Periergia (pe-ri-er’-gi-a): Overuse of words or figures of speech. As such, it may simply be considered synonymous with macrologia. However, as Puttenham’s term suggests, periergia may differ from simple superfluity in that the language appears over-labored.
Karma cheese. Karma wine. Karma bowling ball. Karma, karma, karma. Everything was karma. Everywhere I looked there was karma. I was sick of it—I didn’t think everything would come back to me. When I did something, I wanted to be done with it, not await some mystical consequence borne on the blowback of karma.
I was driving to work, carpooling with three of the nitwits I worked with at “All Protein, No Blood.” We made flash frozen veggie burgers and pies—all vegetable, no meat—turnip, carrot, rutabaga, spinach, eggplant, and kale. God, it was awful. My job was monitoring the ovens. I wore a white suit—like an ambulance attendant and a white paper hat like an ice cream scooper. I hated it all, including my dull-witted colleagues who chopped vegetables and rolled dough. They loved what they did and would sing in chorus while they worked, punning on “meat”: “Meet me on South Street” was a favorite followed closely by “Meet Me At The Copa.” I felt like I was flying with a flock of shit birds. I wanted to choke them to death on a carrot.
As pulled into the parking lot of “All Protein, No Blood,” my engine died and I couldn’t get it restarted. Ed said “Wo man. It’s Karma. What did you do?” Teddy asked “Did you abuse your lawn tractor, man? It has a motor too.” Carmen said “Instant karma got you. You deserve a broken mobile bro’ for some past transgressions—maybe you killed a mosquito or stole something. Anyway, you’re screwed.” They jumped out of the car gloating over my karmic misfortune. I called Triple A—automobile karma busters. I had two loose spark plug wires. It took five minutes to fix.
When I thought about it, I had abused my lawn tractor. I had a corn hole court set up in my back yard. I was sick of losing and totally angry. So angry that I rode over it with my lawn tractor and chopped the 2 boards into splinters. My lawn tractor made a wailing sound and smoked, but I kept going unlit I had made corn hole mulch to spread on my tomatoes. My lawn tractor sputtered and lurched back to the garage. I hardly notice as I gloated over my victory. K
Now, I realized that gasoline engine karma had caught up with me. I had my lawn tractor given “Luxury Servicing” at Mel’s “Small Engine Heaven.” It was like a day spa for lawnmowers.
I’ve become hyper conscious of the karmic consequences of my actions. It takes me longer to make a decision, but it is worth it. For example, two days ago I decided not to kick my neighbor’s dog after it tore my pants leg. I just stood there. The dog started to cross the street and was flattened by a UPS truck.
It was surely canine karma.
Definitions courtesy of “Silva Rhetoricae” (rhetoric.byu.edu).
Daily Trope is available in an early edition 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.
The Daily Trope 