Apostrophe (a-pos’-tro-phe): Turning one’s speech from one audience to another. Most often, apostrophe occurs when one addresses oneself to an abstraction, to an inanimate object, or to the absent.
Me: I came here today to replenish your stock of belief—to expand it, round it out, and give it new life. I am pleased that you were released from home confinement, remove your ankle bracelets and be here now. Each of you has wronged your fellow man in some way. Mr. Rice—you embezzled millions from your brother’s dog leash company. Mr. Gonnocle, you ran over your neighbor’s dog on purpose—you killed it just because it started barking at 6:00 am every morning. And Mr. Triggert, you burned down your neighbor’s garden shed because it reminded you of something bad that happened to you in a garden shed on your 40th birthday.
I could go around the room with brief summaries of everybody’s crimes. But that’s not why I’m here. I’m here to freshen your beliefs and give you a reason to go back home, put on your ankle bracelet, and watch TV or something.
Now, I will summon Belief: ‘Oh Belief! Driver of decision. Purveyor of error. Harbinger of the future. We are free to believe what we want to believe—unlike truth, you don’t dictate with knowledge, rather, you render yourself likable and it is affection that stimulates our embrace—often to determine what to do next. The future can’t be known—it is your province, Sweet Persuasion, or, if I may say, Peitho.’
Ok, so “Belief” epitomizes your freedom. It does no compelling like truth. If you want to go to the corner store, you can take the shortest route, or, you can first take a bus to Buffalo, and then, turn around and come back to the store. It is up to you and there is no intrinsic reason not to to take the bus. “Common sense” may come the closest, but it does not rule out “take the bus”—it needs to be balanced, vetted, discussed, argued.
Now, Mr. Vetch, this should be especially relevant to you as far as you actually stole a bus, hijacked it to Buffalo, and then attempted to hitch hike back to Syracuse to go to the movies, and burn down a vacant motel. Can you clue us in as to your thought processes?
Mr. Vetch: Yes. It was all a matter of belief. I believed I was doing the right thing, and I can believe whatever I want to believe. Sure, there are mental health issues surrounding my decision making. There is the lobster that follows me everywhere and nips me on the back of my ankle if I don’t do what he tells me to do. It hurts, so I comply.
Me: I looked down and noticed the lobster standing behind Mr. Vetch. He had his claws raised and was making the snipping motion like what he probably made when he nipped Mr. Vetch’s ankles. But what was even weirder: the lobster was smoking a filter-tipped cigarette and blowing smoke rings up Mr. Vetch’s pant leg.
I had to get a grip. Here I am in the middle of talking about belief, and I am confronted with something unbelievable that I believe, making me mildly insane, I think. But, if two of us see the lobster, maybe that’s proof of its existence. But only I and Mr. Vetch see the lobster. But now, I have a lobster following me!
I am constantly trying to confirm its existence. I confront strangers in elevators and elsewhere, “Do you see the lobster on the floor behind me?” Then, one day I decided to catch the lobster and eat it. I bought a net at Dick’s and cornered the lobster in a stairwell, scooping him up, and running to my apartment. I boiled some lightly salted water and put the squirming lobster in and slammed down the lid. The lobster screamed and I felt bad for him, but not bad enough not to eat him.
I told Mr. Vetch how I had gotten rid of my lobster. He said, he might try it, but his lobster had stopped nipping him on the ankle, and he thought they could make a go of it.
I got lonely. I bought a live lobster from the lobster tank at Hannaford’s. I put it on the floor and walked away, but the lobster didn’t follow me. I boiled him up, made him into lobster salad, and ate him on a bun for lunch the next day.
I’m pretty sure I made the right decision.
Definition courtesy of “Silva Rhetoricae” (rhetoric.byu.edu)
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