Tag Archives: elocutio

Deesis

Posted on June 16, 2022 | Leave a comment

Deesis (de’-e-sis): An adjuration (solemn oath) or calling to witness; or, the vehement expression of desire put in terms of “for someone’s sake” or “for God’s sake.”

Me: For God’s sake, if you don’t stop doing that, I’ll put you out of the car at the next rest stop. In the meantime, I’m putting down the windows to blow some of the stink out of here. “Zombie Flower.” I didn’t know “The Walking Dead” had an online gift shop. What the hell are they trying to do selling perfume that smells like carrion? If I wanted a dead person in the car, I’d run somebody over and pack them in the back seat. I know it’s littering, but throw that crap out the window.

(Sirens Howl)

State Trooper: License, insurance card, and registration please. Hmm, ok. I saw this bottle fly out of your car window a couple of miles back. Littering is a criminal offense here in South Carolina. I am going to have to arrest you until we determine who threw the bottle. Oh my God! What is that stench? It smells like rotten meat, like a decaying dead body. Step out of your vehicle sir and open the trunk, please.

Me: it’s only my daughter’s stupid zombie perfume she got on the internet.

State Trooper: Sir, I’ll only say this once more: Step out of your vehicle and open the trunk. Sir, is that a dead moth in the corner over there? It looks like the endangered moth, Flamenmetuclosis. This is a protected species. It is a criminal offense in the State of South Carolina to kill and/or transport it. Put your hands behind your back. Hmm, these zip-ties match your T-Shirt. Mr. Botch, I am arresting you on suspicion of protected species molestation. You have the right to stand there while I make room for you and your daughter in my police cruiser. Anything you say will be doubted and anything I say will be believed. Do you understand?

Me: What is this, a new episode of “The Twilight Zone?”

State Trooper: Oh, so you want to be wise guy? Let’s add resisting arrest, and charge your daughter with complicity in your heinous crime. Barbara, come over here so I can cuff you and read you your rights. God! You stink! I feel sick. I think I’m going to pass out. Ooooh.

Barbara: Come on dad. Let’s get the hell out of here! The border’s only two miles away & the State Trooper’s full of shit about the moth —there’s no such thing. I swear, when we get home I am going file so many charges against him he’ll think he’s a credit card.

Me: Thank you for stinking. Give me a hug! Oh jeez. Let’s wait until you’ve had a shower.

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

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Dehortatio

Posted on June 15, 2022 | Leave a comment

Dehortatio (de-hor-ta’-ti-o): Dissuasion.

Don’t do it Eddie. You will ruin your life totally and completely. You’ll start to atrophy and become a walking talking carrot or bell pepper. Is that what you want? Carrot Boy! Is that who you want be? Do you want to die on the sidewalk from rickets—I’m not sure what they are, but they’re bad—they do something to your memory too. Have you started forgetting things lately? What’s your L.L. Bean account number? What’s the capital of Labrador? Yeah, see? It’s starting to go already. Pretty soon you won’t be able to remember who won the World Series in 1946. And all the cheese! It’ll plug you up like a bathtub drain packed with hair. Especially, from all the sharp cheddar you eat, you could probably build a dog coop with all the yellow bricks you’re pushing out your butt. And, my God! No meat?! You might as well be dead. No juicy cow flesh? No steaming veal? No lamb off the grill on one of those bamboo sticks? No pork liver sandwiches with onions and garlic? Last, and most terrifying, you will go as limp as linguini. You know what that means: the end.

You will be disabled, lonely, and then, dead in a year. This is my only warning: Do not be a vegetarian. Put that tomato down. Put it down!

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

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Dendrographia

Posted on June 14, 2022 | Leave a comment

Dendrographia (den-dro-graf’-ia): Creating an illusion of reality through vivid description of a tree.

This mulberry tree just showed up in my back yard one spring. It was about 2 inches tall and looked like a weed of some kind. I didn’t care if it was. I wanted to let it grow and find out what it was. Over the next five year I diligently sprayed it with deer repellent and carefully mowed around it when I cut the grass, and it grew, starting to look like a tree with brownish silver bark and fattening limbs. And it kept growing. Now it is about forty feet high with symmetrical spreading branches. In summer, it leafs out and bears little white mulberries that turn dark purple as they as ripen. When the berries come, the tree becomes packed with Cedar Waxwings, which do not show up any other time during the year. I think they are beautiful birds and I don’t care if they strip the tree of berries.

Sometimes I stop to consider how all this began: a single seed landed from somewhere and, with minimal care, made a pretty big tree. I know this sounds crazy, but sometimes when the wind rustles through it’s leaves it sounds like the mulberry tree is saying “hug me.”

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

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Diacope

Posted on June 13, 2022 | Leave a comment

Diacope (di-a’-co-pee): Repetition of a word with one or more between, usually to express deep feeling.

Rejected. I am rejected by you, rejected by the bank, and rejected by my cat Monad. What happened? I don’t know, I’ve always been rejected by you, but not like this! Your response to all my texts is some variation of “F” you. I can’t figure it out, unless borrowing your credit card was some kind of crime. I haven’t seen any police yet, so you probably saw my new lawnmower as a necessity like I did. That’s certainly no reason to blow me off until the end of time. And the bank: They won’t give me a loan to start a pot farm here in NY where it is totally legal. They cited my frequent late payment on the loan I already have. I’ve told them repeatedly that “late” isn’t never. They tell me that someday it probably will be never. Come on bank, take a risk on a blossoming entrepreneur—stop with the timely payment bullshit. Do you think Thomas Edison payed all his bills on time? Finally, there’s my cat, Monad, world champion rejector. I feed, I de-flea him, I dose him with catnip, I let him in and out of the house 50 times a day, and give him handfuls of kitty treats. He shows no gratitude for any of it. When I try to pick him up he scratches me, and he scratches the furniture too. I took him to a shrink and the shrink told me that “rejection is a normal attribute of cats-in-general.” He said Narcissus should have been a cat and if don’t like it, I should find another home for him.

Women, banks, and cats. They all have rejection power, and they’ve all rejected me. But, at least now I know my cat can’t help it. I feel pretty good about that.

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

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Dialogismus

Posted on June 12, 2022 | Leave a comment

Dialogismus (di-a-lo-giz’-mus): Speaking as someone else, either to bring in others’ points of view into one’s own speech, or to conduct a pseudo-dialog through taking up an opposing position with oneself.

Me 1: There’s a time and a place for everything.

Me 2: There you go with the two-bit cliches again. Just because it’s been said a million times, since the beginning of time, doesn’t make it true. This is neither the time nor place you bent-brained bozo. This is just what is, deal with it.

Me 1: Although it’s apocryphal, Ecclesiastes tells us:

“There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under the heavens: a time to be born and a time to die, a time to plant and a time to uproot, a time to kill and a time to heal, a time to tear down and a time to build, a time to weep and a time to laugh, a time to mourn and a time to dance, a time to scatter stones and a time to gather them, a time to embrace and a time to refrain from embracing, a time to search and a time to give up, a time to keep and a time to throw away, a time to tear and a time to mend, a time to be silent and a time to speak, a time to love and a time to hate, a time for war and a time for peace.”

Me 2: There’s a time for off and time for on. Click! Click! Ha ha! Just because something has an opposite, not every time and place is the time and place for something to be its opposite, and especially, does not mean it is permissible.

M1: Precisely. We—you and me—in the realm of human community, contingency, and politics, and in all our relations with others, struggle to bring our preferred half of a given dichotomy into being. What is certain in this life-adventure we’re on is we are bound to disagree, and while there may be a time and place for everything, now and it may not be. We must be persuaded, establish solidarity, and now, let it be together.

Me 2: You sound like some kind of preacher.

Me 1: No, no. I’m just a student of rhetoric.

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

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Dianoea

Posted on June 11, 2022 | Leave a comment

Dianoea (di-a-noe’-a): The use of animated questions and answers in developing an argument (sometimes simply the equivalent of anthypophora).

What is love? Unconditional affection. He says he loved his wife. Is cutting her throat with a steak knife love? No, it’s not. is it justifiable? No. She didn’t attack him. She didn’t try to poison him. She never cheated on him. She was asleep in her bed after a long day of cleaning, taking care of the five kids, making lunch, cooking dinner, and mowing the lawn, and dutifully taking the sleeping pills he gave her. Was she able to defend herself as her husband put the knife to her throat? No. She was sound asleep—possibly a drug-induced sleep. Did she have a chance? No. Did he do it? Yes. His fingerprints are on the knife and one of his children saw him do it. Why did he do it? Sadly, in his twisted mind it was cheaper and easier to murder her than to get a divorce. He had told his neighbor that he freaked out when his attorney told him what it would cost, and that he would lose nearly everything. Does this sound like a motive for choosing an alternative to divorce? Yes it does,

And what triggered the murder, what started the ball rolling? Adultery. He had fallen into the slime pit of an extramarital affair with a considerably younger woman—only two years older than his eldest daughter. He felt trapped between the old and the new. The stale and the fresh. The plodding consistent love of his wife, and the fireworks display of his young mistresses body, her endless adulation, and her cheerful, good-natured demeanor. Is the possible contrast between wife and mistress a good reason for him to contemplate murdering his wife? No. It is about the pathological desire to have his way and seeing his wife’s murder as more cost effective than divorce. It is about narcissism and the blindfold of total self-interest making him unable to gauge the consequences of his actions. He killed her in their bed where their children were conceived. And one of their children witnessed what he did. She will be traumatized for the rest of her life. If it wasn’t for the child, he would’ve escaped. He punched his little daughter in the face as he went out the bedroom door, and he told her to keep her mouth shut, or she was next.

There is no love here. There’s only deception, indecency, brutality, murder and the absolute destruction of a little girl’s life.

Where should this man go next? I vote for some kind of medieval torture chamber, but here in New York, we’ll have to settle for a conviction and a prison sentence. Life in prison without parole? Yes. This man is a murdering fiend with no redeeming qualities.

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

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Diaphora

Posted on June 10, 2022 | Leave a comment

Diaphora (di-a’-pho-ra): Repetition of a common name so as to perform two logical functions: to designate an individual and to signify the qualities connoted by that individual’s name or title.

Joe: Hey Patsy! This guy you’re hanging out with has made you his blame absorber. Can’t you see it Patsy? He sets you up and walks away like nothing happened. He asks you to do him a favor, and then puts you out front where the danger of being caught is. Remember when you delivered the bag and he told you not to look inside Patsy? Well, that bag was confiscated by the police when they raided the place where you delivered it. It was full of counterfeit credit cards worth about $250.00 on the black market. The place was a fake travel agency. The only place those crooks will be booking trips to now is the State Penitentiary. Remember the truckload of boxes you delivered to the clothing store? The cargo was fake Polo and Izod shirts, sweaters, and jackets. You could be sitting in prison now if you hadn’t driven off before police got there Patsy. I know you think “doing him a favor” is a normal part of any relationship. Not this one Patsy. Don’t be a patsy, Patsy.

Patsy: He’s the kindest most generous person I’ve ever known. He gave me a Maserati! All I have to do is deliver 50 boxes of face powder to a motorcycle club in San Bernardino. What’s the harm in that? The powder is contained in beautiful boxes with a picture of a nose on the lid. I tried some of it on my face and it made my cheeks tingle. I’m leaving at 9:00.

Joe: No you’re not. If you do it Patsy, I’m going to have to arrest you. I work for the DEA and we’ve been watching your boyfriend for 2 months now. You are going to be delivering a load of cocaine. Show me where the car is and I’ll drive it to headquarters and put out a bulletin for his arrest. Let’s go Patsy.

Patsy: Oh my goodness. Do I get to keep the car?

Joe: Yes, of course. I’ll bring it back after I’ve unloaded it.

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

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Diaporesis

Posted on June 9, 2022 | Leave a comment

Diaporesis: Deliberating with oneself as though in doubt over some matter; asking oneself (or rhetorically asking one’s hearers) what is the best or appropriate way to approach something [=aporia].

I wonder too much. I wonder about my girlfriend. I wonder about the weather. I wonder about my food. I wonder who’s on first. I wonder why I wonder! Am I mentally ill? While I sit and wonder, the world passes me by. When I am able to talk to a person, I aways begin with “I was wondering.” People tell me I make them feel like they’re being interrogated or I am playing philosophical mind games with them. In terms of people, I am obsessed with knowing their motives: why are you wearing a blue dress, why did you park your car there, why are you having pepperoni instead of sausage pizza? Why do I need to do this? Why do I need to see inside people?

My mother never gave me a reason except “You’ll get it on the butt with the yardstick if you don’t do what I say.” Whenever I asked her “Why?” I was instructed to bend over for a hard whacking. My mother died after being impaled on a sharpened yardstick. Her killer was never caught, but I was a prime suspect. They found a knife and yardstick shavings in my room. I’ll never know why I was never charged. I often thought it was because my “why” asking would’ve driven them crazy while I was jailed waiting for trial. They couldn’t take it.

Why am I writing this? Do you think the best thing for me to do is to live with my malady and go on with my life? Why?

Definition courtesy of “Silva Rhetoricae” (rhetoric.byu.edu). Bracketed text added by Gorgias.

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Diaskeue

Posted on June 8, 2022 | Leave a comment

Diaskeue (di-as-keu’-ee): Graphic peristasis (description of circumstances) intended to arouse the emotions.

My mother was dead. Two weeks in the hospital and off she went. The restraint on her bed had come loose. She rolled over and the life sustaining tube yanked out of her arm. I’m no medical expert, but I don’t how one tube can make the difference between life and death. I demanded an autopsy but the hospital dismissed me like I was dirt.

I couldn’t stop thinking about my mother and the single tube that had killed her. I hired a lawyer and told her what had happened. The first thing she asked me was whether my mother had any enemies. I told her my mother was her own worst enemy. She ate like the pastry shop was a health food store. She drank the cheapest gin money can buy—Mr. Boston—smells like cleaning fluid flavored with juniper berries. She smoked Mavericks—a brand of cigarette that might not really be a cigarette. They are under investigation for using lawn clippings and recycled cigarette butts. The lawyer frowned and told me if we were going after a death rap, we needed somebody to blame before we’ll be granted the autopsy. I told her I thought we could blame anybody, so we blamed the orderly who mops the floors. It worked! The autopsy was performed. They found one of those little umbrellas that go in drinks lodged in my mother’s throat. She had choked to death. My mother always liked a Mimosa with a cocktail umbrella.

I sued the hospital for $5,000,000 and won. They had lied about the cause of death and we nailed them. My mother’s funeral was semi-festive. She was so quirky I know she would’ve loved it. The mortician had decorated her hair with cocktail umbrellas and put a Maverick cigarette between he lips. There was a bottle of Mr. Boston tucked under her arm. She looked great laying there. If she had gotten up and headed to Towne Liquor, it would’ve seemed perfectly normal.

You only have one mother. She was mine. It still hurts every time I think of her. I can remember her making me a peanut butter and jelly sandwich every day for my school lunch. She always gave me extra jelly. She was so nice to my friends and girlfriends. We would play in the yard and she would pop out on the back porch in her apron: “Come on kids, the cookies are ready.” We would race to the kitchen. I loved her with all my heart.

Some day we’ll catch the bastard who killed my mother. In the meantime, I’m in a serious relationship with the lawyer, Theresa. In a weird way I feel like that’s some kind of justice, and she bakes cookies that might be better than my mother’s.

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

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Diasyrmus

Posted on June 7, 2022 | Leave a comment

Diasyrmus (di’-a-syrm-os): Rejecting an argument through ridiculous comparison.

Your argument is like asking people to jump off a cliff to see if they can fly. It would require an audience of idiots to comply. But, your lack of respect for your constituents is always evident in the way you run your office. Your arguments for building the dam are more like building a scam. You and your family will directly benefit from building a huge concrete structure fed by a trickle of water that may evaporate before it collects even into a puddle. The only thing that will be dammed is the dam—the damn dam. This is how you run your office: self-interest, cronyism, nepotism, bribery, and more. It’s all about making an extra buck. Your arguments are like picking your nose and wiping it on people and telling them it is a gift they should grateful for. As you can tell, I want you out of office. Please resign tomorrow. In any event, you will be arrested.

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

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Diazeugma

Posted on June 6, 2022 | Leave a comment

Diazeugma (di-a-zoog’-ma): The figure by which a single subject governs several verbs or verbal constructions (usually arranged in parallel fashion and expressing a similar idea); the opposite of zeugma.

I had a dream that I flew into a tree. I was a red duck flapping my shiny wings, looping around and around, and, finally, diving into a lake of shiny wriggling worms. They were delicious, like sushi in motion. I had trouble taking off from the lake. The worms were wrapped around my big webbed feet. I was flapping hard. Really hard! Suddenly the worms let go all at once and I took off like a rocket—straight into a tree. I was knocked unconscious. When I awoke I was in a fox’s mouth, traveling toward certain death. Then, my mother jumped out of the bushes and kicked the fox. He dropped me in the mud and took off running. I was barely conscious. My mother grabbed me by the neck and swung me around over her head, yelling “duck, duck, duck” like me, the swinging duck, was going to hit somebody if they didn’t duck. That’s when I slammed into Miss Moody’s face. She was my kindergarten teacher back in the day. Suddenly my duckbill turned into lips and I began kissing Miss Moody. She said “yes, yes, yes” as I slobbered all over her face. Then, thank God, I woke up. I was panting and sweating. For some reason my duck call, that I used for duck hunting, was in my hand. I blew a quack. Faintly, from up in the attic, I heard “yes, yes, yes” in return. I yelled “no, no, no” as loud as I could, and that was the end of it.

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

A paper edition of The Daily Trope, entitled The Book of Tropes, is available for purchase on Amazon for $9.99 USD. It contains over 200 schemes and tropes with definitions and examples. There is also a Kindle edition available for $5.99.

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Dicaeologia

Posted on June 5, 2022 | Leave a comment

Dicaeologia (di-kay-o-lo’-gi-a): Admitting what’s charged against one, but excusing it by necessity.

Yes. Yes. Yes. I did it. But, your account of what happened is missing a major part. I was wearing my slippers outside in the rain. A huge gust of wind blew open my bathrobe and spun me around like a wind turbine. I was dizzy. I fell down and was crawling home toward Elm Street when my legally purchased and registered .45 auto handgun discharged and blew a hole in the corner mailbox, damaging US government property. When I regained my composure and realized what I had done I was ashamed. I started crying and the gun went off five more times—every time I sobbed my body heaved making me pull the trigger. I didn’t know what to do. I was afraid the mail in the mailbox would be damaged or destroyed due to the hole my bullets had blown in it by accident. So, I retrieved the mail through the hole, stuffed the contents of the mailbox into my bathrobe’s pockets and my underpants, and started running toward home, where I was going to call the Department of Homeland Security. That’s when I was arrested. I did what I did to save the mail. Everything else was an accident. Check my arrest record! I’ve never been arrested for anything like this before. The closest was when I was accused of stealing an ATM, but that was an accident too. I had the wrong address and picked it up by accident. It was 3.00 am and I couldn’t see in the dark. I mistook it for the lawn tractor I was supposed to pick up.

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

A paper edition of The Daily Trope, entitled The Book of Tropes, is available for purchase on Amazon for $9.99 USD. It contains over 200 schemes and tropes with their definitions and examples. There is also a Kindle edition available for $5.99.

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Dilemma

Posted on June 4, 2022 | Leave a comment

Dilemma (di-lem’-ma): Offering to an opponent a choice between two (equally unfavorable) alternatives.

A. Welcome! You have chosen to work at the most prestigious restaurant in New York City. Here at Bitter Herbs, we strive to empower our employees by giving them options. Every day you will be offered two work assignments and YOU get to choose one! People at their best make their own choices. We all know that being free, the highest aspiration of all sane human beings, is about making choices, not being dictated to by a cruel overseer. Now, you may don your rubber gloves and exercise your sacred right to choose. Which will it be: scrubbing floors in the kitchen or washing pots and pans? The choice is yours—nobody’s telling you which task to choose. You are free to decide on your own. You are empowered. You have agency. You are part of the team.

B. Hey—what if I’d rather wait on tables?

A. We have low tolerance for rebels. If you insist on posing your own alternatives, you will be terminated. It is your choice.

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

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Dirimens Copulatio

Posted on June 3, 2022 | Leave a comment

Dirimens Copulatio (di’-ri-mens ko-pu-la’-ti-o): A figure by which one balances one statement with a contrary, qualifying statement (sometimes conveyed by “not only … but also” clauses). A sort of arguing both sides of an issue.

Protagoras (c. 485-410 BC) asserted that “to every logos (speech or argument) another logos is opposed,” a theme continued in the Dissoi Logoi of his time, later codified as the notion of arguments in utrumque partes (on both sides). Aristotle asserted that thinking in opposites is necessary both to arrive at the true state of a matter (opposition as an epistemological heuristic) and to anticipate counterarguments. This latter, practical purpose for investigating opposing arguments has been central to rhetoric ever since sophists like Antiphon (c. 480-410 BC) provided model speeches (his Tetralogies) showing how one might argue for either the prosecution or for the defense on any given issue. As such, [this] names not so much a figure of speech as a general approach to rhetoric, or an overall argumentative strategy. However, it could be manifest within a speech on a local level as well, especially for the purposes of exhibiting fairness (establishing ethos [audience perception of speaker credibility].

This pragmatic embrace of opposing arguments permeates rhetorical invention, arrangement, and rhetorical pedagogy. [In a sense, ‘two-wayed thinking’ constitutes a way of life—it is tolerant of differences and may interpret their resolution as contingent and provisional, as always open to renegotiation, and never as the final word. Truth, at best, offers cold comfort in social settings and often establishes itself as incontestable, by definition, as immune from untrumque partes, which may be considered an act of heresy and may be punishable by death.]

We live in a world of circumstances—we are contained by thought-altering differences that have weight in determining what course to take. Truth is of little use, because there are multiple truths piled up around a given point of decision. Conflicts in this space are best resolved by persuasion—judgements of what is better or worse, right or wrong, not solely by applying what appears to be true and false: you are not supposed to lie. Tell the truth! The Nazis are at your door looking for your children. They are hiding in your basement. You lie and tell them you haven’t seen your children for weeks. Lying is a good thing here. If you told the truth, your children would be taken away. This a time-worn example, but it still makes a important point: lying can be good, telling the truth can be evil. They have no intrinsic moral valance, it emerges in the particular case, when they are told for better and for worse. Just think, if your commitment to truth was unassailable, in the example above, you would kill your children. Good idea? Is there something superior to truth operative here in the process of making a decision? Is there ever a hierarchy of truths prior to their engagement in a moment of decision? Making good decisions is about weighing alternatives, but again, maybe not.

Definition and commentary courtesy of “Silva Rhetoricae” (rhetoric.byu.edu). Bracketed text by Gogias, Editor of Daily Trope.

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Distinctio

Posted on June 2, 2022 | Leave a comment

Distinctio (dis-tinc’-ti-o): Eliminating ambiguity surrounding a word by explicitly specifying each of its distinct meanings.

Pecker: a very complex term layered with meanings that become clear when it is put into play in an unambiguous context, or not. I will list sentences below that use the word pecker, followed by the pecker synonym fitting the context of each listing.

1. His pecker was big and fat and pink and was dripping on the floor. NOSE

2. He grabbed the duck by its big orange pecker and threw it over the fence. BILL

3. He put his string firmly in his pecker, guaranteeing he would shoot where he wanted to. He had just had his pecker scrubbed down for the day’s event. He was sure he would shoot the farthest and the straightest and be grand champion again this year. NOTCH IN AN ARROW

4. He stood behind the big wooden pecker, looking for inspiration. This was a special group of people who had invited him to speak. The big pecker was made out of maple, unstained and uncolored—along with its size, it was the most beautiful pecker he’d ever stood behind. Too many peckers these days are made from metal instead of wood. Wooden peckers usually have carvings symbolic of the interest the peckers serve—spiritual, educational, political. LECTERN

5. He was the biggest pecker I ever knew. He loved Home Style Buffet, where being a super pecker was lauded—often with a standing ovation. He loved to lay on the floor under the ice cream machine and have somebody turn it on and dispense his favorite chocolate straight into his mouth. Once he almost choked to death, but a fellow chocolate lover gave him mouth to mouth, as much for the flavor as the first aid. He was the King of Peckers, at his best when slurping macaroni and cheese from the stainless steel Experts Trough. It was eight feet off the floor with red carpeting on the stairs and “Experts Trough” flashing off and on in an arc of red and yellow lights. Two people had drowned in the trough. It must’ve been terrible. At a memorial service for of them, in lieu candles, they held up small ziplock bags filled with warm macaroni and cheese. Anyway, my friend was a big pecker; a great pecker, a wonder pecker, almost too good to be true. FOOD LOVER

Well, there we have it—many of the ins and outs and ins and outs of peckers. We know now that pecker has more meanings than plain old “pecker.” So, fill a bag with your best peckers and be like Jimmy Carter. TOOLS.

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Ellipsis

Posted on May 29, 2022 | Leave a comment

Ellipsis (el-lip’-sis): Omission of a word or short phrase easily understood in context.

Where am I going? Where have I been? Goodbye American pie. I’ve been to the levy on the other side of Blueberry Hill where I learned how to use a bayonet to kill. It was a thrill. I was only nineteen. I came from a poor family. The Army was my salvation. The Army gave me each day my daily bread, but they would not forgive my trespasses or those who trespassed against me. The trespassers were the enemy. We tried our best to kill them with rifles, mortars, artillery, bombs, and, in my case, booby traps—an exploding edition of Mao’s Little Red Book was so effective. The Commies couldn’t resist, almost by impulse, picking it up. Beee-lam. What a mess. Luckily the Geneva Convention didn’t require post-mutilation clean up. It wasn’t hard to confirm their death. I just left what was left for the rats and maggots. When they blew up, we called it “This magic moment.” If I was working with a crew, when the explosion went off, the singing would commence from the bushes, everybody trying to outdo each other with hokey voices and exaggerated gestures. It was hilarious. As a nineteen-year-old, this was my first job. It wasn’t Burger King, it was blowing up VC and NVA. It was war, and that’s what you do in wars: you kill other human beings.

Two months after I got home, I was at Woodstock—the music festival. I did not talk to anybody ever about what I had done. I considered myself a murderer. I drank heavily, smoked a lot of pot and took a lot of acid. I think my brain became tie-dyed. I was “up on Cripple Creek, down by the river, over the rainbow, on the dark side of the moon.”

Then, I ran into a friend from high school who was a Vet. He told me about this thing called a “community college” where I could collect veteran’s benefits just for going to classes. I did it and loved it. That was just the start. Eventually, I earned a PhD in Chemistry and opened a meth lab in Idaho. I made millions, never got caught, and live quietly in San Francisco with my wife and my dog Bee-lam the eighth.

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

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Enallage

Posted on May 28, 2022 | Leave a comment

Enallage (e-nal’-la-ge): The substitution of grammatically different but semantically equivalent constructions.

You are doing so many things at once. How many things can you do at once? You’re like a spider weaving ten webs at once, or a person driving two cars, or a mother with 12 children. What? Why? Is your goal to fracture your consciousness so you can take a medical leave from Bill’s Brown Bag Bar & Grill? On top of everything else, shoving “medications” into bags and delivering them all over town must be taxing. The woman you met who claimed to be your mother must’ve driven you nuts, especially when you knew she was my mother! She’s been taking Bill’s medication for that past ten years. Luckily my dad left her with millions, or she’d be living in her underwear under a freeway overpass with the rest of the loons. She was a good mother before she got hooked on the stuff. Things came crashing down when dad gave her a hit and left home, all in one stroke. Mom lost it. She stopped washing our clothes. The other kids called me and my little sister “Stinky” and “Stinkier.” She stopped cooking. We had a can of unheated Dinty Moore beef stew every night. Also, mother insisted we finish off a bottle of wine with her every night. I went to elementary school half loaded every day. My teacher thought I had a speech impediment because I slurred my words. It was rough, but we broke out, even though Mother stuck with Bill’s medication. We talked her into giving us half of her fortune. Then, we hired a laundry service and went out to eat all the time. I applied to college and was admitted to UC Santa Barbara were I majored in Marine Biology—that’s part of the reason I own a chain of sushi restaurants, the other is my ownership of a wasabi factory in San Diego. Anyway, you need to focus. Find a single string and pull it like the chord on your Venetian blinds. A lot can happen with one pull. You can work in my wasabi factory. You can peel Japanese horseradish—you’ll have the clearest nostrils in California!

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

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Enantiosis

Posted on May 27, 2022 | Leave a comment

Enantiosis (e-nan-ti-o’-sis): Using opposing or contrary descriptions together, typically in a somewhat paradoxical manner.

The beginning is the end, the end is the beginning. I started my relationship with Shelly, but it’s started ending when it began. I am not a vegetarian. I am not a kick boxer, I am not a Republican gun nut. Shelly is all three of those things. After a month, I had to sneak out for meat. I hated kickboxing: to fight is not right, and total hell, I hated shooting at empty beer cans every day. But, good lord, sleeping together cancelled all the bad stuff out. Then I thought, why should that one thing form the foundation of our relationship when everything else is crap? That’s when the beginning was the end, start was stop, right was wrong, in was out: there was no middle ground, there were just perspectives. For example, guns are good from one perspective and bad from another—it doesn’t mean that either of the competing perspectives is right. That’s where it gets complicated—the conflicted concepts of the ‘good’ grounding opposed judgments of the same thing as good or bad float on the ether of opinion.

I broke up with Shelly. It was bad and good: we were through: bad and good. I have new girlfriend, Janine. She likes meat. She likes to kick dance, and is in favor of gun control. She only likes sex twice a week, but that’s never going to be a deal breaker. Anyway, I think we are in love and I didn’t need to sacrifice my self to get there. I just needed to sacrifice Shelly. It was messy, but it set me free. It was the right thing to do.

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

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Enigma

Posted on May 26, 2022 | Leave a comment

Enigma (e-nig’-ma): Obscuring one’s meaning by presenting it within a riddle or by means of metaphors that purposefully challenge the reader or hearer to understand.

There is a windmill, or should I say, a wind turbine, spinning in my mind. It is generating electric thoughts, like Edison had when he summoned his assistant Watson to light his cigar in his laboratory. Yes, the cigar had import, basking in the significance of the moment, like an open door or a pile of loose change, mostly dimes and quarters, or a glowing summons to an unimaginable future, imagined right there in Menlo Park, New Jersey. The cigar was cheap, but Edison’s thoughts were worth a fortune.

I want to know how the wind gets in my head to make the windmill spin. Maybe I should say there’s a hamster in my mind running on his wheel, spinning off crazy ideas that are soaked up by my consciousness, providing grounds for illegal and inappropriate actions. Oh wait—there is a rainbow bridging my brain! It affords me a promise, hope and an optimistic turn toward the rest of my life. Like George LaVkovff says, there are “metaphors we live by” (and die by). Does your life stink?

That’s a metaphor. Change the metaphor and your life will change. I consider myself to be a turtle with a rainbow above my head. Think of a turtle’s characteristics. They’re mine too. Put a rainbow above them. They’re mine too. Being a rainbow-crowned turtle provides me an orientation toward life! But what am I really? I’m an life insurance actuary with a boring hopeless life. I am not a turtle—they have more fun than I do. I am an anchovy stuck in the darkness of my can with ten or twelve other anchovies. We’re waiting for the lid to be ripped off. There’s a lot of anxiety in the can, plus we smell bad.

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

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Ennoia

Posted on May 25, 2022 | Leave a comment

Ennoia (en-no’-i-a): A kind of purposeful holding back of information that nevertheless hints at what is meant. A kind of circuitous speaking.

Once upon a time there was a man who had married young. He had gotten married when he was twenty. Now, he and his wife are seventy. This man often dreamed of breaking free and finding a younger woman to spend his life with: maybe somebody fifty or sixty. At some point, he decided that being bored is not a good reason to terminate a marriage. If he could cheat on his wife with luscious younger ladies flush with their Social Security checks, he thought all of his marital concerns could be solved: sex, drugs, and rock ‘n roll were the remedy. Viagra, pot, and Pink Floyd would set him free.

He caught crabs from the first woman he had sex with outside of marriage. Those little crawly insects picnicking on his crotch made him itch and made him wonder—made him wonder if he was actually moving backward. The last time he had caught crabs he was in the Army in Vietnam. He caught the crabs from a whore who primarily serviced ARVN (Vietnamese) soldiers. Just like now, he was given a little can of DDT to sprinkle on what he called his “crotch crickets.” But, as he sat there feeling them crawl around on his scrotum, giving him little itchy pin-prick nips, he came to a conclusion. Cheating on his wife was bad—bad for him and bad for her. He had crabs and she had been betrayed and she didn’t know it. Right then and there he vowed to clean up his act. No more running around. No more looking for women on “SpicyGrandmas.com.” No more bar-hopping. No more being stupid. It had taken a lot to get to this conclusion. That’s why he was super annoyed when he found out his wife had taken up square dancing.

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

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Enthymeme

Posted on May 23, 2022 | Leave a comment

Enthymeme (en’-thy-meem): 1. The informal method [or figure] of reasoning typical of rhetorical discourse. The enthymeme is sometimes defined as a “truncated syllogism” since either the major or minor premise found in that more formal method of reasoning is left implied. The enthymeme typically occurs as a conclusion coupled with a reason. When several enthymemes are linked together, this becomes sorites. 2. A figure of speech which bases a conclusion on the truth of its contrary. [Depending on its grammatical structure and specific word choice, it may be chiasmus].

It’s raining, you better wear a raincoat or take an umbrella. Before you go, you better turn the heat down on the roast. While you’re out, can you get me a bottle of Pirate’s Butt? We’re supposed to eat dinner by six, please try to be there. Ok, see you later. I’ll be here practicing my clapping. I’m tired of everybody looking at me during the applause at the end of a performance. I really don’t know why slapping the palm of my hand while I hold it stationary warrants my fellow audience members’ disdain. I could see how, if I slapped my knee or forehead, or pounded my chest, I would garner glares or have people look at me with wrinkled up noses like I smell bad.

So there I sat, slapping my palm. I needed to do something more than practice!

The next day, I went to see Dr. Rondo, a highly respected applausiologist who recently moved here from Attica. My session was amazing. First, he told me to stop clapping until I am cured. He told me people would think I was some kind of critic who didn’t like the performance. That strategy worked so well that I have quit clapping altogether. Now, people ask me why I held back on clapping for a given performance. I alway use the same adjectives and phrases: dull, bumbling, unremarkable, without merit, bad lighting, and many more.

My reputation spread, and now, I’m the drama critic at our local newspaper the Tuckertown Canary. We used to be a coal mining town, that’s where the canary came from. Since I’ve been at the Canary, I’ve never given a positive review. In order to try to take on the positive side of criticism, I’m going back to Dr. Rondo to try to get my clapping fixed. My daughter’s senior play is coming soon. She’s the star. I can’t let her down. I need to develop the perfect clap: a clap that will project love and caring, enthusiasm and acceptance.

Definition courtesy of “Silva Rhetoricae” (rhetoric.byu.edu). Bracketed text added by Gorgias.

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Epanorthosis

Posted on May 22, 2022 | Leave a comment

Epanorthosis (ep-an-or-tho’-sis): Amending a first thought by altering it to make it stronger or more vehement.

Every time I try to put things right, they go wrong—no, no, no, they go catastrophic. I go to the vet with my cat Barny. I decided to carry him to calm him & boom—he jumps out of my arms and runs away across the parking lot, jumps through the window of a waiting car and rides away. I was just trying to help him and things went way wrong. That was a year ago. I got a new cat and named him Barny 2. He is all black like the old Barny, but has a different demeanor. He likes clawing my ankles, yowling late at night, and knocking his food around the kitchen floor, like some kind of weird multi-puck hockey game.

I wanted everything to be right on the cat front. It never will be, but well, maybe it will be. Maybe I can work with Barny 2 to bring him around—to make him a model cat. There’s a place called “Bad Cat College” near where I live. My friend Etta had her cat cured there of its tendency grab ahold of her windpipe when she was sleeping. The cat, Blurto, was cured by substituting kitty treats for Etta’s windpipe. The cat gained a lot of weight, but Etta can sleep knowing her windpipe will be intact in the morning. I would like to stem Barny 2’s desire to eat my legs.

Sadly, Barny 2 disappeared 3 days ago. Maybe he’s gone for good. Right now I’m writing a short story called the “Incorrigible Cat.” The story ends with a woman and her cat fighting it out in the basement. The women hits the cat with its litter box and slams it up against the wall. The cat is unfazed and leaps on the woman’s head and tears one of her eyes out of its socket. The woman, bleeding from scratches and her eye socket, rips the cat off her head and strangles it with one hand, while she punches it in the face with her other hand.

This is like Dirty Harry meets Leo the Lion. Ha Ha. You might have guessed, that I’m actually done with cats. I think they are suitable for masochists, but not me. With luck, Barny 2 will never come home.

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

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Epenthesis

Posted on May 20, 2022 | Leave a comment

Epenthesis (e-pen’-thes-is): The addition of a letter, sound, or syllable to the middle of a word. A kind of metaplasm. Note: Epenthesis is sometimes employed in order to accommodate meter in verse; sometimes, to facilitate easier articulation of a word’s sound. It can, of course, be accidental, and a vice of speech.

I cain imagine what it would be like to live here. I would have a lot of fun playing softball until dark behind The Knights of Columbus Club House where we can “borrow” Mr. Tanto’s De Nobili cigars. He hides them from his wife at the clubhouse and smokes them like there’s no tomorrow while he’s there, and drinks Mt. Stromboli’s homemade wine like it actually tastes good! I tasted it one time and it was awful. It tasted like somebody had soaked car tires in bath water and bottled it. I will never know what Mr. Tanto found pleasing about Mr: Stromboli’s wine. Maybe I just don’t have gourmet taste. I like big Mac’s with cheese, fries, a vainilla shake and a cone. That makes me pretty much normal, like everybody else.

Yes, this is a great place to live. If I can stay, as I grow up I am sure I’ll get a good job. Maybe like my cousin Jimmy. He’s a runner. He does not race in marathons, in fact he does race at all. He will never tell me where he runs. He says it’s secret. Maybe he works for the CIA. I don’t know what kind of espionage can go on in this little town, but it could be big. The town is near an arsenal where they make and test bombs. You hear them exploding all day long, and sometimes at night. I snuck into the arsenal one night. I have never told this to anybody. I saw flying monkeys being bossed by a skinny old lady in a black dress. I barely got out of there and I’ve seen monkeys peering in my bedroom window. They hold up little signs that say things like: “Go back to New Jersey’” “Jimmy is doomed,” and “No more chocolate ice cream.” Nothing’s happened yet, and I don’t think it will. I just wish the flying monkeys would leave me alone.

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

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Epergesis

Posted on May 19, 2022 | Leave a comment

Epergesis (e-per-gee’-sis): Interposing an apposition, often in order to clarify what has just been stated.

My Oder brother, “Edward the fish,” has numerous problems. The biggest is his tendency purse his lips like a fish mouth. Then, he makes a gurgling sound when he gets nervous. Sometime he says: “Look at me, I’m an anxious sunfish.” He also has a very unfortunate self abuse tendency: he will hook himself with a Red Devil fishing lure. We don’t know where he gets them, but somehow he does. His lower lip is always loaded with scabs. When he hooks himself my mother has to get the hook out. She cuts it with a pair of wire cutters for minimal lip damage. Of course, Edward was awarded “The Fish” nickname due to his fish-fixation. We tried for years to figure out where his fish fixation comes from. We determined that it probably started when he went fishing with our father when he was a little boy.

They got up early, around 5.30 am and headed for nearby Lake Stone. Dad had given Edward a child fishing rod with a push-button reel shaped like Donald Duck. It was about 2 feet long. This was Edward’s first-ever fishing trip. He had no idea what to expect and Dad, in typical Dad fashion, didn’t bother to fill him in.

There was an abundance of fish that year—mostly sunfish. Dad and Edward filled our rowboat with Sunfish that day. Poor Edward was pretty much buried under bleeding, stinking sunfish. He tried to jump out of the boat, but Dad hit him on the head with an oar, and told him to quit whining and stand up if he didn’t want to sit with the fish.

When they got home, Edward smelled like a ripe tuna. Dad had dumped the fish on the lakeshore because it was “a pain in the ass to clean them.” Right away Edward started acting like a fish. Some day, we hope to relieve him of his problem. Soon, he’ll be able to collect welfare because he’s crazy. I don’t think they’ll find anything fishy.

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

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Epicrisis

Posted on May 18, 2022 | Leave a comment

Epicrisis (e-pi-cri’-sis): When a speaker quotes a certain passage and makes comment upon it.

Related figures: anamenesis–calling to memory past matters. More specifically, citing a past author from memory–and chreia (from the Greek chreiodes, “useful”) . . . “a brief reminiscence referring to some person in a pithy form for the purpose of edification.” It takes the form of an anecdotethat reports either a saying, an edifying action, or both.

“Owners of former Sears and Macy’s stores may have veto power over changes to the property.” I read this in my local newspaper. Another business-centric use of paper—paper that is becoming more and more scarce. Even after reading the article, I don’t know why I should care. I would like to see Sears made into the world’s biggest massage parlor. It is 2 stories high! It would get a ton of publicity. It could be called “Swingin’ Roebucks,” catering to hordes of frustrated men. I would love to see Macy’s turned into an indoor gardening site: Macy’s Classic Garden. It could have grow lights and people could rent plots to grow whatever they want—carrots, pot, pumpkins, spinach, and potatoes. Whatever. There could be a counter included with each plot in case people want to sell their produce, or give it away. All tools would be communal and fitted with special “bracelets” like they use for house arrest, so the tools couldn’t be stolen.

But of course, none of this will ever happen. There will probably be more bullshit retail stores built into the spaces—stuff you can get on the internet from Amazon with no shipping fees. Why should I spend my $5.00 per gallon gas to drive to Mandy’s Candies, Ted’s Trench-Coats, or Barbie’s Buns? All I need to do, for example, is go on the web and search for “buns.” Of course, I may be momentarily distracted by women’s buns pictures posted there, but I’ll get to the baked buns eventually. It beats driving to Shoppingville Mall, which is five miles away from where I live.

Unless they start adapting malls to the 21st century, they should be jackhammering them into dust. I would love to go work in my Macy’s Classic Garden plot, hoeing my beans or trimming my buds, or whatever. Then, after getting all sweaty, dashing over “Swingin’ Roebucks” for a massage. Never happen.

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

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