Franglish

I was born French and was displaced later in life in the nebulous interstices of another culture and country, Australia, and a language, English, at the cross-road of my own, forever it seemed.

I now speak franglish, gibberish, rubbish of words that never quite mean what they seam. I weave, wave, gesture to compre-hand and make myself appre-handed. People assume it is the Latin Style in me.

But my main way of articulating presence and speech, I get it through absence and silence. Mute-ability, mutability, a chameleon, shop-lifter of shapes, places and times, always at the inters-teeth of the hyphen, wherein the cavity sleeps/slips off the tongue.

Fran-glish, freak-glish, fringe-glish, free-glish is the way I want to write and feel right with my Self.

Asian-glish, african-glish, south american-glish: from all the continents there has been signs of a linguistic leak, marked with fluidity, and by the seal of zeal.

The world hasn’t always been kind-of-kind with my kindred ‘glishes’. Ask the Silent Minority; ask the Meek Asian, Mouthful Aborigine or the French Frog in Australia. They shall tell you something in their own ‘glish’ about the zeal of seal.

Imperial wars, Wars on Error in search of the Original Truth, the Humankind flushing down the human-kind. An Inconvenient Truce.

Zen zis-iz ze way to zip it up: I will not caw for you my skills in the 'Strine accent. To the kind Australian hospitete I respond with unintelligible epithets: with my franglish I shall swear worlds and sore words in my struggle for place.

To all the en-GLEE-shes, I, herewith, say fare well, fair and well, and a welfare farewell.

No need to wail.