Category Archives: antiprosopopoeia

Antiprosopopoeia (an-ti-pro-so-po-pe’-i-a): The representation of persons [or other animate beings] as inanimate objects. This inversion of prosopopoeia or personification can simply be the use of a metaphor to depict or describe a person [or other animate being].

We called him “The Rock” because he had broken a window with his nose when we were playing hide and seek. He was hiding in an abandoned greenhouse. He had tripped over an old piece of hose and he hit one of the glass panels face-first. He has a big nose, and it acted as a sort of bumper shattering the glass and enabling his face to go through unscathed, although he sustained a small gash on the bridge of his nose.

After that incident, The Rock had an almost magical aura. He was thought of as invincible. He did dangerous things to maintain his cache. He did the usual: bungee jumping, rock climbing, parachuting, bull riding, knife throwing target. But, above and beyond everything else, was sneaking so-called illegal immigrants into the US from Mexico. He had a Jeep Cherokee. He crossed the border with stealth at San Luis in Arizona. He would put two immigrants under the hood, on either side of the engine. For some reason, Customs officers never looked under the hood. The Rock told me it was because they thought anybody hiding there would be dead from exhaust fumes, and they didn’t want to deal with paperwork. So, although it was dangerous, the risk wasn’t that high. The Rock got bored with smuggling people, and found something else, more in line with his moniker.

He became a Middle School teacher. It took a few years to get the required teaching degree and certification. His danger angle was sustained while he was completing his education by cleaning wild animal cages at the zoo, while the animals were roaming around their cages! People loved to watch him run from the lion and lock himself inside the safety cage inside the cage. He almost changed his mind about being a school teacher, but had too much invested in it to give it up.

His first day of teaching was just as he expected it would be. There was a shooting incident in another wing of the school. He was hit by five flying objects, one of which was a pair of scissors that stuck in his left shoulder. He left them there until the end of class to show his commitment to teaching. As he was sitting there going over the math lesson, somebody lit his desk on fire. He climbed up on his desk singing “Fire!” All the students lit their desks on fire and started dancing along with him. His pants caught on fire and he pulled them off, exposing his black bikini underpants. Everybody screamed and somebody pulled a fire alarm. The firefighters hosed down the classroom, put out the fire, and nobody got hurt.

My friend was fired from teaching and more is or less blackballed from the teaching profession for “removing his pants in class.” After the incident, the administration called him “Dead Meat.” He tried to explain that his pants were on fire, but nobody listened.

My friend is trying find some new dangerous thing to do. He told me he’s thinking about becoming a crossing guard.

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.

Antiprosopopoeia (an-ti-pro-so-po-pe’-i-a): The representation of persons [or other animate beings] as inanimate objects. This inversion of prosopopoeia or personification can simply be the use of a metaphor to depict or describe a person [or other animate being].

He is jello bright and shiny on the outside, but jiggly when you pick him up. No, this isn’t a riddle, it’s my brother. He was born with no bones. He is like a giant talking dessert. My mother takes the blame for his condition. When she was pregnant she ate jello day and night. She would average 25 servings of jello per day. My father would put it on a plate and give her a straw to suck it up with. Her favorite was lime, and that’s why my brother Reggie is a sort of greenish color. He does not need diapers. Mom just lets him drip on the floor. She’s a wreck. The night Reggie was born, she’s started drinking cheap wine and throwing the empty bottles against the wall—she’s like an alcoholic tennis ball canon, only she shoots glass bottles. There are broken bottles on the floor abutting her target wall. The broken glass is dangerous, but my father won’t clean it up. He says, “She’s not my wife. I don’t clean up after strangers!” My mother would get up to get a broom from the kitchen, but she would pass out and lay there for hours. I sided with my dad and wouldn’t touch the mess—there was a swarm of fruit flies over it and as time went by, it smelled a little like vinegar.

Then one day my brother started flopping vigorously in his crib. He started making noises like he was going to speak. After grunting a few times, and squealing, he said “Side Show.” I thought I understood him: “Freak show?” I asked. He flopped up and down and smiled through the little slash below his nose. Freak shows are pretty rare these days, but we found one that wintered in North Caroline and travelled around the US in spring, summer, and fall. It was called “Freaky.”His stage name would be “Jellyfish Boy.” He would lay on a slab making gurgling sounds and charge punters $5.00 to touch him with one finger. For $10.00 they could pet him with one slow stroke.

As time went on, even though he looked like a jellyfish with eyes, a nose and a mouth, he could think and speak. So much went on in his head. Then, one day he started to sing. His voice was a mix of Elvis and Roy Orbison, but favored Roy Orbison. He would lay on his slab and sing “Crying.” Crowds would gather. The pathos was so thick you could cut it with a knife. Young women would sob. Older men would wipe their eyes and try to hide their emotions. When he was done singing, I would scoop Reggie up with his pizza paddle and walk him off the stage. He would shimmer in the stage lights—a beautiful multi-colored display of life.

As he became more and more popular, Reggie fell in with a bad crowd. I carried him on his pizza paddle to some of worst dives in New York. It was heartbreaking to watch Reggie killing himself.

Then he died. He was only 26.

We had a pink granite pizza paddle made for his headstone. His epitaph was from Roy Orbison’s “Crying”: “I was all right for awhile.”

Reggie was my brother and I loved him.

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.