Prolepsis (pro-lep’-sis): (1) A synonym for procatalepsis [refuting anticipated objections]; (2) speaking of something future as though already done or existing. A figure of anticipation.
“This is the dawning of the age of aquarium.” I thought that was so funny, my pun on “Aquarius”—the play “Hair’s” theme song with long- haired people prancing around naked in the audience singing. It was the 60s.
It was crazy. I took acid and joined a cult called the “Tony Balonies.” Tony Baloney was a clockmaker whose clocks were always fast. People adjusted to the clock’s miscalculation and believed they lived 15 minutes in the future. For us, as Baloneyists, the future was now. When it was Monday, for us, it was Tuesday. We couldn’t hold jobs because we were never on time.
We had a school bus. It belonged to our leader Be-bop-a-Lulah. He was a multi-millionaire who had inherited his wealth from “Napalm Saviors” when his grandfather died and the company was sold. His real name was Billy Jean and he liked to dance on the dance floor and around, but as the Big Baloney he spent his time taking care of us. So, we didn’t need jobs. We rode in our bus and lived in it and followed a rock band in it. The band’s name was “Spanx.” They were unpopular and the audiences for their concerts frequently consisted solely of us. The band consisted of four bass guitarists, three accordions, a triangle and two drummers. I liked the triangle solos, especially the theme song to “All in the Family.” It was like the version Johnny Rotten played, but it was edgier.
Spanx had a conservative orientation. Their playlist included “Falling Dominoes,” “Bomb Hanoi,” “Secret Agent Orange Man,” and “Nixon Our Savior.” I didn’t particularly like any of Spanx’s songs, but for the free ride I was getting, I pretended I was a fan. But, we got a reputation and were called “The Rolling Fascists” and were unwelcome at most concerts. We barely escaped death at a Grateful Dead concert. The fans put a bomb under our bus. It fell off as we drove away and blew a five-foot deep hole in the field. With a fight, I got off the bus at the next stop.
I was free! I got a job in a gourmet beer bar. We sold beer like “Thistle Mist,” “Foam on the Range,” and “Roman Nose.” I had to learn a menu of 150 craft beers. I loved it. I had my own apartment where I could take showers, cook and watch TV. Then Be-bop-a-Lulah showed up with two thugs demanding I pay him mileage for all the times I rode around in his bus. He claimed I owed him $50.00. I had that much cash in my wallet. I paid him and he left. It was so weird, but not out of character for Be-bop-a-Lulah. I read in the newspaper two days later that he perished when his bus hit a bridge abutment. In a way, I felt relieved.
Then I met Candy Girl. The Four Seasons had a hit song named after her. She sets my heart a-whirl, just like the song. She told me I made her heart go “boom, boom, boom.” We got married and live in a rock n’ roll fantasy. Our daughter, Sherry Baby, is smart, creative, and kind.
The three of us are happy as “time keeps on slippin’ into the future” and we’re always 15 minutes off.
Definition courtesy of “Silva Rhetoricae” (rhetoric.byu.edu)
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