There’s an awkward space in time … when all words have been spoken.
This dead space should be filled with kisses … instead of misses.
Think quickly for something to say … or if the silence is appropriate.
The heart will go on beating … the conversation will resume.
The mouth breathes.
The breath quickens.
Quickly dart the eyes.
The eyes have it.
Nearness freezes time.
Closeness stymies thought.
The tongue trips; it would prefer to be doing other things.
The heart skips; it yearns for syncopation.
And you my dear …
And you my dear …
And you my dear …
I grow tired of looking out the window and seeing the still leaves.
A bead of sweat trickles down my chest, joining the stain on my t-shirt.
The warm humid airs labors to enter my mouth, getting stuck in my throat.
The head is burning.
I hate the summer.
And so, again, through the finger glass I will fly.
An aperitif of lunar-sobriety imbibe.
I hate the summer.
Time is a fungus; it has no soul.
Existence is but a mathematical equation; I’m poor at math.
Experience is soon forgotten.
Practice makes mistakes.
Dadaists embraces perfunctory perfection. Continue reading →
You have reached the ‘Call Center for Existential Obscenities’.
When only the obscene can be seen, taboo fears require puritan counter-measures.
Indifference fuels the irrational and the self-absorbed.
The helpless mutates into a victim of necrotic tendencies and can no longer transmute.
– If you would like to ‘call for help’, please stay on the line. Continue reading →
Stereoscopic Trans-dental meditation is …
what happens when you drill into both sides of my mouth; life bites; art bites back.
My art becomes a temper-tantrum.
Clueless observations make for subjective guess-work.
Our ethics have been perverted by environmental occlusion.
The economics of our societies lead to psycho-dental trepidation.
Requiring an anti-inflammatory, life goes on.
But MEANwhile …
The hipster takes refuge in subliminal advertising.
The avant-garde spit new life into prunes.
Fashion-martyrs have become functionally obsolescent.
The law is lewd.
The lascivious are saints.
The humanist is old enough to care less.
The artist no longer watches TV.
The muse sleeps at the office.
A senile poodle defecates in room full of bibles.
The hierophant beats the dog with a mop.
The Antichrist is a rube.
The harmonica playing flautist is flayed alive.
Death has become a born-again chocoholic.
The truly political have been prefabricated.
The conservative eats a hidden taco and revises history for attention.
The liberal’s heart bleeds out … again.
The anarchist is a racist.
The hurried are prodded to wait.
The content are forced to want.
The cultured cultivate no pearls.
The elite munch on champagne flutes and sleep naked on canapes.
The poor digest their worries.
The immigrant is a small-world-traveler.
The toothless smiles the most.
No one knows the truly retarded
… but everyone has an opinion.
Do you know me the way I know you?
Probably not; you hardly know me.
Life goes on.
And in the END …
The loved and loving wait for the departed beloved.
Art regurgitates what nature can’t stomach.
The hierophant is dead.
God save the queen.
Everyone is an American.
Daedalus was not a dadaist, nor was he a dentist.
[Subliminal Advertising: Only Dada Venduza can bring a SMiLE.]
Manisfesto: Apolitical ‘Who Cares Activism’ in support of apathy and passive anarchy.
With liberty and apathy for all! Stand united to support the right to get lost, do your own thing and not give a shit!
Human Dignity vs. Free Speech:
Free Speech is NOT a right or a privilege that needs to be granted by an authority. What are you stupid? People have mouths; they will talk anyway. We all have our opinions, so shut the fuck up. You have the right to remain silent.
The Pursuit of Happiness:
Life goes on anyway, so get on with it. Don’t confuse anarchy with tyranny. Don’t confuse civility with nationalism. Don’t confuse democracy with liberty. Nationalism and anarchy are not two sides of the same coin. Historically speaking, without ‘anarchy’ there would be no USA – and by the same token without ‘nationalism’ there would have been no Nazi Germany. Happiness does not come in a can. #Winning
Equality For All:
Stand united to champion individual differences. No grandstanding allowed. Yes, there may be no ‘I” in ‘we’, but there also ain’t no ‘us’ in it, either.
Political elections have become little more than media circuses promoting ‘groupthink’ and featuring lots of people screaming and grandstanding using the excuse of ‘competition’ to win at all costs. This phenomenon also defines ‘civil war’.
The hallmark of good leaders is the ability to be responsible for and accountable to more than just their own constituents. Any preoccupation with defining political ‘free speech’ is just an excuse for sanctioning brainwashing, censorship and fascism. As such, most candidates for political office will fail in this respect since they don’t know when and how to keep their mouths shut.
Power-mongers not welcome. Fear-mongers not welcome. Hypocrites not welcome. Politicians not welcome. Parrots not welcome. Lobbyists not welcome. Conformists not welcome. Dadaists must present identification. Loiterers ARE welcome!
Battle Cry & Mission Statement:
Take your politics and stick them up your ass. Leave us the fuck alone! Occupy nothing. Civil disobedience is both the poison and cure for social ills. Only you can abstain from hypocrisy.
This apolitical message approved by Jay Schwartz & Dada Bloq. Do not consult your physician, healthcare provider or a member of clergy. The disestablishment of the establishment will not be televised. Watch Dada Venduza; your freedom may depend on it!
Those who know 12-step programs are wont to say “just be honest and tell your story” and you will be heard and accepted. OK, so here it goes:
My name is Jay Schwartz. I am a 52-year old American who lives in Greece. I’ve spent most of my life pleasing others at the expense of my inner-peace and have created havoc and chaos in my existence, and in those of some others as well. Continue reading →
A moment in time; a moment in the Sun; a moment with you. Go ahead and take a moment and collect yourself. It’s all good.
Vagaries live in the moment, along with ‘chance’. In fact, we chance upon them every now and then, but usually miss the point as we get sidetracked by the disorientating sensation.
From moment to moment, there is nothing, only transition – and transition only takes a second. You can’t live in the second, but you can live in the moment. You can ‘enjoy the moment’, but how often do we groan and grimace when told ‘it will only take a second’ or ‘I’ll be done in a second’? The ever-illusive second never comes, does it? Blink and you miss it. Living a life ‘from moment to moment’ is much more rewarding than trying to ‘hold on a for a second’.
But what of the ambitious that wait all their lives for ‘their moment’ to come? And what of all those who find themselves ‘lost in the moment’?
Yes, yes, the vagaries of the moment; I’ll explain in a moment, it will only take a second. Well … isn’t this awkward?
Oh Accommodating Commodes… My, how you have reconciled your fate. Conditioned to forgive and forget so that you may be visited again by bum dignitaries and crowned with their indignities.
Where is your individuality? – long ago flushed out and smothered with the loose vowels of holy rhetoric by those up on high …
Do you take heart in knowing that at the tail end of your existence you will have dutifully served your function … without cracking under the excretion of your karma?
What is this righteousness you feel in extending a policy of laissez-faire to the derrière? Perhaps you fancy yourself a grand pedal-stool of sorts … a throne in the company of the elite … … a noble, yet humble, reflecting pool to moonbeams?
Oh accommodating commodes … Alas, there is no virtue in self-repression. And in the end, … I must confess … you are just full of crap.
Life’s parade goes on in the streets below … and so each day we rise … and step back into the costume we have woven for ourselves out of the tattered pieces of our psyche and circumstances … some borrowed, some stolen, some just created from scratch to suit our prefabricated identities … and most bought on sale.
We learn to move, but we are conditioned to march. “Step quickly to the pulse of a silent beat or be trampled”, a bullhorn screams in our heads, “Left foot, right foot…”.
Most ignore the broken bodies of would be hand-walkers staining the gutters along the route. The odd streaker is quickly censored. Cut to a commercial.
And so, as a concerned Dadaist, I decided to make a film. It was a natural decision to make considering that I have this blog that no one reads (present company excluded). The film will be titled ‘Dada Venduza’. Dada, of course, is short for Dadaism and ‘Venduza’ is the Greek word for both plunger and suction cup. Together, the words suggest something that ‘sticks’ and ‘sucks’.
Explaining the title is easy; explaining the film is less so. And, like dada, what results is both art and anti-art. Moreover, it’s hard to know where to begin describing something, especially a piece of art … or a piece of raw meat … once it is constructed, deconstructed and then nailed back together again. So has gone the making of the film – still in production and evolution. As of this writing, live-action photography is almost complete and editing has already begun.