Category Archives: hyperbaton

Hyperbaton

Posted on February 5, 2026 | Leave a comment

Hyperbaton (hy-per’-ba-ton): 1. An inversion of normal word order. A generic term for a variety of figures involving transposition, it is sometimes synonymous with anastrophe. 2. Adding a word or thought to a sentence that is already semantically complete, thus drawing emphasis to the addition.

I knew things weren’t going right—catastrophic, cataclysmic, disastrous. It made me remember a joke my uncle Earnhardt had told me: “Q; What happened when the woman was hit by a train? A: Disaster!” A brilliant pun for “dis-assed her.” Just like I did when I was nine, the joke made me laugh, but it couldn’t erase what was going on before my eyes: my 1946 Cadillac had a rust spot on the right front fender. As a collector of vintage cars, this was like a one-way street to hell.

The spot wasn’t there yesterday. It must’ve taken hold during the night. My worst nightmare was starting to unfold: a rust war. Yes, a full-blown “Rust War.” Caesar Voletick was on the rampage again. We were the two most revered car collectors in the United States. As such, you’d think we would be friends. Instead, Voletick has constructed himself as a competitor. He plagued my peaceful collection with his antics. I knew it was him, but I couldn’t catch him. Over the years, my collection was hit with spray paint, keying, denting, and now, rusting. My beautiful Cadillac was in pain. I knew Voletick was just getting started.

I had heard that Voletick had hired a brilliant renegade chemist named Micky Curie, who had been denied tenure at MIT. While on the faculty, he had developed a yellow mold that instantly aged cheddar cheese. It could no longer be advertised as “Aged 10 Years” on the package. Now, the package was required to say “Seems like it’s been aged 10 years.” Actual ten-year-old cheese been wiped out by Curie’s aggressive yellow mold which had devastated 10 year-old-molds with the war-like toxicity of “Quick Cheese.” This was detrimental to cheddar cheese sales: people wanted 10-year-old cheese, and that was final. Kraft cheese is one of MIT’s biggest donors. Accordingly, MIT ODERED Curie to give up his mold patent and cease from producing “Quick Cheese.” Citing academic freedom he refused and he was denied tenure.

Curie was furious. He vowed to invent things in the future that only did harm. The first invention was a candy coating that indelibly dyed peoples’ lips when they consumed jaw breakers. Then, there were the perfumed floor mats for cars. The oder distracted drivers and they would hit trees or the vehicles in front of them.

Curie was having his way!

Curie’s most recent invention (of course) is “Rust-On.” You use a paintbrush to apply it. You paint it on and a rust spot instantly appears. That’s what had happened to my Cadillac and fifty more cars of my 200-car collection.

I met with Curie and cut a deal to hire him, and also, help him wreak revenge on MIT for what it had done to him. But first, we had to take care of Voletick. We rented a “Water Scooper” airplane from the US Forest Service. We filled a small pond with “Rust-On” and scooped it up. Then, we “bombed” Voletick’s car collection, turning the two-acre parking lot into a rust-scape of destroyed vehicles. Voletick raced out into the lot and a scoop of Rust-On soaked him. He started choking and writhed around on the asphalt for a couple of seconds. He was in poor physical condition and died of a heart attack spitting Rust-On. Ha! Ha! Too bad Voletick!

Now, I needed to follow through on my offer to help with Curie’s revenge. I provided the financial backing and Curie provided the brains. After four moths of arduous research, Curie developed what he called “Stupid-Ass Spray.” It was delivered as a mist and anybody who inhaled a single tiny drop became stupid. We hired a cadre of ex-ICE agents, who were already stupid, to mist the halls of MIT with “Stupid-Ass Spray.” They were successful in their mission—rendering MIT stupid.

Given the new stupidity of MIT, it lost its accreditation, and then, its donor base. It declared bankruptcy and was sold at auction to Kraft Cheese. The irony of Kraft’s purchase of MIT didn’t escape Curie. He developed a powder and clandestine delivery system that turned all of Kraft’s cheese products into Velveeta.

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.

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Hyperbaton

Posted on October 28, 2024 | Leave a comment

Hyperbaton (hy-per’-ba-ton): 1. An inversion of normal word order. A generic term for a variety of figures involving transposition, it is sometimes synonymous with anastrophe. 2. Adding a word or thought to a sentence that is already semantically complete, thus drawing emphasis to the addition.

I was flying first-class to Newark, New Jersey from Kazakstan, a weird place. I was working in a diamond mine, handling millions of dollars worth of raw diamonds, every hour of every day I worked. I had a bodyguard named MELS—Marx, Engels, Lenin, Stalin. He had it tattooed to the fingers of his left hand. He chain smoked, carried an AK-47 and drank two shots of vodka for lunch every day. He was there to shoot me, or anybody else, who tried to steal diamonds. On average, he shot two desperate people per week. The bodies were run through a chipper and fed to the Kazakh Tazys—a breed of dog used for hunting and eating ground-up people. They hunt wolves, wild boars, foxes, badgers and people.

MELS owned three Tazys. Among other things, he used them to hunt thieves. When a thief was caught his Tazys would,p kill him, tearing him to shreds and preparing him for the chipper. One Tazy was named “Santa Claus” and the other was named “Ripper.” I could never get MELS To tell me why he named one of the dogs “Santa Claus.” When I asked him, he would say “Ho, Ho, Ho.” The third dog was named “Anonymous.” Except for “Ripper,” I think the other two dog’s names were jokes. but I wasn’t sure. I didn’t want pressure MELS to tell me.

My job was a sort of quality control. As the diamonds went by on a conveyer belt, I would randomly pick one every ten minutes. I would check it for quality and infer the quality of the rest of the run from it. It was a pretty stupid way of doing quality control, but it was a very well-paying job with incredible perks. I had a free 3,000 square foot furnished condo, a two day work week, a BMW motorcycle, 12 “wives” imported from Sweden and Denmark, and a chauffeured limousine. Still, I was unhappy.

I had graduated with honors from The Gemological Institute of America. I wanted to work in New York’s “Diamond District.” Despite my education, I couldn’t get a job. I had a police record. I had been convicted of fraud for selling rhinestone jewelry to idiots. I had the pieces dangling inside my coat. I’d open my coat and say “Real diamonds cheap.” I made a good living off the rubes in Times Square. MELS showed up at the courthouse after my trial and after I’d paid the $200.00 fine. I don’t know why the court had been on lenient, but I wasn’t going to ask. MELS showed up at the courthouse after my trip and after I’d paid One of them was MELS. He pulled a pistol pointed at me and said “We go Kazakstan. Shut up and get in limo.” I had no luggage. We boarded an Aeroflot flight to Astana City. I fell in love with the place.

So, now, I was flying into Newark for my annual two-month vacation from the diamond mines. I had so much money I didn’t know what do do with it. So, I bought a house in New Jersey every time I came home for vacation. I owned 10 houses across North Jersey. They were vacant and it was fun to see what had happened to them since the last time I was there. When I got to house number three in Green Lakes, it looked like somebody was living in it—the lawn was mowed and it was freshly painted. I rang the bell and a beautiful woman answered the door. I said, “This is my house.” She laughed and said, “No it isn’t. I bought it from Edward Vanderblit three months ago.” It was my goddamn cousin Eddy-ba-diddy—a con artist extraordinaire. Poor woman, I thought, and decided to let it go.

I would take Eddy on a “vacation” to Kazakstan. He and MELS would go hiking, and Eddy would get lost, and the world would be a better place.

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.

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Hyperbaton

Posted on March 14, 2024 | Leave a comment

Hyperbaton (hy-per’-ba-ton): 1. An inversion of normal word order. A generic term for a variety of figures involving transposition, it is sometimes synonymous with anastrophe. 2. Adding a word or thought to a sentence that is already semantically complete, thus drawing emphasis to the addition.

I was worried—REALLY worried: panicking. My carnivorous goat had escaped and was trying to eat peole all around northern Pennsylvania.

I am a genius. But, I admit, I’m a little off the mark. I had graduated with Honors from the Frankenstein School of Genetic Engiheering. The school’s motto was “It’s Alive!“ (Et Vivit). The school’s mission was ”To train mentally unbalanced young geniuses to produce mutants of all kinds to make the world more interesting and dangerous.” I was attracted to the word “dangerous” in the mission statement. As a child, I had been brought up in the lap of luxury—never a worry, never a care. Our family had infinite wealth. Just to stay busy, my father watched TV all day. He could recite all of the ads and sing all the shows’ theme songs. The “Green Acres” theme song was his favorite. He hired a country western band to back him up when he sang it. Was headed by Tennessee Ernie Ford.

Anyway, my doctoral project at Frankenstein School of Genetics was “Attack Butterfly and Squirrel Extermination.” I developed a butterfly that disguises itself as an acorn and poisons a squittel when it picked up the faux acorn. The “Pixie dust” on the butterfly’s wings is genetically modified to be fatal to the touch by small mammals. Humans become seriously ill, vomiting and produce flatulence almost constantly for one week. Look but don’t touch, Ha ha. I graduated with highest honors and moved to Pennsylvania

The carnivorous goat became my obsession, eventually I crossbred a goat and raccoon. The raccoon’s propensity for rummaging through garbage was a perfect match to the Goat’s fondness for tin cans. However, I could not have predicted how viscous the Racgoat would be, and how pronounced its appetite for bloody meat would be. The Racgoat has nearly wiped out northern Pennsylvania’s Cottontail Rabbit population. I don’t think anybody cares. After all, what good are rabbits? Also, currently there is only one Racgoat wreaking have in Northern Pennsylvania. The others were dispatched in their cages before they could escape. However, it has been reported that the remaining Racgoat has grown to the size of a dinosaur, and can only be dispatched by a military tank, a flame thrower, a drone, or field artillery.

I am quite pleased that things are developing into a sort of B Grade 1950s science fiction movie, like “Gorgo.” I have already been contacted by Taylor Swift’s agent to make her movie debut in “Racgoat.” The crisis isn’t over yet. Today, the Racgoat invaded a daycare center and nearly succeeded in eating the children. The monster was repelled when a firefighter kept yelling “Baaaa baaaad!”

I just got word the Racgoat is headed for Philadelphia, absorbing all the armaments the US has to throw at it. Oh well, at least he can’t fly. People will be able to evacuate well-before the he gets to Philadelphia.

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.

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Hyperbaton

Posted on August 4, 2023 | Leave a comment

Hyperbaton (hy-per’-ba-ton): 1. An inversion of normal word order. A generic term for a variety of figures involving transposition, it is sometimes synonymous with anastrophe. 2. Adding a word or thought to a sentence that is already semantically complete, thus drawing emphasis to the addition.

I felt really dizzy, ready to fall down. I had lost control of my magic carpet somewhere over Pennsylvania. I had gone 900 years without a tuneup. I should’ve taken it to the shop when I hit 700 years, but I was so busy flying all over North America granting wishes and cleansing souls that I’d lost track of time.

Wishes are constituted by desire and absence tangling together in deeply personal and intense feelings—so intense that they seep into one’s soul, throwing it off course—from its interest in eternity and salvation. My job is to determine whether to “wipe” the wish or manifest it. I routinely wipe evil wishes, which are surprisingly prevalent in North America. For example, there was a politician named Mich who was having such horrendous wishes that I had to turn him off in the middle of a press conference. Thank God he was led away, and the wishes went unspoken. That was an unusual case. Usually, evil wishes can be handled with a quick memory wash, cleansing the soul of the root of the evil wish, which is often very trivial. For example, in one case the wish was rooted in resentment of a mandated bedtime. It grew and festered until, as an adult, the person hated being on time and affected his liberation by always being at least ten minutes late. His wish, as it was perfected, was to eliminate time altogether. I washed the foundational memory out of his soul and manifested a solid gold Rolex wristwatch and gave it to him. When he put it on his wrist he looked like he had just seen a cute bunny running through his yard. He yelled: “Time is on my side!” He yelled: “I have an appointment with swimming pool guy in 10 minutes! I’m on my way. I refuse to be late.”

I circled the magic carpet Repair Dome and landed smoothly on the front ramp. It was located in the middle of New Jersey’s pine barrens, protected by ani-detection devices, that were probably dependent on some kind of advanced magic. I stepped off my carpet and went into the dome. It had a sign hanging over its entrance that said “Watch Out: This Place is Crazy.” That was Bento’s sense of humor. There he was, standing behind the counter making a cat’s cradle out of bread bag twisties. I told him I had gone 200 years past my 700-year tuneup. He dropped the cat’s cradle on the counter, started flashing red and making a sound like a car alarm. “What!?” He asked, wide eyed and trembling with fear. Two of his assistants ran up to the counter. “We heard the impending disaster alarm you blew, we’re ready for action.” Bento pointed at my carpet and yelled “Tune it!” I had forgotten that my carpet model was programmed to self-destruct if it wasn’t properly maintained. My carpet was not properly maintained. The self-destruct function’s origins were obscure. It is such a bad idea that nobody can find a good reason for it, yet it persists, like so many other things—like wearing a sword or Morris Dancing.

After he repaired it, Bento told me me my carpet’s “diectionator” was almost completely shot. A couple more turns without repair and my carpet would’ve evaporated, along with me. Now, I could be on my way.

There was a terribly deluded man in Florida who was wreaking havoc on one of the longest-lasting democracies the world has ever seen. His delusions are ubiquitous and are steering his soul toward absolute evil, I may have to give him a total cleansing, a “Big Wash”—sort of like rebooting a computer and bringing it back to its original state. But, I fear this person’s original state is evil. In that case, he will eventually go to hell where he’ll sit in a circle with his feet in a fire, moaning and screaming along with Caligula, Charlie Manson, Rasputin, Mengle, and the other devils populating the pantheon of evil. For his sake, I hope I can wipe him.

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

Buy a print edition of The Daily Trope! The print edition is entitled The Book of Tropes and is available on Amazon for $9.99. An additional edition is available on Kindle for $5.99.

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Hyperbaton

Posted on December 8, 2022 | Leave a comment

Hyperbaton (hy-per’-ba-ton): 1. An inversion of normal word order. A generic term for a variety of figures involving transposition, it is sometimes synonymous with anastrophe. 2. Adding a word or thought to a sentence that is already semantically complete, thus drawing emphasis to the addition.

Tomato onion. Onion tomato. onion, onion, onion. Tomato onion, tomato, tomato, tomato. Thank god they were cherry tomatoes. The blender was stuffed full, loaded! Soon, I will liquify these little babies. Babies? There I go again. Liquified babies? Oh my god. The image was taking root in my brain, in my mind. Oh words! I say it, I see it, and I can say anything, and I can see anything. And then the terror, disgust, and tears, or the excitement, the freedom, and joy as my mind’s vision manifests itself in the material world. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I am certain if I talked about this in casual conversation, I would be straight-jacketed and led away. But this, what I am writing now, is the only existing record and confession of the trajectory of my mental disrepair.

It started with desire—with wanting everything good that passed by my senses. The wanting was so intense and bizarre, it was like I wanted a dentist drilling into my head: the hot bit poking into my skull. I would pound on my head to make the drilling feeling go away. I started drinking. Copious amounts of vodka would push the unpleasant feeling out of my head. The world was a blur and I didn’t care. But the cost was high, as high as I was. I lost my job at the waxworks when I put Barbara Streisand’s nose on President Biden and knocked over Al Gore and stepped on his leg and snapped it off at the knee. I lost my home. I lost my car. I lost my family. I lost my cat Scruffles. I lost everything, as well as my desire for anything. Then, it started creeping back. I was laying on the ground in the park after a rough night wrapped in a tablecloth I had found. I saw a pint of vodka in my head. There was a popping sound, and suddenly, there was an unopened pint of vodka in my hand. I imagined a suitcase filled with $100 bills. There was a popping sound, and suddenly there was a suitcase full of money laying there next to me. I imagined a mansion. There was a popping sound and I was sitting on a couch in front of a blazing fire, in my mansion. I imagined new clothes and a beautiful woman, and pop, pop, there they were. It was like my head had turned into a magic lamp—I got what I wished for. But then I found out that I got what I didn’t wish for too. That night I had a nightmare. I was being chased by a bear. I woke up yelling “No, no!” The beautiful woman asked me what was wrong. “There’s bear in the room!” I screamed. She disappeared and the bear lunged at me. Just as he was going to tear out my throat he turned into the sales associate from ACE Hardware. And then, there I was. It was daytime and I was at ACE Hardware. I had just bought 2 rolls of packing tape and the sales associate was handing them to me in a little bag, along with the receipt.

I figured I was seriously brain-damaged from all the booze. I went to see a controversial doctor, Dr. Brightly, whose methods were questioned by the AMA and who was always on the verge of losing his license to practice medicine. I told him I had brain problems, not wanting to be explicit about the complete craziness of my condition. He pulled out a fly swatter and hit my three times on the top of my head, like he was anointing me. “Don’t think about it,” he said. So, trusting him, I took his advice. I began practicing meditation; the “School of Empty Head.” I have my bouts, but when I do, no matter where I am, I sit cross-legged and empty my head. The meditation exercise is like flushing the toilet.

It has been difficult writing this account of my condition, and now, I can go back to liquifying my health drink. I think I hear a baby crying in the sink. Time to meditate!

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

Buy a print edition of The Daily Trope! The print edition is entitled The Book of Tropes and is available on Amazon for $9.99. An additional edition is available on Kindle for $5.99.

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Hyperbaton

Posted on April 19, 2022 | Comments Off on Hyperbaton

Hyperbaton (hy-per’-ba-ton): 1. An inversion of normal word order. A generic term for a variety of figures involving transposition, it is sometimes synonymous with anastrophe. 2. Adding a word or thought to a sentence that is already semantically complete, thus drawing emphasis to the addition.

Time slipping by, off the clock by measured ticks flying. So fast that the blur turned into a gale, picking up sand and other debris and filing my skin, not to the point of bleeding, but scraping and burning from friction’s exposure.

I had read about this phenomenon before. Every 100 years it occurs. It is called the Viper’s Hiss. I was driving a short stretch from Jubba to Tanya. I don’t know what possessed me to do this—you’d think I was an archeologist or something like that. I wasn’t in the oil business either. I was just a guy from Dayton, Ohio who woke up one morning with an unquenchable desire to roam the deserts of Saudi Arabia. I tried everything I could think of to make the desire go away. I went for long walks. I watched endless episodes of Prime TV. Then, I went to the library and could not restrain myself from researching the Saudi desert region. That’s when I discovered Sheba, in her time the wealthiest person in the world. I became obsessed with her. I dreamed of her. I made up fantasies about us as lovers. I reveled in the endless wealth—the abundance of everything precious and semi-precious she held sway over. I wanted to experience it.

I couldn’t stand it any more. I sold everything I owned (except my house) and bought a one-way ticket to Riyadh. I brought a backpack with bare essentials. Flying in, the desert was vast. On the ground it was blistering hot. I rented a Land Rover and took off toward the desert, anxious to find an echo or vestige of Sheba. All I found was the terrible storm. It took me by surprise while I was away from the Land Rover, exploring what looked like an oasis. I was hanging onto a date palm for dear life, actually blowing like a flag in the wind. Suddenly, the storm stopped. The sun shone. I saw a woman encrusted with gold with her arms outstretched toward me. I got up off the ground and started to walk toward her. She clapped her hands and disappeared. There was a tiny reflection of light on the ground where she had stood. I walked over and picked it up—it was a small piece of carnelian.

I am safe at home again. My trip to Saudi Arabia was insane. I was unprepared, I almost died. When I was leaving, I hid the piece of carnelian in my shorts and smuggled it out. I had it set in a small gold ring I wear on my pinkie. When I think of Sheba, the ring gets warm and I have to sit down.

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

Buy a print edition of The Daily Trope! The print edition is entitled The Book of Tropes and is available on Amazon for $9.99. An additional edition is available on Kindle for $5.99.

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Hyperbaton

Posted on August 23, 2021 | Comments Off on Hyperbaton

Hyperbaton (hy-per’-ba-ton): 1. An inversion of normal word order. A generic term for a variety of figures involving transposition, it is sometimes synonymous with anastrophe. 2. Adding a word or thought to a sentence that is already semantically complete, thus drawing emphasis to the addition.

I went looking for trouble, everywhere. I was always off, a little. I found a handgun in the park when I was 15. It went off accidentally and killed a woodpecker, who was minding his own business pecking on the old wooden flagpole on the village green, blowing off its head. I tossed the handgun into the bushes and picked up the dead woodpecker, still warm. This is where my career as a mortician began—with amateur taxidermy on the accidentally shot bird.

I brought the bird home and laid it on a piece of waxed paper on the desk in my room. As I opened the bird’s chest cavity with my X-acto knife, I felt jubilant as the woodpecker’s insides fell out in a shiny red lump. I picked them up and looked closely at them, holding them in the palm of my hand. After a good look, I threw them out my window. I didn’t know what to do next, so I put the bird in a shoebox and slid it under my bed.

When my grandmother died two weeks later, we went to see her remains at the Burns Brothers funeral parlor. The place was like a church! Grandma looked amazing. She had on a nice dress, her hair was stylishly done, her cheeks looked like blood was pulsing through them. I wondered how big grandma’s guts were, but blocked the thought for fear of becoming a psychopath.

I met Mr. Burns at the funeral parlor door as we were leaving. I asked him what it took to be a good mortician. He said, “Steady hands and a kind heart.” On that note, I knew I would be a mortician someday. As I became a practicing mortician, I learned, in addition to the steady hand and the kind heart, you have to feel no guilt at profiting from loved ones’ deaths. Eventually, I learned to bury my guilt by drinking expensive vodka and buying things I don’t want or need on Amazon.

I still have the dead woodpecker in the cardboard box. When I take it out and view it’s headless remains and still shiny feathers, I smile.

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

Buy a print edition of The Daily Trope! The print edition is entitled The Book of Tropes and is available on Amazon for $9.99. An additional edition is available on Kindle for $5.99.

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Hyperbaton

Posted on March 10, 2020 | Leave a comment

Hyperbaton (hy-per’-ba-ton): 1. An inversion of normal word order. A generic term for a variety of figures involving transposition, it is sometimes synonymous with anastrophe. 2. Adding a word or thought to a sentence that is already semantically complete, thus drawing emphasis to the addition.

Last night I dreamed of a virus, dreaded. There’s something about virus that I think is cool. First, not all viruses are deadly. Second, it is unrestrained–that’s a joke about its strains. In virus world they say, “No strain no gain.”

Understanding this, I’m trying! But why aren’t there new strains of people? You would think that if some mucous-borne purple-colored slime sphere could be a new strain–a deadly strain–of virus, there could be new strains of people. Actually, maybe there are!

I see people gathered at red-hat rallies that seem a little off, or maybe a little on, given your perspective. I can’t quite put my finger on it, but maybe they are a new strain of human. Are they dangerous? Don’t try to take their guns away, get an abortion, or tell them you’re gay, or ask them to tell you about Jesus, or criticize their Uber Spore, Donald Trump. I’ve seen them get all puffed up, change colors, and gang up on people of ‘other’ strains, even run them over or desecrate their cemeteries.

Oh well, I’m probably wrong. Just like the COVID-19 virus, it’s probably a lot worse than I think. Wait we must, and wash our hands we will. We’ll get through these loony times.

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

Buy a print edition of The Daily Trope! The print edition is entitled The Book of Tropes and is available on Amazon for $9.99. An additional edition is available on Kindle for $5.99.

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Hyperbaton

Posted on August 15, 2017 | Leave a comment

Hyperbaton (hy-per’-ba-ton): 1. An inversion of normal word order. A generic term for a variety of figures involving transposition, it is sometimes synonymous with anastrophe. 2. Adding a word or thought to a sentence that is already semantically complete, thus drawing emphasis to the addition.

Time’s prisoners we are.

Time is a wicked spirit disfiguring transcendence–the soul of truth. Time keeps us from experiencing the tranquility of permanence and the sublimity of the void.

What good is time beyond measuring its progress toward its end?

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

Buy a print edition of The Daily Trope! The print edition is entitled The Book of Tropes and is available on Amazon for $9.99. An additional edition is available on Kindle for $5.99.

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Hyperbaton

Posted on October 13, 2016 | Leave a comment

Hyperbaton (hy-per’-ba-ton): 1. An inversion of normal word order. A generic term for a variety of figures involving transposition, it is sometimes synonymous with anastrophe. 2. Adding a word or thought to a sentence that is already semantically complete, thus drawing emphasis to the addition.

There, ‘enough’ isn’t what it’s supposed to be. How does one get ‘enough’ happiness, beauty, love and the all the rest of want’s wanting–haunting every aspect of life’s ongoing disintegration, enough! Enough! Damn it! That’s enough! Quite enough.

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

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Hyperbaton

Posted on June 10, 2014 | Leave a comment

Hyperbaton (hy-per’-ba-ton): 1. An inversion of normal word order. A generic term for a variety of figures involving transposition, it is sometimes synonymous with anastrophe. 2. Adding a word or thought to a sentence that is already semantically complete, thus drawing emphasis to the addition.

My life is desire wanting unfulfilled; paragons, paradigms, prototypes pressed in rushing currents of time the many faces of memory, truth, anxiety and opinion shimmer changing into each other in the sparkling dimness of deceasing, and finally disappearing entirely fulfilled by the corpse.

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

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Hysterologia

Posted on January 29, 2008 | Leave a comment

Hysterologia (his-ter-o-lo’-gi-a): A form of hyperbaton or parenthesis in which one interposes a phrase between a preposition and its object.  Also, a synonym for hysteron proteron.

We sent a package filled with her favorite goodies to (with love and affection) our wonderful daughter. We miss her.

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

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