Okay, so we all have fake names and can hide ourselves from everyone here with our nicknames, but we still show a good portion of ourselves on the board with what we say and what forums we take part in. My question is:
Who’s your secret identity?
You know, when you fantasize about being something more, what is it? Secret Agent, Sex Kitten, Demon Lord, what?
My most prominant is Cpt. Pyro, a super hero of sorts with, you guessed it, pyrokinetic abilities. I’m a very laid back, pacifistic person, but anyone who’s seen my art books knows there’s a lot of pent up aggression there. Cpt. Pyro is my outlet. He uses that fury to power his rage and creates infernos to help keep the world safe from harm. Of course, being me, he’s also a big screw up, so he’s not the best hero out there. But he can withstand being thrown through a concrete pillar, and in the end, isn’t that what really counts?
Many years ago I had a girlfriend who lived 4 hours away from me, and I spent a lot of time driving back and forth to see her. To amuse myself during those drives, I invented a fake band, with myself as lead guitars/vocals/songwriting. I planned out the albums (ripping them off from existing bands), thought about interviews, etc. I have quite an elaborate backstory for this band.
I’d like very much to be Doc Cathode for real-an expert in chemistry, electrical engineering etc. Someone capable of delighting children with amazing tricks of science. Someone capable of repairing all the broken stuff I can’t quite fix. Someone who knows a plethora of secrets and tricks the average person does not (EG-Of course I fixed the tv. All I needed was two pennies and piece of sugarless gum)
The second is the NightFlyer(I gave him that name before I ever heard of Stephen King’s story by that title)-a werebat. A few years ago, I wrote a story in which I had animals stand in for various people. I made myself a bat. I’ve come to identify more and more with them. I’m manic depressive, during bouts of depression I tend to sleep days and be awake nights-like bats. When the pills work, or when I’m on an upcycle, I can do amazing things. But, when I’m down or the pills stop working, I’m a helpless wreck. Bats are the only mammals capable of true flight. But, most are helpless on the ground. I was always an outcast at school, and plenty of false rumors about me were circulated. Again, bats are alone-the only flying mammals. They are also the victims of harmful rumors(which is not to say their harmless-they can and do get rabies. I’ve gotta cover my butt on that one). Physical transformation has always been a dream of mine. I long to pull free of my skin and be something else underneath. Like many people, I’ve always wanted to fly. To rise into the night sky on bats wings would be bliss.
From Clive Barker's Nightbreed-
“You hate us. But when you dream, you dream of flying and changing and living without death.”
And
“To be smoke or a wolf, to know the night and live in it forever, that’s not so bad?”
For the sake of clarity, I want to stress that I do not want to be a vampire. My dream is of a living man who can become a living bat. So lump me in with the werewolf nutcases, not the vampire nutcases.
Karani Czeram, rock star, mage and politician was my teenage alter ego.
My daydream alter ego is Empress of “For Fuck’s Sake”, with the ability to administer whupass at a distance, tell people what they need telling, and generally sort shit out.
I help a friend write comic books. You want a list? I think my favourite is Wildfire, a short, blond, pyro- and-telekinetic telepath, who likes to build snow forts. (Her real name: Sylvia). You wouldn’t believe how much backstory there is to her…
She’s on a superhero team with two werewolves, a psychic, and a half Ojibwa, half Martian guy. It’s a really weird comic book.
My alter ego is an Eisenhower-era Baltimore housewife. Her husband is a WWII decorated pilot with an advanced degree from Hopkins in engineering, who gave up running his father’s stonemasonry business to work in engineering research and development.
By day, this fearless Junior Leaguer plans fundraisers, serves on numerous committees at the local Episcopal church, and gives guided tours at the Hampton Mansion. She satisfies her “daring” side by painting scary Expressionist-inspired oils that scandalize her parents and disturb her husband.
By night, she meets her husband at the door with a drink (she likes the personal touch). Then she and hubby have exciting, heated debates while they eat, culminating in some really wild and kinky sex, sometimes on top of the dinner table. She and her husband are actually well-suited to each other and very happy.
Eventually, at the outset of the Pop Sixties, she may go completely nuts and run away to hang with Andy Warhol’s Factory crowd in New York. Husband will sigh, take a mistress, and send his wife a check each month to cover expenses. If he knows her, she’ll be back.
I’d be an X-Man, too. My character’s name is Gaia. She basically has the powers of all those lame-ass Captain Planeteers – can control/produce air, fire, water, and earth, in addition to telepathy. She’s the real mistress of the elements and Storm can kiss her butt. I’ve had her in my mind for – literally – ten years now. Sigh. I wanna be a mutie.
Rock guitarist. Definitely a rock guitarist. But not in a metal band or anything flashy like that; just a straight-up rock band. Like, I don’t know, Screaming Trees or something. I’d be a really good guitarist, but not flamboyant or anything. Kind of boring, I guess, but that’d be sweet.
Yeah, I know. Matt Stone. But I came up with the name before that guy ever came up with South Park.
Anyway- he’s 16 times better than the average human at everything. Is a voracious learner, and is self-taught in every topic under the sun, thanks to a completely eidetic memory. Seven-foot tall, weighs about 500 pounds, can outrun a cheetah, lift almost 1.5 tons, can hold his breath for a little over an hour, is immune to every disease, is basically immortal, and collects languages for fun. He’s the head of a research foundation named Paratech. He’s also (secretly) ten years old, and an abandoned orphan who was raised by a nun.
He’s incredibly lonely, though, for obvious reasons… but will sacrifice anything to keep mankind safe.
I’ve played him in a couple of RPGs… but he’s difficult to do right. It’s hard to roleplay someone who’s so smart that he always knows the answer before the question’s been asked.
In my little imaginary world, everything I do is going to be scrutinized someday long after my death. I will become posthumously famous for something or other, and my life will be researched much like that of Plath, Sexton, or Shakespeare’s…shrouded in mystery and awe. Of course, I’m not suicidal, I don’t molest my children, and I don’t write plays…but I’m working on it. I just haven’t found my niche yet
Lowlife. Part rock star (like a white Bootsy Collins – is that high concept or what?), part mutant. Okay that sounds more redundant than I thought. Naturally I’d drive a low rider car. The bass guitar would be part of my body, and the whole world would be my amplifier – we’re talkin’ subwoofer, baby.
Naturally I’d date A440, the mutant chick with the anatomical tuning fork. Plus she’d have all the tools to work on the bass appendage.
Wow, hmm, fantasy alter ego… Well, I never did have a name for it, but I’ve always fantasized about being able to stop time and shoot lighting from my fingers like Raiden from MK. And have an umbrella that was a shotgun.
No, I don’t know why. But I’m sure many cars have felt strange seeing me shoot them with my umbrella as they drove by.
Henri Duvel. A European film actor who, like my hero Klaus Kinski, is in great demand for avante garde art films as well as trashy horror/action/spaghetti western/sci fi flicks. I’m tempermental, difficult, and probably insane but will do any film if the money is right or the location interests me. My rages on set are legendary, but so are my performances which can make any dreck watchable.
I sleep with my co-stars, any script girl who catches my eye, producers’ wives, Eurotrash hanger-ons, or any stewardess who recognizes me (and they all recognize me). I love no one but myself, I’m cruel to my lovers, but they still retain a sick loyalty to me after I am done with them. They all love their “Devil”.
Directors loathe me, but they still come crawling to Henri when they need a name to sell their flick. I only do exploitation and independent garbage in America to make the Hollywood shit merchants jealous. Someday I will agree to work for one of the big studio directors, but only for a ridiculous amount of money so I can finance my own directorial debut. An accurate biographical film about the life of American mercenary William Walker. Then they will see what “genius” really is…
This should tell you just how pathetic my real real life is.
A younger version of the Godfather. E’nuff said. Or someone close under that person, but high enough that I wouldn’t really have to get my own hands dirty, I’d have lackies for that stuff. I wish I could be the type of guy who could just make a phone call and have whatever I wanted. I don’t need any super powers, just a lot of friends in very high places.
