The point of an idea such as this, of dropping myself into this story, is that I reject the presumed necessity of writing in the parlance of academia. I have lived long enough in the shadow of bigotry and shame to come out the other side.

What a betrayal of wisdom is the so-called authority that demands we shape the landscape-winding of language into the straightjacket-demanding, boot-crushing, chainsaw-revving of the forest voice, the throat song and mob-vocal indigenous clap stick, drum and stompfooted vowel and glottal-click, into the corset-and-whaleboned dialect of queen and state, rather than localised ancestral accent, its cane-bone-jarring, slice across the palm, hiss of the Anglo-religiousness of a current language that still hints at the conquerage of my ancestral family, a Celtic/Gaelic and Breton language, overwritten by Rome, and its burr-like attachment to Latic (Canonical, medical, legal-speak, botanical, sublingual) including its offshoot of papish and military-political jargon, meant to affect us with a presumed authority, to which I turn my back.

By goom, eh? Them right pompous drookit wankers can now leave the fukn station! We are NOT carryin their fukn baggage.

2021 release of BRAVE, For the Unclaimed People, includes this and other of Lore de Angeles’ most recent writing.