Category Archives: mesarchia

Mesarchia (mes-ar’-chi-a): The repetition of the same word or words at the beginning and middle of successive sentences.

“Joy will pleasure make. Joy will pleasure take. Joy is fleeting and takes pleasure with it when it goes.” Parnell Pack.

Pack was a 19th century poet/philosopher. His works uniformly stink, but they are still read by young writers as a rite of passage toward earning an MFA. They want to learn to say bad things about other’s writing and Pack is a great model of bad writing that they can easily cast aspersions on. It is sort of disgraceful, but that’s how you easily learn critical analysis, which is solely about fault finding. The easier the target, the better the critique. This goes for people too. Get in a relationship with an idiot and the door to endless belittlement opens wide. You bask in the inferiority of your partner, achieving a level of superiority for yourself that only a relationship with a total dolt can achieve. Congratulations.

Then there was Bartholomew Canon. He wrote romance novels situated in insane asylums. He wrote the famous line “A crawfish cannot smell worse.” This was uttered by Bertrand Feckless as he crawled across the concrete floor of the asylum’s recreation room. He thought he was a dog trained to hunt crustaceans. His lover, Pony Rutledge, was sitting in a rocking chair across the room unimpressed. She was feverishly crocheting a butter dish for the Matron’s dining room table. This was not therapy. It was an attempt to win the Matron’s favor. She had tried once already and failed. She had failed when had made a floor mat for the Matron’s pickup truck. Foolishly, she had woven it out of strips of newspaper and it disintegrated the instant the Matron’s wet boot touched it.

Bartholomew and Pony were due to be married soon. People said it was illegal, but they went ahead and planned. They had already gotten in trouble for throwing rice at each other and making a mess of the recreation room. Then, the state of Louisiana told them they could get married as long as Pony was sterilized and Bartholomew was castrated.

So, you can imagine how this ham-fisted piece of garbage writing turns out. Oh? You can’t?

They get married and adopt a duck. They named the duck Quacky and taught it to smoke cigarettes. The duck became a chain smoker, rapidly contracting emphysema, and coughing, drowns in the duck pond.

Very sad. Very trite. Almost funny.

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.

Mesarchia (mes-ar’-chi-a): The repetition of the same word or words at the beginning and middle of successive sentences.

“No way, no time of the day. No way, no time of the night. No way. No time. Never.” I was a dedicated vegetarian. I abstained from meat of all kinds—even fish, including escargot. I hadn’t eaten, or even touched neat, for just over 2 weeks. Already, I could feel a change in my demeanor. I was kinder and more charitable. I had stopped cutting into line at the movies and I no longer told women on the subway with crying babies to shut the little bastards up.

I had read “Off Meat” by Swami Knishmop. It changed my life. The “book” consisted of vivid high definition color photographs of mutilated animals in the process of being slaughtered: before, during, and after. They were triptychs from hell. Following a fluffy bunny from beginning to end turned me around. I cried. I pounded my chest. I almost killed myself from the guilt I felt for the fate of the little bunny. At the end of Swami Knishmop’s book is an oath to repeat confirming your conversion to vegetarianism. The last word of the oath is missing. If you send $20 to the Swami, he will email it to you, but you must swear to keep it secret, or die. I thought that was pretty radical, but I wanted to say “The Vegetarian’s Oath” to cement my status as a vegetarian.

Week Three

I was getting tired of bean sprout, tofu, and mustard sandwiches on gluten-free bread. I didn’t even know what gluten was. But again, after seeing Swami’s pictures, no matter how much I wanted to, I couldn’t bring myself to eat meat. it was evil. So, I started eating faux meat soy products: Glamburgers, Fried Cheeky. Roasted Furkey. Broiled Founder. Peat Loaf. The list is endless.

The faux meat products were really expensive, but that’s not the main reason I gave them up. The main reason was that they tasted awful, and ironically, they all tasted and smelled the same. The only difference between them was their names. I went back to goat cheese and clove sandwiches, brown rice and jalapeños, mashed potatoes and toast, hummus topped with chocolate sauce, hollowed-out baked yams stuffed with avocado chunks and mint leaves. Not bad, but not meat.

Week Five

Two nights ago I took a bite out of a lamb roast at the grocery store. My desire for meat had become so strong that it blotted Swami’s triptychs from hell out of my memory. The raw lamb was tender and juicy. It assuaged my desire. I put the lamb in my cart and continued shopping for groceries. My vegetarian days were over. I bumped into one of the vegetarian friends I had made when I went meatless. His name was Cickpea (obviously a nickname), and he was a devoted follower of the Swami. I saw that he had a package of hamburger meat in his cart. When he saw me eying it, he shoved a box of “Grains & Nuts” over it and smiled nervously. Then, he saw my lamb roast. He said “Nobody’s perfect,” spun his cart around and walked away. I thought to myself “Yeah, exactly. Nobody’s perfect.”

I will never go back to being a vegetarian.

Nobody’s perfect.

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.