Category Archives: catacosmesis

Catacosmesis (kat-a-kos-mees’-is): Ordering words from greatest to least in dignity, or in correct order of time.

It was 1 o’clock. It was 2 o’clock. It was 3 o’clock. No matter where I was —California, Germany, Ontario, Argentina. 1,2,3 and all the rest. The same time at different times. Slipping into the future. Like clock work—ha ha!

How would the world change with no time? Nobody would be late. Nobody would be early. Nobody would be on time. Nobody. We would have night and day, and twilight and dawn. With a looser sense of what time we would have more leeway. The elimination of clocks and watches would put everybody on the same timeless standard. People would wander around aimlessly “showing up” when they felt like it—every time but “on time” unless that is an expectation for being there that is a projection of being somewhere now; not an expectation, just a presence called “there now,” with “now” meaning “here” with no temporal connotation, just a spatial denotation.

Ok—I admit that the absence of time is impossible to imagine. What made me think I could imagine it? Probably my disgust with having to be on time. A sort of dictatorial mandate that rules my life. The worst, I think, is appointments. Their only purpose is to constrain me—to make me show up at a predetermined time—to make me be there and relinquish my autonomy. The appointment is not for my benefit! I’d like to show up whenever I want to show up, given the complexities of my life and my comings and goings. I’d like to call my probation officer and tell him when I’m planning on showing up for our usual meaningless same old conversation about my desire to steal and beat up my next door neighbor’s husband and maybe burn down their house. I always ask “What’s wrong with that? What’s wrong with wanting to do something bad as long as you don’t do it?” Sometimes I think there’s something wrong with the wanting even if I don’t follow through with acting. I mean, wanting to eat my sister’s dog a-poo Norbert is a pretty weird desire. I’m wondering if and when I’ll jump the desire gap and end up doing. The hard part would be killing and butchering Norbert: I’m not very skilled in that area, but as a cook I am stellar. Dog a-poo loin roast would probably be fantastic with a good Shiraz, boiled salt potatoes and rutabaga. My mouth is watering. I think I’ll take a visit to my sister’s and gaze upon Norbert while we sit in the living room.

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.

Catacosmesis (kat-a-kos-mees’-is): Ordering words from greatest to least in dignity, or in correct order of time.

I was laying on the ground outside the library. I had been tossed out by the two goon “shush” monitors. I had been talking very quietly to my hand puppet Lance as we collaborated on our research project. Lance was an experienced hand puppet and that put him in good position to be a co-creator, fumbling through the past with me—literally my right-hand man. Lance’s head was a likeness of George Washington, and his body was made from a small post-revolutionary American flag.

We were reading and discussing a rare book that couldn’t leave the library. It was part of a collection worth a fortune. The “Oggle Osborne” collection consisted of books about the nineteenth century. That was the ordering principle of the collection, not subject matter or fiction vs. non-fiction: just the nineteenth century—all books.

Lance and I were interested in the concept of “squeezing.” Lance’s status as as a hand-puppet perfectly positioned him to follow the trail. My teenage bouts with acne had prompted my interest in squeezing as well as my obesity which made “squeezing” a daily occurance in my life.

We were reading “Liverpool Train” set on the overcrowded 19th-century train between London and Liverpool—there were aristocrats, tradesmen, laborers and human scum packed into the train. Some of the cars carried only men. Woman had their own cars too. According to the author, this segregation was a residue of Victorian moral and social values and was seen as the best way to “squeeze in” passengers. There was abundant evidence that in the previous century mixed sex “squeezed in” passengers would turn the train into a coal-powered orgy, especially in tunnels, in the dark.

This is what Lance I were talking about when we got the boot from the library. We had both seen the Japanese movies about sex on public transportation being caused by being squeezed in, standing up. But this doesn’t happen in US movies, so, we concluded there must be a cultural component. That’s where conversation ended.

I stood up and pulled Lance off my hand and stuffed him in my backpack. It was a tight fit, but I squeezed him in. When I got home, I put my backpack on my living room sofa. I noticed some movement—the top of my backpack was rhythmically moving up and down and I heard teeny-tiny moaning sounds. I unzipped backpack and there was Lance and my other hand puppet Molly in flagrante delicto on my balled- up sweatshirt. Lance turned his head toward me and blushed shamefully and Molly leered at me. As fast as I could, I zipped up my backpack and went into the kitchen and drank a half-glass of vodka.

I never discussed this incident with Lance. I had trouble washing the stain off Molly’s dress.

The two of them had been squeezed in. What else could they do?

Definition courtesy of “Silva Rhetoricae” (rhetoric.byu.edu).

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.