The Inanity Clause

There is a word that I use sometimes. It appears in the air in front of my face in that precise moment when my brow breaks into a deep Frida Kahlo and my eyes strain with the effort of not rolling permanently back into my eyelids.

In those moments the word circles forcibly in the space before me and I bite my tongue to prevent the violent act of biting someone’s head off.

The moment subsides the mood changes, the word disappears,  the unibrow breaks.

Searching today for this word, can’t find it, can’t summon it, don’t really need it as talk whirls about in pleasant, thoughtful, whirly-jigs.

Quietly then, the word reveals itself, awkward as a snow shower in July, an unwanted interloper, bumbling into the fray, out of sync with the jiggity-jig.

Well Hello Platitude!
Why it seems that all’s well that ends well!
You are what you eat!
Let’s make America great again!

and so it goes, after all, it’s all rocket science.


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