Apophasis Now

Apophasis is such a cool word. Not to mention how it sounds like a popping fist and fireworks, though I wouldn’t dare suggest I’ve ever blown things up just for grins and giggles. It’s cousin to praeteritio, kissing cousin to paralepsis— all of them cool sounding words, not to mention parasiopesis which leaves the juiciest bits unsaid— but don’t get me started on this. Of course, I’m not about to get into the night I spent in Union Station after getting turned back at the Canadian border in high school— but I will say the benches weren’t made for sleeping. I’ll never admit to dropping acid on a rainy night in the woods up on the bluffs in college and watching the trees breathe in and out, but that doesn’t mean I talked back. And I won’t bore you with the story of puking on my cat after swilling too much beer on my twenty-first birthday— though in my defense, he was already glaring at me for forgetting his supper. So I’m certainly not about to tell you how I stripped down to my underwear in the walk-in freezer at the restaurant—just to hose down a week’s worth of chicken guts and rancid mayonnaise— but modesty was never the point. I’ll just say again that apophasis really is a cool sounding word— all hiss and pop and emphasis— not that I’m confessing anything, mind you. Not at all.