Now flarf This

 

I can’t read flarf as new.

I can’t read flarf as anything to capitalize.

I can’t read flarf manifestos. I’ve read more flarf manifestos than I should have.

I love the creation story of flarf, similarly conceived by at least one high school literary magazine staff I know of. I impatiently await the death of flarf.

I love some flarf poems (I laugh in my love, I lose myself in laughter, wonder why flarf poets don’t become flarf stand-up comics, wonder why anyone would want to be identified as flarf anything, but then that’s the flarf of it).

I hate some flarf poems, process worn thin on poem's chest like a worn plastic convention badge.

I rue the distraction. I love the distractions, dialogues, diatribes. I hate the Sisyphysean debates.

I resent the short-sightedness, the claims of originality for 50 year old cut-up techniques.

I love the brashness.

I hate the exclusiveness: we did this first and foremost.

I love the inclusiveness: anyone can do this. Even the aforementioned high school literary magazine staff. Even my eight year old cat.

I love the movement even if it doesn’t ultimately move.

I’ll love what it meant even when I no longer read what it means.

Comments

[mariana]

I liked the ´poem a lot, it is really creative an original. I liked a lot the last sentence, very good, left me thinking about self reference and meaning