Category Archives: anapodoton

Anapodoton (an’-a-po’-do-ton): A figure in which a main clause is suggested by the introduction of a subordinate clause, but that main clause never occurs.

Anapodoton is a kind of anacoluthon, since grammatical expectations are interrupted. If the expression trails off, leaving the subordinate clause incomplete, this is sometimes more specifically called anantapodoton. Anapodoton has also named what occurs when a main clause is omitted because the speaker interrupts himself/herself to revise the thought, leaving the initial clause grammatically unresolved but making use of it nonetheless by recasting its content into a new, grammatically complete sentence.

As it was. Because of it.

The kaleidoscope of regret is spinning in my head like a multicolored wheel of misfortune. I had just finished dealing with the latest catastrophe and I was waiting for the next. It was like I was a fish hooked on a line of ill fate flopping out my future.

Most recently, the brakes had failed on my Tesla in autonomous driving mode. I couldn’t turn the ignition off either, and I just kept rolling on until I ran into a school bus. Kids poured out of the bus yelling “Elon must die.” I was surprised that Musk bashing had trickled down to middle school. Then they started pounding on my Tesla with their aluminum school-themed water bottles, still yelling.

My Tesla’s exterior finish was ruined and it was covered with dents too. The brakes suddenly started working again. I drove to an auto-body shop to have it repainted and the dents ironed out, but they refused to work on my Tesla because they hate Musk. So, I drove it out to my father’s farm. I parked it in the middle of a corn field, doused it with diesel, and lit it on fire. After it burned and cooled, I had it towed to the Tesla dealer. The place was surrounded by angry protestors. It was crazy. I left my car there with “Fu*k Musk” painted on both sides. I took an Uber home, and called my insurance company. Here I am now, waiting for the next shitstorm to hit.

I heard my 14year-old daughter yelling, “Daddy, Daddy, come here!” Panic stricken, I ran down to the living room. There she was with her left pant leg pulled up and a tattoo of Satan on her calf captioned “I Love You” written out in flaming script. “Isn’t it cool?” She asked. I flipped out. In our state you had to be eighteen to get a tattoo, I asked he who the hell did it. She told me she had fake I,D, and had been passing for eighteen ever since she was ten. My first thought was to have her leg amputated.

I think I started foaming at the mouth and running around in circles. When I stopped, I dragged her to the tattoo parlor, “Posh Ink,” to see what we could do. When I told the Tatoo guy my daughter was only fourteen, he said he couldn’t work on her, due to the law. I felt so stupid for telling him my daughter’s real age. He saw how distraught I was and took pity on me.

We couldn’t erase the tattoo, so he inked it over. He covered Satan with a big red heart and added “Mommy and Daddy” to the caption: “I Love You Mommy and Daddy.” That was a nice touch. If my daughter was going to have a tattoo, that’s the one I would like. My daughter thought it was cool too. Her gym teacher had recommended the Satan tattoo and my daughter didn’t like it from the start. She said her gym teacher was an ass and she wouldn’t listen to her ever again. I was relieved.

I sat in my chair waiting for the next piece of shit to hit the fan. I heard a loud crunching sound and my wife screaming in the basement. “Here we go,” i thought as I jumped from my chair and ran to the basement door. I opened the door and looked down the stairs, and was filled with dread when I couldn’t see what my wife was wrestling with. I flipped on the light. The was an Anaconda wrapped around her legs. Our son Breck’s pet had returned after missing for a year. He named Beagle. He thought that was really funny. God only knows how it had survived down in the basement, but the rodent infestation that we endured had abated.

I grabbed my Skill saw, plugged it into an extension chord and carefully sawed off Beagle’s head. I unwrapped him from my wife and we dragged him into the back yard and buried him in an unmarked grave.

Well, I was glad that over. I sat in my chair waiting for the next disaster. Then, I heard a loud buzzing sound and went to the window. It was a swarm of killer bees. All I had to do was stay inside and I’d be ok.

Definitions 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.

Anapodoton (an’-a-po’-do-ton): A figure in which a main clause is suggested by the introduction of a subordinate clause, but that main clause never occurs.

Anapodoton is a kind of anacoluthon, since grammatical expectations are interrupted. If the expression trails off, leaving the subordinate clause incomplete, this is sometimes more specifically called anantapodoton. Anapodoton has also named what occurs when a main clause is omitted because the speaker interrupts himself/herself to revise the thought, leaving the initial clause grammatically unresolved but making use of it nonetheless by recasting its content into a new, grammatically complete sentence.

But I loved her anyway. The clock was ticking and I was licking the back of my hand. I was was drowning in memories, floating kayaks of regret, bobbing on small waves of pain, pushing me away from shore onto the horizonless waste of gratuitous imagery, like a nostril hair twitching tentatively on the left nostril of life, coveting the right nostril’s position, nearer the ear, due to a nearly imperceptible birth defect connected to heredity—almost inevitable, but not certain, like most of what we inherit. I am fat, blond-haired, green-eyed, left-handed, pigeon-toed, covered with moles, loose-jointed, near-sighted, allergic to dust, cats, and after-shave lotion. My kids have all the same traits as me with the addition of their mother’s: excess body hair (including a unibrow), dyslexia, assorted food allergies, bi-polar disease, scrolling toenails, and paranoia.

As you can imagine, our lives together are very complex. It seems like every six months we discover another inherited malady among us. My neighbor Ed thinks we come from another planet—maybe one the Air Force knows about, but is keeping hush hush due to security reasons. He believes people from our planet are mating with each other to destroy the human race. I can see how he believes that when he looks at us, but I’ve shown him my birth certificate a number of times, I was born in Staten Island, New York, where I was put up for adoption. Both my parents were in the Air Force and were part of a project that didn’t allow children. I never knew my parents, but I was told they “took off” right after I was born. Ed says that they literally flew away—back to their planet after finishing their work for the Air Force.

I should’ve gotten mad at Ed for claiming my parents came to earth to destroy the human race, but he was a conspiracy buff and there was no turning him around. Some of his theories should’ve landed him in the looney bin. For example, he believes John Kennedy is still alive and is giving orders to Elon Musk that will eventually lead to Musk’s total global control of the world’s electric appliances, weaponizing (among others) blenders, toaster ovens, and flashlights. Of course, this is insane, but they have the backing of the MAGAS, so it has been “debated” and “proven” true in the United States House of Representatives and funding has been allocated for “further investigation.”

There have been lights flashing over our house every night for the past 3 weeks. If I was crazy like Ed, I would believe it was a spaceship coming to take our family home. Ha! Ha!

POSTSCRIPT

He woke up to a humming sound. He looked to the left and saw his wife and children in the dim light strapped into cot-like beds. They were going home! He had denied it all his life, but now it seemed that Ed was right, minus the destruction of humanity. Maybe he would meet his parents. When they arrived they were escorted by humanoids to a replica of their earth home and told this is where they would live. There was a red line around their house. It was electrified and crossing it from either direction could be fatal. They settled in. Their maladies dissipated. Friends were supplied. As the years went by, the red line’s current diminished and they were able to cross it. The kids met their grandparents. They looked like Dolly Parton and Lyle Waggoner. He and his wife were shocked. The second time they met his parents looked Seals and Crofts. Someday, he would figure out what was going on. But for now, he was just happy to be home.

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.