This Week in Word of the Day – 4/14/13
plethoric \ple-THAWR-ik, -THOR-, PLETH-uh-rik\, adjective:
1. overfull; turgid; inflated: a plethoric, pompous speech.
2. of, pertaining to, or characterized by plethora.
Everyone loves and loses. They must, it is our duty to the gods. The soul is not made up of cosmic fairy particles muddled with divinity and sprinkled down onto the dust of the earth. The soul is a plethoric pool of scars, pains, delights, potential clipped short, genius gone stale, memories both sour and sweet. It is the mud tracked in on our shoes, collected over 70 years of stumbling through this dark and frightening wilderness. We all share this wicked and wonderful human existence, yet we drink it in or spit it out in our own fashion. That is why we are special and that is why we are immortal.
machinate \MAK-uh-neyt\, verb:
to contrive or plot, especially artfully or with evil purpose: to machinate the overthrow of the government.
Loneliness stuck to him like molten tar. Every chore was a burden, every weight was a little heavier, every setback bruised a little deeper. There was a time when he machinated power plays that wove together months of preparation with vast, yet irreducible complexity. He was feared and loved for it.
But, today, after losing her, it took all his resources just to open the front door and show his face to the world. They knew, they all knew and he hated them for it.
ingress \IN-gres\, noun:
1. the act of going in or entering.
2. the right to enter.
3. a means or place of entering; entryway.
4. Astronomy. immersion (def. 5).
Rubble tumbled and fell away from the yawning ingress of the skull-shaped cave. The stone door sighed, then split with a vicious “crack”. Noxious gases hissed out of the opening, releasing centuries of rot.
“Geez,” Bubbha groaned as he covered his nose and backed away from the cave.
“Yeah, that smells worse than grandpa’s fishin’ pants,” Muscrat grimaced before cautiously approaching the opening.
“What you figure they left inside there?” Muscrat asked as he studied etchings on the inner door. Images of walking dead, severed heads, and giant spiders were flanked by a mysterious, forgotten language.
“Treasure, you dumbass,” Bubbha sighed. “What else would they hide in a giant skeleton head?”
“I don’t know, these pictures look kinda creepy,” Muscrat said. “And it smells right awful.”
“We goin’ in, you hear me?” Bubbha growled. “We’s Jenkins men and we ain’t ‘fraid of no mumbo jumbo cartoons nor no underground fart gas!”
“You got a point there,” Muscrat mumbled. “Let’s do this.”
lilt \lilt\, noun:
1. rhythmic swing or cadence.
2. a lilting song or tune.
verb:
1. to sing or play in a light, tripping, or rhythmic manner.
Classroom disruptions were inevitable when haunted by a tortured manifestation of a young woman with a bloody butcher knife singing “Ring Around a Rosie” in a cracked, child-like lilt. Even so, the resolute substitute carried on with classroom discussion of “Julius Caesar”.
percipient \per-SIP-ee-uhnt\, adjective:
1. having perception; discerning; discriminating: a percipient choice of wines.
2. perceiving or capable of perceiving.
noun:
1. a person or thing that perceives.
As the older of the two Jenkins brothers, Bubbha clearly possessed the percipient eye to decide which of the fourteen jewels glimmering in the torchlight belonged to King Solomon. As the animated skeleton of a nineteenth century Chinese mining laborer explained, choosing the correct precious stone would unlock the drawbridge, allowing the pair of boys to continue their journey deep into the lost, cavernous empire of the Mole People.
There, Bubbha assumed, would be untold fortunes that would make them super rich, like Jeff Gordon rich.
“Man, Momma’s gonna take a switch to our hides if we don’t make it back for dinner,” Muscrat muttered as he watched his brother survey the jewels.
“Hell, Momma gonna thank us cause we about to buy her some indoor plumbing.”
imprest \IM-prest\, noun:
an advance of money; loan.
For her part, she knew what they were doing was wrong. It was clear, it had always been clear that she could not love a man like him. He was a good-hearted old fool, but she did not burn for him, even if, at times, she wished she could.
“Just give me these moments,” he implored as they dined in Paris cafés, held hands lightly while watching opera in Milan, and walked the beaches of Peru.
She would stifle her fretting guilt and enjoy the adventure as best she could. After all, how else would she be able to shop the bustling markets in Bombay or explore the neon explosion of downtown Tokyo?
“I have never before and will never again see a face as beautiful and expressive as yours,” he whispered as they kissed like timid children. “It is like peering over the shoulder of Matisse as he paints a masterpiece. You are a wonder.”
She would smile, whisper a thank you and delay. In time, they would return home and the ugliness could be dealt with then.
She would never know that the old man was not as rich as he led her to believe. She would never know the deadly imprests he took out from the wrong kinds of people, that he had sold his house, emptied his retirement and, after their world tour came to an end, he would retreat from her into obscurity, penniless, but happily resigned to the final days he knew were lurking just a few months away.
chuffed \chuhft\, adjective:
1. annoyed; displeased; disgruntled.
2. delighted; pleased; satisfied.
The ground cracked open at 9:30 pm, Central/Standard time. From Shanghai to Dallas, from Anchorage to Port-au-Prince, the foundation of the planet ruptured and split away.
It was shocking, but no injuries were reported and there was no significant property damage.
The dead began rising at 11 pm Central/Standard time. There was global panic initially, but the population was quickly calmed and mystified by the singing.
In massive herds, the dead gathered and rose their weary eyes to the heavens, holding up their hands, and singing though the dried out caverns of their lungs. In the freshly dead, the songs came out almost human, but weakened by cracked and guttural moans. From those stripped by nature to their bones, the wind whipped through their skulls like the low whistle of a conch. And the most beautiful of all were those that had lost all their carbon to the hungry Earth. They became shadows of blue energy that hummed like the feedback of a cheap guitar.
There were shootings, of course. Hasty clearings of the herds from those that bought into zombie foolishness, but the dead were made of heartier stuff that could not be squashed by shotgun pellets. Where blasts burrowed out holes in the dead, the blue energy remained, eternal and invulnerable.
A young boy recognized his brother among the eery choir and ran out to meet him. The brother had blue energy stretching from his right hip to the ground to replace the missing leg. He seemed genuinely chuffed to see his younger sibling and managed a weak smile as they hugged. The living soon spread out among the herds, embracing their loved ones and awing at their beautiful song.
No words were exchanged, for the dead could only sing, but it was enough.
At 7 am, Central/Standard time, the dead returned to the ground. The living were left with no firm idea of why they’d been visited by their dearly departed loved ones. Religious leaders pointed to the way they sang to the sky, as if beckoning a messiah to return to Earth. Conspiracists suggested bio-engineered chemicals for farming.
One little girl suggested, on a news program, that perhaps the dead were just tired of being alone and, for its simplicity, it was the most widely accepted theory. It gave people hope that they would see their friends and family rise again and rejoin humanity to celebrate the gift of community.
