Paromoiosis (par-o-moy-o’-sis): Parallelism of sound between the words of adjacent clauses whose lengths are equal or approximate to one another. The combination of isocolon and assonance.
I was hungry. Life was crappy. This was too much to bear. I was torn like a paper towel. Some gears had come loose. They were rattling in my head—off their pins and shafts, scratching inside my skull like hamsters stuck behind a wall.
Suddenly the mayhem stopped. Everything quieted down. There was a little blood dripping from my nose, but that was normal. I got dressed and went out in public. I went to the park. It was filled with people eating sandwiches and throwing different-colored frisbees. One man had a rifle and he was shooting swans. Nobody paid any attention. They just wanted to eat their sandwiches and throw their frisbees. After the man shot all the swans he shoved his rifle in his scabbard and rode away on his very nice red electric bike. It was picturesque. It probably didn’t happen.
I didn’t have a sandwich or a frisbee, so I left the park and went to the restaurant named “Exotica” across the street where I could buy my lunch. “Exotica” specialized in meat dishes made from exotic animals, mostly in the form of meatball sandwiches with cheese on top. The other way they prepare the “exotica” is chicken-fried—batter dipped and crispy. I ordered a wolverine meatball special and a glass of tap water. I also got a basket of fried woods voles on the side. It was a lot of food, but I was hungry. I ate my lunch quickly and hurried back home to watch “Mint Man” on TV.
It was a great show. Mint Man was a serial killer who made friends with his victims and would date them. Eventually, he would kill them. When he was ready to kill them he would eat a Tic-Tac breath mint—chewing it until it was gone. Then, he’d put a plastic bag over his victim’s head and suffocate her. When he was done, he’d eat another Tic-Tac and go home to his unsuspecting wife and two children. The next day he would go back to work at the sawmill like nothing happened, working his peavey hook on the logs and looking forward to his next murder of some innocent woman who he had developed a relationship with—cheating on his wonderful loving wife, feeling no guilt.
My head was starting to hurt again and my gears were coming loose again. My poor wife and kids. I leaned my peavey in a corner and ate a Tic-Tac. I was coming apart. Worlds were starting to collide. I grabbed three plastic bags from my jacket pocket and headed for the kitchen.
Definitions courtesy of “Silva Rhetoricae” (rhetoric.byu.edu).
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