There are two types of people who can tell you the truth about yourself: an enemy who has lost his temper and a friend who loves you dearly.
The Rumors of My Demise...
Alas, my belligerent ways got the better of me. Facebook deigned to note my existence and takes umbrage at my name, insisting no one would actually name their child "Sisyphus". I'm hurt. Since I doubt very much that the Facebook behemoth has a minion devoted to discovering and deciding worthiness of participants, one must assume that I angered some ideologically rigid, arrested development wingnut with the truth, who then gathered up their negative emotions, ran off to their Facebook mommy, demanded and obtained censorship, thus achieving no victory, but satisfaction in fulfilling their ad hominem, with no one left to point out the fallacy.
At this point I can engage them and launch into yet another defense of pseudonymity and how it filled a vital role in accomplishing change in rigid and dogmatic environments throughout history in enabling the speaking of truth to power without recrimination. Indeed, our country's birth owes much to pseudonymous writers, the right to which was incorporated into the first amendment. Or I could point out that pseudonymous internet users actually improve a site's comment section. But we all know how that will turn out.
Being a Democrat in Idaho, I'm no stranger to quixotic endeavors, but there has to be an end game worthy of achievement. Given the multitude of assumed names which grace Facebook, commercial or otherwise, their stand is little short of hypocritical and certainly randomly erratic. But I'm fond of my subversive persona and loathe the idea of acquiescing to such arbitrary power and control. So I bide my time while mulling whether to die ignobly and permanently or rise like a Phoenix in another guise. I loved my community of friends and hope my existence enabled you to engage each other on a more personal level. Adieu.