Flavor Flav suffering from an existential criss mid act.

Flavor Flav: I wear this clock to remind me of my own mortality

Flavor Flav suffering from an existential criss mid act.

Flavor Flav suffering from an existential crisis mid act.

To the vacant viewer, this mechanical device I wear around my neck may appear to be some sort of gimmick. Some personal trademark as if I were a product to be branded – but are we not the branded generation? Gap. American Apparel. McDonalds brandished across our guts? Truly mine is a life defined by the commodification of the self.

I am a rapper who does not rap. Instead I choose to pastiche the restrictiveness of the rhyming formula, shouting short platitudes of “Bring it!” and “Yeah boy!” to satirise the efforts of my less avant garde associates. Sometimes I choose instead to bellow my own name. “Flavor Flav!” I declare: the ultimate solipsism.

Even my very title is a tribute to the repetitiveness of the human experience: the first word ‘Flavor’ is repeated, but this time truncated, diminished, symbolising the loss that occurs in the retelling, in the reliving, of each experience from memory.

 

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