Category Archives: hyperbaton

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).

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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.

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.

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’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.

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.

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).

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.

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).

Hysterologia

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).