Ard-bwrbwynt-jahz-an-flstyn

Go ahead. Make up your own. Guard it. Teach it to someone you love. And when the world demands you speak clearly, speak this instead.

Let them figure it out. — A note from the author: If you somehow arrived here searching for a real language, a real place, or a real person by this name, I am sorry. Or maybe you’re exactly where you need to be. The flstyn is thin. Step carefully.

This phrase is a resistance movement of the mouth. To speak it is to reject the tyranny of clarity. To speak it is to admit that some things—trauma, ecstasy, the moment before a car crash, the smell of rain on hot asphalt after a three-year drought—cannot be captured by “I feel sad” or “that was wild.” ard-bwrbwynt-jahz-an-flstyn

There are sounds that precede meaning. There are words that do not translate, but transmute .

And that is precisely why it is sacred.

It is a nonsense word for a nonsensical world. But within that nonsense, a strange order emerges. The flstyn is where you finally stop running. The bwrbwynt is where you learn to dance in the destruction. The jahz is what you play when there is no audience left. Try it. Now. Alone. Or under your breath on a crowded train.

Bwrbwynt. (Let the wind catch the second syllable. Don’t fight the stumble.) Go ahead

Jahz. (Breathe through your nose. Let it buzz.)