Anacoluthon (an-a-co-lu’-thon): A grammatical interruption or lack of implied sequence within a sentence. That is, beginning a sentence in a way that implies a certain logical resolution, but concluding it differently than the grammar leads one to expect. Anacoluthon can be either a grammatical fault or a stylistic virtue, depending on its use. In either case, it is an interruption or a verbal lack of symmetry. Anacoluthon is characteristic of spoken language or interior thought, and thus suggests those domains when it occurs in writing.
I was leaning—oh, I admit it. It was leaning on me. I was holding up the Empire State Building. If I moved too much it would tumble, killing thousands of people and making a big mess—in addition to bodies (tourists and workers alike), lots of smoking stone rubble, and fallen, mangled office equipment.
I had learned that I had the power to keep skyscrapers from falling when I was on my small liberal arts college’s New York City Semester. We would follow our professor around the city streets. Every once-in-awhile Prof. Mazewell would point and yell “Look!” Often it was the sky or the sidewalk he was pointing at, but sometimes he would point at a tree or a drug station store.
One morning he made us all breakfast. There were four of us. We had Cheerios with bananas sprinkled with what he called “Go Powder.” Trent and Melody had complained of being constipated, so I just assumed the “Go Powder” was for them, but Prof. Mazewell decided to give it to all of us—as a treatment and a prophylactic. Who wants to be constipated? Not me!
We started on our daily trek, so far we hadn’t learned much—“If you step n a crack, you’ll break you mother’s back,” was a frightening lesson, so we tried hard to avoid doing so on New York’s sidewalks. It was a real lesson in love. Although my mother was I Chicago, I still cared enough to try as hard as I could to avoid the cracks. Suddenly, Prof. Mazewell disappeared! Trent and Melody were holding each other, laughing and shimmering like water. I kept on walking. Then Bob, the other one of us, took off his shoes and threw them at a passing cab. He yelled “I’d rather walk!” Then, he took off all of his clothes. He was covered in beautiful purple scales—like some kind of exotic snake. He hissed at me and flicked his tongue. The other pedestrians acted like nothing was happening. I kept on walking, hoping to find Prof. Mazewell. It was hard—the sidewalk had turned goo that was hard to walk through, but I kept walking. I came to the Empire State Building. It was crying—sobbing in total distress. A little mouth appeared next to the front entrance. The mouth said: “I am old. I need your help. I think I am beginning to tip over.” “Wow.” I said. I looked at my hand and my fingers were writhing around like little snakes, I didn’t care—I thought I was about to find my life’s mission. The mouth said, “You must go around the corner and lean on me. Hurry!”
Around the corner there was a small bucket saying “Donations” across the front, and an easel with a sign on it saying “I’m Holding up the Empire State Building. Donations accepted.” I have been holding up the Empire State Building for four years. At night I sit on the pavement, leaning and sleeping. Nobody bothers me because they know I am doing a great service: where would New York be without the Empire State Building? As a tourist attraction, it’s right up there with the Statue of Liberty, which, in fact, is in New Jersey.
Definition courtesy of “Silva Rhetoricae” (rhetoric.byu.edu)
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