Category Archives: synzeugma

Synzeugma

Synzeugma (sin-zoog’-ma): That kind of zeugma in which a verb joins (and governs) two phrases by coming between them. A synonym for mesozeugma.


I didn’t know what to do. I was cold, going into the cold, hard night, following nothing, aimless, rootless free of all restraint yet lost like a puppy. I wanted to whine—to sing the song of lost souls, to bang my head on the sidewalk, to tear at my already tattered custom-tailored suit, so lovingly and joyfully purchased in Paris last spring. I wore it to the opening of my play: “One Size Fits All.”

The play was about the invention of Spandex, and the threat it posed to cotton, linen, polyester, silk, and even leather. Tailors, cutters, and fitters would be doomed by a material needing none of the above to be made and sold. It was attractive and could carry any shape, color, or design. People started wearing Spandex “onesies” imprinted with the NYC skyline, their pets, themselves, and anything else that could be custom imprinted—some of it fairly disgusting. Spandex went to war with cotton t-shirts as a canvas for self-absorbed images. It was brutal and unprecedented in the history of fabrics. Cotton fields were poisoned. Spandex, being a polyether-polyurea copolymer, was impossible to easily destroy. It’s manufacturers’ factories in the US became armed garrisons, surrounded by electrified barbed wire fences, trenches filled with acid, and .50 caliber machine guns arrayed along newly constructed ramparts.

Of course, as any idiot could easily see, “One Size Fits All” was totally fictional! It is an allegory of capitalist competition run wild. It was intended as entertaining with a slight didactic edge. But the world we live in is crazy. An anonymous conspiracy theorist, whose screen name is Dr. Bite and who is remarkably influential, claimed on his website, “You Don’t Know, Do you?” that my play was a communist inducement to the Apocalypse—he implicated me as a propagandist and aspiring contributor to the end of the world, claiming that “one size fits all” is a cryptic reference to communist ideology, advocating the death of individualism; the first sign of the Apocalypse. Given the politics of the 21st century, my play was closed. The script was burned in public all over the US, and it’s burning had become the grand finale of torchlight parades. I was stripped of my MFA, and I was forever banned from the Dramatists Guild of America. But I was going to fight back!

Despite being, lost, alone, and depressed, and the Pariah King of New York, I had a handful of faithful friends who were funding my exit of the US and supporting my sojourn in Cuba, where I was to be protected like Salman Rushdie. I was supposed leave in one day.

I looked up from my pitiful reflection in the muddy puddle I was standing in. There was a man standing in front of me in a Spandex suit imprinted with a picture of a bucket of Kentucky Fried Chicken. Also, he was holding a bucket of Kentucky Fried Chicken. We locked eyes. I was terrified. He smiled and pointed a chicken drumstick at my head. “Here, take it. You must be hungry.” I recognized the voice—it was a guy I went to high school with—we called him Dimmy. He was stupid. He was on the football team, He was always weird. This was a coincidence from hell. I thanked him for he chicken and told him that I had to go and secure my place under the bridge underpass for the night. He said: “No, you’re leaving tonight.” I got an instant rush of total joy. We went to Newark and boarded a chartered jet. When I got off the jet, I knew I wasn’t in Cuba. It looked more like Texas, and I was introduced to Dr. Bite. “You work for me now,” he said with a grim look on his face. I got down on my knees and started banging my head on the tarmac, hoping my head would crack. It didn’t.

I have everything I need here except my freedom. I’m writing another “apocalyptic” play for Dr. Bite. He’s going to have it translated into Arabic and claim he found it in Saudi Arabia on the site of an excavation for a used-car lot in Riyadh. The play’s title is “Oil and Water.” It’s about Arab countries cornering the market on bottled water, charging outrageous prices, and forcing half the world’s population to die of thirst. Who would believe it? Would you believe it?

Hovering everywhere in Dr. Bite’s lair, there is a very old man in a wheelchair who’s clad in a sort of olive-brown suit. He is small and skinny. He said to me one day: ‘You know, son, in political speech, effectiveness is more important than the truth.” I could hardly understand him through his accent. His name was Glubbles or Gobbles or something like that and he had been “rescued and reincarnated” by Dr. Bite so he could continue his “good works.” I thought he was crazy like all of Dr. Bite’s associates. He looked familiar, though, but I couldn’t place him. He had a weird tic. When he would get excited, he would stick his right arm up in the air. Sometimes, even though he was in a wheelchair, he would click his heels together and yell “yah vol.”


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

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Synzeugma

Synzeugma (sin-zoog’-ma): That kind of zeugma in which a verb joins (and governs) two phrases by coming between them. A synonym for mesozeugma.


The taut rope dangled into the cold and unknown darkness. I was prepared to ride my McGuire Rig into the nothingness of the long-abandoned mineshaft. Unlike most mineshafts I’ve encountered, this one went almost strait down. It would be particularly difficult to get back out, but I was prepared with a device that would lift me out with its electric motor. My headlamp barely pierced the black density that lay below. It was rumored by the locals that there was “something” at the shaft’s end. Nobody was willing to venture a guess as to what it was. When I asked, they shook their heads and turned away.

I was going down. It got warmer and warmer. Down, down, down I went. Suddenly, I heard a woman softly singing “Paddy’s Lamentation,” a song I learned as a little boy at my mother’s knee. The hair on the back of my neck bristled. I was terrified. When I reached bottom, terror and amazement struck my entire being. There, chained to the wall was the most beautiful woman I have ever seen—clean and wearing perfume that made me giddy and drew me toward her. There was a key to her chains on the ground in front of her. “Please unlock my iron fetters you comely lad and we can return together to the sunlit lands. I will serve you, have your children, and give all the worldly pleasures you may imagine.” As I bent to pick up the key, my headlamp caught the visage of a glaring human skull. I stood and looked more carefully. There was a pile of dismembered bones, with marks from being gnawed. I didn’t understand. I couldn’t understand with my mind fogged by the perfume. Like a fool, I turned her loose. She came rushing toward me and embraced me softly. “Up we go my lovely man,” she said looking me directly in the eyes. I hooked us up to the rig, facing each other and pressed the green button that would prompt the electric motor to raise us to the surface. As we neared the surface, she held me tighter, crying softly in my ear. As we emerged she let go, pushed away and tumbled screaming back into the mineshaft.

I immediately pressed the “down” button on the McGuire Rig to find out what had happened to her. When I reached to bottom of the mineshaft, there she was, a bloody heap on the floor. Dead. It was time to get the hell out of there. As I was ascending, I heard a woman’s voice softly singing “Paddy’s Lamentation.” Given all the craziness, I thought I was imagining it, but now, I’m not too sure. I’m going back in spring. Rationality be damned. I love her.


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.

Synzeugma

Synzeugma (sin-zoog’-ma): That kind of zeugma in which a verb joins (and governs) two phrases by coming between them. A synonym for mesozeugma.


Carnality’s echo, faintly detected, denotes the waning presence of life’s obsessions as the wall of its salacious attention softens and Eros is absorbed by time—by years, by life.


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.

Synzeugma

Synzeugma (sin-zoog’-ma): That kind of zeugma in which a verb joins (and governs) two phrases by coming between them. A synonym for mesozeugma.

The time, ticking mercilessly, on its faithless arc destroys the present with its inevitable day- and night-making progress. So, the future casts a dim glow, making shadows of our lives stretching into our past like an expanding and contracting yardstick. Constantly altering our memory, reconciling and exacerbating the conflicts that measure arouses.

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.

Synzeugma

Synzeugma (sin-zoog’-ma): That kind of zeugma in which a verb joins (and governs) two phrases by coming between them. A synonym for mesozeugma.

All kind of fuzzy, the day dragged on, with boredom bouts to keep it uninteresting. Not your typical day at the office when everything pops and cracks like a fireworks display. I guess it was Monday that was driving us to sleep at our desks! Come on Tuesday–you are welcome to show up today if you can liven things up just a little bit. Let’s have a Tuesday kind of Monday!

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.

Synzeugma

Synzeugma (sin-zoog’-ma): That kind of zeugma in which a verb joins (and governs) two phrases by coming between them. A synonym for mesozeugma.

The tide went out, and the bottle with a message, a brief ditatribe on fate and hope and coconuts. Standng there in tattered shorts, he started to sing his coconut song and then had second thoughts as the bottle with a message sunk into the waving sea. Feeling no pain, he tore off his tattered shorts and put them on his head again, the castaway’s turban, jaunty on his brow, tickled his neck and reminded him of middle school and flirtations on the playground when up was up, and down was down.

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

Synzeugma

Synzeugma (sin-zoog’-ma): That kind of zeugma in which a verb joins (and governs) two phrases by coming between them. A synonym for mesozeugma.

Her favorite Barbie was crushed by one stomp of his big boot, and her love, her hope, her Ken!

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

Synzeugma

Synzeugma (sin-zoog’-ma): That kind of zeugma in which a verb joins (and governs) two phrases by coming between them. A synonym for mesozeugma.

Your love’s embryonic desire was smothered by his rage, and your trust, your hope, your promise!

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

Synzeugma

Synzeugma (sin-zoog’-ma): That kind of zeugma in which a verb joins (and governs) two phrases by coming between them. A synonym for mesozeugma.

Either with luck, hope is realized, or with hard work.

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

Synzeugma

Synzeugma (sin-zoog’-ma): That kind of zeugma in which a verb joins (and governs) two phrases by coming between them. A synonym for mesozeugma.

With hope we move ahead, and with well-considered goals.

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