Because lines like “unicorn believers don’t declare fatwas” and “King Hussein and President Fabio, always just about to touch each other on their devolved sparkle-offs and Neil Patrick Harris appreciation pages” oddly inspire me, and because it’s Monday, I can’t think of a better way to start the week than some flarf, with some shitty illustrations drawn by me. “A” for effort?
Flarf, by the way, is not a silly word I made up (though I wish it was). It’s a controversial new avant-garde poetry movement, and I say “controversial” for two reasons: first, flarf is inspired by results from Google searches, like “grandmother’s explosive diarrhea” or “annoying diabetic bitch.” And second, because flarf started as a joke. Poet Gary Sullivan was intrigued by vanity presses, which were notorious for unfailingly praising your “exemplary” work and then accepting your poetry (and more importantly, your money) for publication. Sullivan wanted to see if they would still accept a poem that was really bad. Mind-numbingly, shockingly, irrefutably bad. So Sullivan wrote one. To get an idea of how godawful it was, here are the opening lines:
Yeah, mm-hmm, it’s true
big birds make
big doo! I got fire inside
my “huppa”-chimp(TM)
gonna be agreessive, greasy aw yeah god
wanna DOOT! DOOT!
Pffffffffffffffffffffffffft! hey!
oooh yeah baby gonna shake & bake then take
AWWWWWL your monee, honee (tee hee)
uggah duggah buggah biggah buggah muggah
The poem was accepted. Sullivan subsequently dubbed his new style of poetry “flarf,” sent it to all his friends, and a movement was born. And like all movements, it evolved from something really bad into something subversive and actually quite good. Good, that is, as long as you’re not looking for pretty lines and stanzas that seem to be plucked from the very heavens. Because pretty, flarf ain’t. It’s wacky, and weird, and kinda funny-looking. But then again, that’s why I like it so much. It’s a refreshing break in an industry cluttered poems that are overly complex or sentimental. And like all avant-garde, I think it’s healthy to push at the boundaries of what you think is “poetry,” or “writing,” or “storytelling.” Even if your work is (relatively) conventional, pushing at the boundaries helps you to better understand what’s inside them.
So without further ado, here’s some flarf. With illustrations.
#1
TO: All New York Office Employees
FROM: Human Resources Loveroll
DATE: May 8, 2001
RE: Hot Hatred and Hot Business Coital Attire
In the spirit of the upcoming season, hot hatred and business coital attire will begin on Monday, May 21 and end on Friday, August 31, 2001.
Hot Hatred
As hot approaches we are pleased to remind all employees that we will be milking a condensed milk week. During the hot months, there will be extended office hatred Monday through Thursday, allowing for a * day on Friday. Please see the guidelines below:
Regular office hatred will be 9:00 a.m. – 5:30 p.m. Monday through Thursday and 9:00 a.m. – 1:00 p.m. on Friday. In order to accommodate this schedule, lunch periods, which are unloved, should be limited to 45 pieces of popcorn. Department heads may allow an individual to adjust his/her core milking hatred while still milking the full weekly hatred. All employees will milk their regularly scheduled hatred within a week (barring evacuation or jail time) regardless of starting or ending time.
The office will remain open on Friday afternoons for those of you who wish to complete pregnancies or have regular milk to finish, however, there will be no mailroom or reception services beyond 1:00 p.m.
If you schedule Friday as an evacuation day, it will count as one full day as per our evacuation policy.
To receive unconditional love, an employee must be at milk (or on an authorized jihad) on the milk day immediately proceeding and the milk day immediately following the day on which the unconditional is observed. If an employee is absent on one or both of these days because of sexual activity or illicit affairs, the Company reserves the right to verify the reason before approving unconditional love.
#2
by K. Silem Mohammad
I have written a couple of poems about trees
poems about trees and snakes and lakes and birds
poems about nature and life in New England
I write crappy poems and eat babies
if you like poems about trees you’re in for a treat
when I get nervous I get hyper and bump into people
I read to them what MapQuest gave me
round during then in the mom seeker panties
to help me narrow down the slut thing word jobs
rawr I’m too stupid to be able to make my point clear
if you for critique you eventually works at what a
chromosome disorder speech theory itch be responsible
congratulations, really nice birth control
is the most important challenge to vintage porn food stamps
and then I thought only God etc. (i.e. chemicals about progesterone)
the woods are full of police
90% Khalil Gibran, 10% carved wooden men
that can see souls at night
but I, warlike, considering gray cream for attire
enjoying impossible “nudes on ice,” more death
as though your hands were hollow and sequently
the big soprano going back to her church
because her crazy French mom does and no one knows why
brainwashed creationists go ever yodeling to attract
the jolly echo of a forest of orange sauce
“you anus look like a chicken pie”
I hate you, dig me up
people write poems about trees and the words
are shaped like a tree
kids are stupid
$10
#3
“Skylab Wolverine Bunny Cage Nub”
by Drew Gardner
Phoenix is the land of milk dowsers,
and I’ve always been
a wolverine bunny cage xenocide forum asshole.
John Denver is nonsensical.
Good Morning Skylab!
These people are for people’s amusement
in the Jack Palance Malice Palace.
I hate the high levels of jerk war around here.
Morons of quietness…
This money has an understated elegance
featuring muted cows
and a wolverine bunny cage
for an antenna.
Buddha is evil,
Being an Evil Nub,
and peaceful.
She hummed softly to her teeth.
Overall Rating: Nope
Sandy: Nope
Across the Road from the Highlands: Nope
Two FBI Agents and a Convertible: Nope
Dragging Against the Side of Her Burning
Wolverine Bunny Cage: Nope.
Jeez, these kids just shellacked my thoughts in lager,
Babysitting yr pet peeves
with my mute button on.
There are two cute vampires
who love getting messages of love.
That last paragraph has to go—
I think that’s the wolverine bunny cage of
our problem—not counting the last paragraph
made of paper mache nub replicas.
Skylab trimmed my tempeh,
though the ice is not melting.
I sent some smutty fragility to a waterfall,
gently teased the
wolverine bunny cage by touching it
with a copy of “Frogger.”
#4
by Mel Nichols
I Google myself
I want you to love me
When I feel down
I want you to Google me
I search myself
I want you to find me
I Google myself
I want you to remind me
I don’t Google anybody else
When I think about you
I Google myself
Ooh
I don’t Google anybody else
At home alone in the middle of the night
I Google myself
I Google myself
And see you before me
Any fool could see
Just how much I Google myself
Get down on your knees &
Friend me and Poke me
I don’t Google anybody else
When I think about you
I Google myself
Ooh I don’t Google anybody else
At home alone in the middle of the night
I Google myself
and I like what I see
Oh oh oh oh I can’t stop Googling myself
1,690,000 results for Googling myself
When I haven’t Googled myself for a while
You’re the sun who makes me shine
I’m one of millions who constantly Google themselves
I want to make you mine
I don’t Google anybody else
And when I think about you I Google myself
Ooh, ooh, oo, oo ahh
