Seth Abramson’s half-assed discussion of Flarf, wherein he charges flarfistes with not knowing “his aesthetic” (being as universal and well-known as it is in most circles…parts of which can be readily evidenced by the poetry found at the aforelinked blog) and then closes the comments box because, “Comments are disabled because flarf really isn't worth the time or effort of additional discussion,” seems like sniping. It bears mentioning that - quoting Rachel Loden quoting Abramson - if flarf is indeed "about nothing in particular and with nothing to recommend it," we're sniping at the space left by a fart. Shooting at "nothing," is sniping possible?
What 4F/flunkie/rubber stamp/choadsniffer would waste the time?
If Flarf is truly "classist," which class owns it? There must be an owner (a class) for this charge to stand. So then, assuming that ownership of flarf - of this "nothing" - can be taken, Abramson flails about, looking for a name as the brunt of his flarf of blame. Yet...in finding none, he proves the opposite: that flarf is indeed democratic in its access or accessory, and certainly without one specific class claiming privilege of ownership.
1 comment:
I don't know what my class is. My mother was a decidedly middle class J.A.P. who gave it all up in the sixties; I was raised on welfare, and life was fun but not prosperous except for a couple of years when my mother and I lived with her optometrist boyfriend in a big house in Fairfax. I spent a very bohemian up-from-bootstraps college life working 20 hours a week and going to community and state colleges. Working in Japan for over a decade I made enough money to buy an apt. I know I'm technically middle class (Just like I know that as a Jewess I'm technically white, but around really white people I don't feel white), but I don't know if I'm "privileged." That's a relative term, isn't it? None of the members of the flarflist are bluebloods, that's for sure. Anyway, good point, Ryan.
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