Monthly Archives: June 2024

Assonance

Assonance (ass’-o-nance): Repetition of similar vowel sounds, preceded and followed by different consonants, in the stressed syllables of adjacent words


Water bubbles across the yard. The broken well makes mud. “Drink it! Drink it!” My heated brain yells. “What am I, nuts?” This is the right question under the circumstances.

I am writing a play titled “All is Well.” It makes me thirsty.. I head into the kitchen for a glass of water. I notice a fist shaking at me from out of the sink’s drain. It’s wearing an expensive watch! Then, I realize it is after three a.m. and my medication is wearing off. My condition induces vivid hallucinations that are easy to confuse with reality. Last week I thought I saw a murder take place in my front yard. A little man in a trench coat stabbed a woman in a wheelchair to death, and then, wheeled her away down the street. I checked the murder scene the next morning and saw no blood on the pavement and decided it was a hallucination. I just have to remember to take my anti-hallucinatory medication, “Delusionoff.” The only problem with it is that sometimes I think that things that are real are hallucinations. I was almost killed by a FedEx truck last week. I stepped in front of it thinking it was a hallucination. That’s a real problem that my medication should solve. I am going to talk to Dr. Farmazzi next week & see if there’s anything he can do. I saw a supplement on the web called “Sanizine.” It is supposed to help you distinguish between illusion and reality. It says: “Tired of seeing what’s there and thinking it isn’t? 25 Sanizine per day will fix it!”

Yesterday, despite taking my medication, I saw a cow on my neighbor’s roof. My neighbor was playing a guitar with a small amplifier and singing a song about being a rich man. It was annoying me, so I went outside to confront him. He was working in the flower bed in front of his house and singing the Beatles “Money.” I was so embarrassed that I helped him work in his garden for a half-hour. We sang “Money” together and talked about soil—mostly loam. Kidding around, we sang “Loam, loam on the Range” and laughed.

So, eventually I’ll finish “All is Well.” It’s about a broken well that needs repair or its owner will run out of potable water. Just as the well repair team arrives, Timmy, a neighborhood boy, falls in the well and gets stuck. It starts to rain and the well-water rises. Timmy drowns. He is so stuck in the wall that he can’t be extracted. As time goes by Timmy starts to decompose. The well water is ruined. But the owner of the well bottles it and sells it as “Timmy Memorial Water.” People come from hundreds of miles to purchase small vials for $50. 10% of the profits go to the “Tmmy’s Foolish Boys and Girls Camp Fund” which provides training in how to avoid doing foolish things, like falling in a well. The camp runs for one week in July every year. Nobody knows if it does any good, but it’s the money-making gesture that counts. If “All is Well” becomes a movie, I am hoping to get Danny DeVito to play Timmy., and maybe, Sting to play the well’s owner. I think Madonna will be perfect as Timmy’s mother. Johnny Depp will play Timmy’s father. Peter Falk will play a tricky detective in a filthy trench coat who suspects Timmy is “faking it” down in the well so his parents can collect on his life insurance policy.

Right now, I’m looking at a giant cockroach holding a paddle with a number on it, like the ones used by judges in sporting events. It says “127.” I don’t think my Sanizine is working.


Definition courtesy of “Silva Rhetoricae” (rhetoric.byu.edu)

The Daily Trope is available on Amazon in paperback under the title of The Book of Tropes for $9.95. It is also available in Kindle format for $5.99.

Assumptio

Assumptio (as-sump’-ti’o): The introduction of a point to be considered, especially an extraneous argument. 

See proslepsis (When paralipsis [stating and drawing attention to something in the very act of pretending to pass it over] is taken to its extreme. The speaker provides full details.)


I dropped my flashlight, and it went out, and total darkness descended. I was in the middle of the woods looking for a rare nocturnal slug. They were so rare that they were worth millions. That was a good reason to hunt them, but it was rumored that they could talk. They weighed up to 10 pounds and left a wide slime trail I was hunting the logos maximus for all these reasons, but really, it was the slug’s color that compelled me to hunt it: the slug was brown with a yellow stripe. What could be more fascinating? A sock with a hole? A blender? A leg brace?A three-legged pig? No. None of the above. Well, maybe a red cat. Or, an ivory shoe horn. Or, a half-used roll of aluminum foil. I don’t know. I have trouble rank-ordering, hierarchies, and increments. Especially increments. People say about me: “Give him an inch and he’ll take a mile.” That means that I can’t measure.

But anyway, I heard a squishing sound in the darkness. I got down on my hands and knees and could barely make out what looked like a jiggly watermelon inching past. It was a logos Maximus. I wanted take a picture, but I couldn’t find my phone. The slug said “What’s the matter shithead, can’t find your phone?” I was shocked by the talking slug. I asked what his name was. He told me slugs don’t have names, but you can call me Vick. I asked him what it was like to be so rare and relentlessly hunted. He told me it was “a pain in the ass.” I agreed as I squatted to pick him up and stuff him in my slug hunting bag. When I grabbed him he screamed, started squirming violently and cursing. He slimed up and slipped out of my hands.

He took off like a bat out of hell. I took off running after him. We were headed down the bank of a creek. I made a move to bag him and I tripped over a log and stepped on him. It was like stepping in a bowl of jello. Vick died. He liquified and soaked into the ground. All I could think was “I was so close.” I hadn’t gotten to know Vick that well, so I didn’t care that much about killing him. In fact, I was kind of angry that he liquified. I didn’t even have a trophy to mount on my living room wall over the fireplace.

When I got home, there was a large slug trail leading to my front door. I got in my car and drove away and never went back.


Definition courtesy of “Silva Rhetoricae” (rhetoric.byu.edu)

The Daily Trope is available on Amazon in paperback under the title of The Book of Tropes for $9.95. It is also available in Kindle format for $5.99.

Asteismus

Asteismus (as-te-is’-mus): Polite or genteel mockery. More specifically, a figure of reply in which the answerer catches a certain word and throws it back to the first speaker with an unexpected twist. Less frequently, a witty use of allegory or comparison, such as when a literal and an allegorical meaning are both implied.


Joann: No ifs, ands, or buts about it.

Gill: No butts? a world without butts is a world where there’s nothing worth looking at.

Joann: Give it up. Your attempts at humor are a joke. And that does not mean funny. It means pitiful. So again, you’ve got to get your act together or I’m packing up and leaving, no ifs, ands, or buts about it.

Gill: My favorite act is getting my act together. That means knowing my lines, memorizing them, and speaking them in the right tone with the right gestures, including facial expressions. See? I am smiling with a depth of sincerity that shows my act is together. See? See? That means “yes” in Spanish.

Joann: Yes, I see. Si. Si. You’re disturbed. Your relational calculus is missing actual sincerity—the foundation of trust, and possibly, in some cases, a sure sign of love. We’re supposed to be n love. I don’t think you know what it is.

Gill: My idea of love goes deeper than my favorite cut of beef or flavor of ice cream, which is chocolate, by the way. For me, true love is more like rolling in gold coins. What a feeling!


Joann started laughing, but it wasn’t for happiness. It was angry laughter that had a sort of growl to it. Gill had heard that kind of laughter before. Joann was going to break up with him. He lamented the fact that he had no staying power with women. Barbara had made get out of her car at gunpoint out in the middle of the desert. He never should’ve gone camping with Joann. She was fingering a can of bear repellent. Gill was pretty sure he was going to take a squirt in the face. Why? Because he’s ugly? No. Because he’s mean? No. Because he’s socially inept? Yes—that’s it. He begged Joann not to squirt him. She squirted hm. He ran to the lake and soaked his face. She came running to lake yelling “I’m sorry. My god. My finger slipped!” She was holding something behind her back. It was a small log. She beat the half-blinded Gill over the head until he was dead. Too bad Gill did not know that Joann was psycho and was a fugitive from “Bluto’s Hope Mental Hospital.” There were pictures posted all over the place with a warning—they were everywhere—from telephone poles to the internet. If Gill had done a little research he would’ve been saved.

So, the lesson here is check out telephone poles and mental institutions’ websites. “Billy’s Bear Spray” has set up a memorial fund in Gill’s name. Joann is still on the run. She was last seen in Tulsa with a man with a bruised and swollen face.


Definition courtesy of “Silva Rhetoricae” (rhetoric.byu.edu)

The Daily Trope is available on Amazon in paperback under the title of The Book of Tropes for $9.95. It is also available in Kindle format for $5.99.

Astrothesia

Astrothesia (as-tro-the’-si-a): A vivid description of stars. One type of enargia.


I was up in Maine for my 50th summer. It was a moonless night. There were almost more stars than sky. There were shooting stars zipping through the starry sky. I had never seen anything like it—they were criss crossing, making fiery patterns across the sky. This was a special night—one in a million. It was beautiful and scary at the same times me. I figured the time was right to wish on a star, for the 500h time the same wish. I focused on one star and made my same old wish: “Twinkle twinkle little star bring me a beautiful woman, a big house, millions of dollars, and an expensive car.”

The star I wished on went bight and then dim. It started slowly coming down from the sky—slowly like a snow flake. It landed about 10 feet from me. She sort of looked like she belonged on a Raisin Bran box. Her head was incredible—a gold star with a circle cut out and filled by a face. The face was beautiful—with bright red lipstick and greenish blue eyeshadow. Her body was toned and adorned in black tights. She came toward me. She kissed me with her ruby red lips and said “Congratulations! You wishes have come true. You are a very lucky man. Manage your good fortune wisely and prudently. And most importantly, do not tell enybody how you came to have such luck. If you do, you will lose everything.” She went back up into the sky.

A limo pulled up and a beautiful woman stepped out. She took one look at me and said “I love you. Marry me. I want your babies.” The limo disappeared and we walked back to the cottage as she planned the wedding. The next day, we went looking for a home. We found a 10,000 sq ft mansion up on a cliff overlooking the Atlantic Ocean, it was $3,000,000. I called my bank and told them what I was going to do and how much it was going to cost my banker told me it was no problem. I had more money than he thought it was possible for one person to have. When we woke up in the morning there were two Maseratis parked out front.

Marla was ecstatic. Her happiness was boundless, and infective. She became pregnant. We had a beautiful little girl we named Star.

It was all built upon a wish that came true. It was a testament to hope and believing the impossible. I will never tell anybody the secret of my success. You could say my life is built on a lie.


Definition courtesy of “Silva Rhetoricae” (rhetoric.byu.edu)

The Daily Trope is available on Amazon in paperback under the title of The Book of Tropes for $9.95. It is also available in Kindle format for $5.99.