My favorite creature of the rhetorical world, that magical land where style is emphasized, often at the expense of thought, is, without a doubt, the little Oxymoron. Oxy, as I have come to know him, has, by compressing a paradox into a two-word phrase, the power to arrest the attention and provoke fresh thought; for it is only by close scrutiny that his underlying meaning is ever revealed.

The first time I visited his modest shop, I bought a personally autographed "sweet sorrow." Among subsequent purchases have been a "sweet pain," a "cruel kindness," a "loud silence," a "living death," and four hand-crafted, gold embossed "lonely crowds," which I bought as Christmas gifts for friends.

I have never had any trouble with either Oxy or any of his creations; but just yesterday, I received in the mail a small "free society" with his mark on it. As it was mailed postage free and addressed "Occupant," I assume it to be a forgery; but nevertheless plan to visit Oxy this weekend.

In the past, Oxy has always tried to express, as clearly as possible, the paradoxical nature resultant of certain complex emotional and psychological states. Unlike some of his fellow figures of speech, he has never been party to a conscious and malicious attempt at delusion. In no way, form shape or manner has he misled.

So, this weekend I shall go and visit with Oxy. For my own peace of mind, I must know if his name has been defiled, if he has sold out, or if I just totally misunderstand his latest creation.