Interesting Blend of Some Nonsense and Repeat Brushing

Here.

Geoffrey Cruickshank-Hagenbuckle is real. In fact, I think he works in translation, but don't quote me on that. The essay has great language...interesting language that makes me love parsing the deep seeds it puts forth, and which makes it such a shame that its author perpetuates an already existing widespread misunderstanding of Flarf, and writing in general, among other things.

No mention is made of Flarf's aims which, whether announced by Flarf writers or not, seem to be one of the harshest critiques of the current state of American politics [N.B. I said, "one of," not "the best and only"]. Perhaps these critiques are what I take from Flarf writing, so be it, but taking official language (not all Flarf is fart, duh!) and discharging it, then redressing it in cute little kitty poems and saying it in public, seems to be the one of (again, "one of") the best things to happen in poetic, nay, ANY discourse since Judge Judy and Andres Serrano.

GCH forgets that Flarf isn't necessarily a school like New York is a school, rather a personality scarf, a red flag raised when each writer wants to move into giddy or more barbed territory. This, to me, seems the best -- and heretofore unmentioned -- way to categorize Flarf, since most writers and creators of Flarf also write in other veins, skeins, skirts and formats. It would be doing any writer a disservice to categorize her or him as only capable of fitting into one school. And this, the most fitting crit of poetry schools, goes unmentioned in GCH's screed. Too bad, I say, to miss such a whopper.