I'm a writer. I love verbal images. When I hear 1000 words that carry the art of one picture, I'm like "Yeah!" The Writer's toolbox is filled with instruments to bend, torque, and capture this. Metaphors and similes are a set of these tools. A well wielded metaphor is a surgeon's scalpel of flawless precision. A haphazard simile though, is the bloody brick of malcontent bludgeoning relentlessly. When it hits you in the head, the body goes limp and the brain goes numb, but only after it's bounced off the skull countless times.
Driving to the doctor's office today, one of these haphazard things sprang from my radio. It hurts me more when it comes from music. It's like "Et tu?" I feel betrayed.
Today's betrayal was an incubus song. Today I heard the following lyrics.
The sky resembles a backlit canopy with holes punched in it.
Today I tried to drive my car into a wall.
Usually, when I use simile, I like to compare two things that the reader may not usually draw together, but still give a vivid image. "The dog spun his legs like a paddle wheel." See? Dog, paddle wheel, two separate images united to create a picture. A backlit canopy with holes punched in it? Let's dissect that with the simile scalpel, shall we? "Backlit canopy," that usually implies that somebody has gone to the effort to put a light source behind said canopy. This suggests motive. Furthermore, the fact that the holes are "punched" in it, and not "rotted," "frayed," or "eaten away" continues that idea. It's a plan. Somebody has set up a canopy, lit it from behind, and then put holes in it for a purpose. What purpose? Why would they do that? To keep rain out? To create little doggy doors for buggy entry? Mayhap to allow the scent of sweaty socks to burn in the backlit atmosphere? Nay, Nay my friends. Only one thought train stops in my mind, and it's not the 3:15 to Yuma (Ok, that's only funny if you know that I actually have family in Yuma, and then tie that to the movie, and awww, nevermind. Some metaphors just have the elasticity and strength of cooked spaghetti..) It's that they wanted it to imitate something else, sort of like a tactile metaphor. What would this project imitate? Only one image comes to my mind:
The sky!
So let me get this straight. The guy is singing about a sky that resembles a thing that's made to resemble the sky? That's like saying "The heart like the picture in the encyclopedia next to the word 'heart.'" Really? Huh. It's a infinite mirror of stupidity reflecting back upon itself into forever.
I swerved towards a wall. No, literally. I was in the car. The words exploded in my mind. My hands jerked in reflex. I just wanted to drive the words out of my mind—like words I didn't want in my mind. Luckily I have a new weapon in my arsenal. I have one thing I can trust to trample any other thought into cakey thought dust.
My Divorce.
When I think about my divorce, all my other problems slip away. If I had to create metaphor for my divorce, what would it be? How would I describe it to others?
Train wreck? Well that's too obvious. And very over done. Besides. I'm riding solo on this train. How often does that happen? That would make it a train wreck without a train. No good.
A bullet to the head? No, that's too quick. Granted, a misplaced bullet could leave you brain dead and not physically dead dead. Still, even that's not the same; right now, I'm fully conscious and aware of what's going on. Oh, I should also explain that when I say "misplaced" I mean "misfired" and not "Where did I put my pesky bullet?"
Torture is closer. It's drawn out and painful, but it's too vague. There's a Jelly Belly bag of torture flavors choose from. And lets face it, some people like the icky popcorn ones. I don't see anybody lining up for Disney's "Prince Charming's Harrowing Divorce" ride. Haven't seen that one? It's pretty scary. Just look for the sign in Sad Realityland of Prince Charming weeping into his palms. It's over by Mr. Toad's frog leg buffet. Apparently the wind stopped blowing money through the willows, ending his wild ride. Mr. Toad now does unspeakable acts for money.
Mmm…Tastes like chicken!
Divorce is a handful of raw meat. I don't know, it just sounded weird and gross. I wanted that image, Still, raw meat doesn't take it far enough.
This was where I gave up. I never give up but there comes a time when every effort is just spinning the wheels of futility. All my options had been taken from me, leaving me alone to redefine my world. Nothing is like a divorce. Divorce serves no good purpose, it's impossible to bear and I wouldn't wish it on anyone.
Divorce is a bad incubus song.
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