble servant), has about as much reality as Mark Twain.

This separation between real me and my fictional self has some very practical roots.  After it's been soaked with kerosene you just have to cut the damn grass out and replace it with new sod.  I do feel I've been honest enough so you could get within spitting distance were you so inclined.

Too late now.

Some people may think that my motivation is to snipe from behind a mask.  "'ek' you don't have an e-mail or a website you weasel".  If you want a response from me, reply to a comment.  When I think I'm done I usually just give you a hug (4), but I still promise a personal piece of snark (or an unworthy substitute).

'ek' is not a character of my creation, I was assigned it for a class dramatization and it resonated.  I had already been thrown out of morning exercises twice (year long suspensions mind you) for refusing to say the pledge and reading during the minute of silence.  (Hmm... I just now started wondering what my teacher was thinking when she assigned me 'ek').

I hadn't thought much about it for years when I was confronted with the question about how I wanted to be known on dKos.  'ek' leapt from my fingertips unbidden.

'ek' was always a political soul mate, but I must admit that I didn't understand him emotionally then the way I do now.  Do I want a fan?  I'd die first.

I am shallow and one dimensional.  You can't quite place my name but it has unpleasant connotations.  I write brilliant little symphonies of words, IMHO.  "'ek', you seem so..."  Cynical?  That's my fascination...  I came here to find a stump to shout from too, but I'm no longer as sure that Henry's Lizzie leaves behind yesterday's messiah.  Hello Devil.  Welcome to Hell.

It's very flattering when you comment, it feeds my immense ego whether you're a fan or a foe.  If it grieves you to read reporting so biased, I have an answer.  I AM NOT A REPORTER!  I'm a critic.

And when the time comes for me bid a fond farewell to Hillsboro (remember, I had a nice clean place to stay.  I left it to come here.), I'll miss it.  A melange of Moorish and Methodist, it must have been designed by a congressman.  Pity?  Hah!  Show me a whiner, and I'll show you an also-ran, a might-have-been, an almost was.  Let us leave the lamentations to the illiterate.  Besides, you're damn right to be tired of me, I've never pushed a noun against a verb except to blow up something.  No one will come to my funeral, it's where my loneliness leads me.

I believe in manifestos, not good byes, and one should not be mistaken for the other.  Heck, I'm prepared to defend my MetaNamesake, HL (but only so far, he said some really hateful things).  The only thing you have on me is that I'd spit on someone's grave.

But as pleasurable (in a totally onanistic sense) as it has been to visit my fictional self, my main question is this-

Do dogs grow to look like their companions, or the companions like the dogs?

Originally posted to The Stars Hollow Gazette on Sat Aug 06, 2005 at 06:30 PM PDT.


So do they?

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| 14 votes | Vote | Results

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Comment Preferences

  •  Vent Hole. (none)
    Not that your opinion could possibly matter to me, my vanity is self sustaining. I am here to comfort the afflicted and afflict the comfortable.
  •  E.K. Hornbeck... (none)
    I just rented Inherit the Wind a couple of nights was just fun to see the name after watching that great movie so recently......

    The only life that matters to a conservative is that which can't talk back.

    by cls180 on Sat Aug 06, 2005 at 06:30:41 PM PDT

  •  So, is this GBCW... (4.00)
    ...or what?  Perhaps it's the headache I've had for the last eight or so hours, perhaps it's me being my usual semi-obtuse self, but what is your point? (and I'm sure that you do have one)  

    Be the creature. (But not a Republican.) blogomni

    by boran2 on Sat Aug 06, 2005 at 08:33:22 PM PDT

    •  Absolutely not. (none)
      And I prefer GBCK.  Nope, this is the diary I point people at who say I lack seriousness and depth, that my posts are poorly researched and speculative.  This is the diary I trot out when people say I'm humorless and pedantic, an emotionless bully.

      Not that anyone would mind you, I'm such a pussycat.

      My point, and I have one (at least an intellectual one- Rafael, RAFAEL!  Where's my Viagra?), is that I think your choice of nom de guerre is either reflective of your inner personality OR it subconsciously shapes your expression.

      Imagine what you would have to put up with if I was posting under 'William Faulkner'.

      •  Too late- (none)
        The moon is full.  My inner Faulkner has come out.

        The cool mist settled in the hollows of the night as the idiot stood by the fence contemplating (as well as his child-like mind could) the bovine somnolence that stood before him, serenely dreaming lactative 4 stomach dreams of endless fields of daisies, yes daisies for that was her name- Daisy, bright as the summer sun, long slow munching of grass and partially digested grass, methane producing, global warming Daisy.  She smelled of the earth and as he approached her side, careful not to disturb her gentle 'earth gifts', he could feel the heat of her fermentive power, the transformation of cool clay, the wetness of spring floods, and the greenness, the awesome greenness of the whole valley.

        Gently he pushed her and she collapsed, even now unconscious, the pastures of her youth playing in her mind as the idiot re-crossed the boundary between what was her and her kind's alone, back to the mundane reality that waited for him, back to his own kind and their cruel taunts.

        As the sun rose the mist fled.  Daisy, startled, rose to her feet and resumed her life as if nothing had happened.  The idiot, wracked by guilt, finished his undergraduate degree in english liturature, not only never forgetting his youthful indiscretions but in fact REVELING in them as he said to me-

        "Do you want fries with that?"

        Aooooow.  Someone get a silver bullet- please!

  •  I wish I looked like my dog (none)
    He was a eight week old mutt when I got him so I had no idea what he would be, besides BIG.  So if I resembled my dog, I would be a tall leggy blonde with big hair, a lean muscular physique and a love of cross country runs. The amber eyes would be quite catching I think.  I would greet everybody I saw, frequently going across the street to do so.  I wouldn't give hugs and kisses to everybody.  I would go up to them, look at them gravely, give them a firm handshake and introduce myself.
    •  Then you are my perfect test case. (none)
      Either the long cross country runs will produce a 'lean muscular physique' or the dog will learn to love watching TV at your feet (or on the couch, how you raise your dog is up to you).  Blonde comes in a bottle, but amber eyes would be startling and artificial- I understand they make contacts for dogs now, lord knows I'd never be able to get used to sticking a finger in my eyes.

      I think you got the look and handshake thing down.

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