Tag Archives: mesarchia

Mesarchia

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


My hats are my passion. My hats are my inspiration. My hats are my corridor to what I can be. I started collecting hats when I was 10 years old. I got a set of electric trains for my birthday. Along with the train set, my father gave me an engineer’s hat. It had black and gray pinstripes and a tall floppy brim. The town’s train station was about two blocks from where I lived, It was a key stop for the commuter train going to and from New York City. I had a squirt can of “3-in-One Oil.” I’d walk up and down the platform in my hat pretending I was a railroad engineer waiting for my train. I’d tell people in thick railroad jargon that I was waiting for a “Brass Collar” (Railroad Bigwig) so we could have a look at the Clown Wagon” (Caboose) behind the “Battleship” (Large Locomotive) when it arrived from Hoboken at 3:30. Some people would laugh, others told me to go home where little boys belong. I understood that when I fell off the platform one day. People were screaming and yelling. The 2:30 from Newark was only 100 ft away, so nobody could help me. I laid in the middle of the tracks until the train stopped. I crawled out and the Conductor reached down and pulled me back up on the platform. He yelled, “You’re lucky to be alive!” as I ran for home, crying. My Mom asked me what was wrong, and I told her I had been tun over by the train from Newark. She smiled and said “You’re just like your father: an idiot! Have some milk and cookies.”

My second hat was a Union Soldier hat. Our family had taken a spring road trip to Washington, DC. We stopped at Gettysburg along the way to visit the famous battlefield where Lincoln had delivered his “Gettysburg Address” to dedicate a cemetery there. There was a museum there. It was a tribute to how crazy the US had gone, dividing into two separate countries and going to war. There was a gift shop attached to the museum that had a lot of Abraham Lincoln souvenirs—rulers with the “Gettysburg Address” printed on them and pencil sharpeners in the shape of Lincoln’s bust. There were placemats imprinted with photographic images of battlefield carnage, red white and blue garters, and cheap bourbon called “Famous Grant.” Then, there were the hats!

There were Union hats, and Confederate hats. I wanted a Confederate hat—I begged. My father called me a traitor and gave me his signature karate chop on the back of the neck. I blacked out for a second, like I always did. When I snapped back, I was wearing a Union soldier’s hat. “We won that damn war, and don’t forget it. Your great great great grand Uncle was killed by a Rebel—shot in the back and left to bleed to death on the battlefield at Shiloh. Never forget that. As we came out of the gift shop I saw a kid at the other side of the parking lot wearing a Rebel hat. I was mad after what my father had told me. I ran across the parking lot to kick the Rebel boy’s ass. I slipped on an oil spot, fell, and cut my knee. The Rebel boy came over and asked me if I was ok. I told him I was fine. He was from Fishhook, North Carolina. He told me his great great great grand Uncle was killed by a Yankee—shot in the back and left to bleed to death on the battlefield at Vicksburg. We made friends right there in that parking lot and were pen pals for years: he died on the battlefield at Can Tho in Vietnam.

In a way, my hat collection is a repository of memories—some good, some bad. I have 106 hats in my collection. When I put one on, it can be like flipping a switch on a time machine. I guess my most important hat is my Davy Crockett “raccoon skin cap.” Mine had a snap-on tail and glow-in-the dark eyes. It also had tuck-in ear flaps. When I put it on, I became “king of the wild frontier.” Knowing Davy had “killed him a bear when he was only three,” I was deeply disappointed that there were no bears in New Jersey that I could kill, but I went bear hunting anyway. I had a bow and arrow set that I had pulled the suction cups off of and sharpened the arrow shafts’ tips with my pencil sharpener. There was a patch of woods near were I lived. That’s where I went hunting. I never saw a bear, but once I saw my woodshop teacher Mr. Rippey with the girl’s gym teacher Miss Meedle. Miss Meedle was holding onto a tree while Mr. Rippey hopped up and down behind her. Now that I’m older, I know what was going on. At the time, I didn’t. When I told Mom what I had seen, she said “Oh my!” Nearly immediately, she called my school and asked for Mr. Rippey. When she got him on the line, she told me to leave the room.

Anyway, when you put something on your head, you put something in your head. Hats can affect your identity. Where would Napoleon have been without his hat? Mickey Mantle? The Cat in the Hat? Earnest Hemingway? Chico Marx? Tom Mix? Benny Hill? Queen Elizabeth? The Mad Hatter? There are hundreds more. Get a hat. Take a break from being you.


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

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Mesarchia

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


I started lifting weights. I started lifting my spirits. I started lifting myself! I made a contraption like a swing on a pulley. I would sit on the swing and pull myself up by the swing’s rope. I called it “Joey’s Pull-a-Muscle.” I got to the point where I would time each pull, trying to break my own record each time. In order to increase the challenge, I decided to put on weight by eating cake and pie and three large double-cheese Domino pizzas per day, with sausage, bacon, meatballs, and smoked shad toppings. After 6 months I went from 220-340 pounds. I bought a 5x spa towel and made Tick Tok videos of myself when I wasn’t lifting or eating. I got 600 likes for my “Seduction” video—in the video I slowly lifted the hem of my spa towel while wagging my finger and shaking my head “No.”

Then I met a girl on Tick Tok. She said she had been watching me and would love to come over to my apartment and pull my rope some afternoon. What she said sounded slightly sexually suggestive, but I was game for anything. So, I invited her over the following day at 1:00 pm. I would try to take a shower in preparation. Unfortunately, I got stuck in the shower. I stood there, wedged in, all night long.

Then, at exactly 1:00 pm there was a knock on my door. I yelled to her to come in. I guided her to the bathroom with my yelling. When she arrived at the bathroom door, I was stunned. She was wearing one of those inflatable a sumo wrestler suits, fully inflated. She pulled me out of the shower. I put on my spa towel and we sat on the couch. By the way: she was quite attractive: black hair, brown eyes, nice ears, straight teeth, small feet. That’s all I could see with the sumo suit covering her up.

“Would you let me pull your rope now?” she asked. Then it hit me—I had seen her face in the newspaper! Her name was Beth Grisley and she was being sought in connection with the brutal stabbing and dismemberment of the professional wrestler Two-Ton Tommy Tompowski! I stood in front of the open window and yelled “Come and get me!” She grabbed a steak knife off the coffee table and came running at me. At the last second I stepped aside. She would’ve flown out the window, but the inflated sumo suit wedged in the window. I called 911 and soon everything was settled.

As the dust settled, I thought to myself, never again will I invite a stranger over to my apartment to pull my rope. Never again will I make Tick Tok videos. As soon as I lose 100 pounds, never again will I get wedged in the shower.


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. A Kindle edition is available for $5.99.


Mesarchia

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

I was looking for a piece of paper. I was anxious for a piece to write on. I was in need of a piece to start my butterfly census project. I would be counting the Monarchs, Yellow Swallowtails and Black Swallowtails. For one week, I would go out every day at 2.00p.m. and track them.

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. A Kindle edition is available for $5.99.

Mesarchia

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

Truth is a chain wound around your soul, eternally binding your will to be otherwise.

Truth is a dagger driven deep into your soul, eternally excising ignorance, and tragically bleeding out its hot misty bliss.

Truth is an immortal warrior that recruits your soul, eternally marching it toward its unwavering goal, achieving victory on wine-colored fields drenched by the wounds of infidels.

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

Mesarchia

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

Truth is a picture of hope fulfilled, eternally titled “The End.”

Truth is a parasite attached to your soul, eternally weakening its will to let go.

Truth is a red-eyed pig eternally oinking in the barnyard of your mind.

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

Mesarchia

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

I was their leader, after all, and I was true to their cause. I was their hope, after all, and their hope was a treasure that was made safe by our dream. I was their inspiration, after all, and together we made the world a better place; we rejoiced in the spirit of our dream’s fulfillment. I was, after all, theirs–all theirs.

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