Is there some statement to be made?
A statement on what, exactly?
A social statement?
An artistic statement?
A fashion statement?
Some say that what’s needed is “perspective”.
More perspective … or more perspectives?
Hmm …
Perspectives are like opinions …
and opinions are like assholes;
everyone has got one.
If you don’t like the message,
exercise your right to tune out.
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“My Modicum Of Free Sentiment”
Where is America, you white devil?
Down in old glory, in a helluva
blinding blitzkrieg of bling.
And you, my flaming sullen Greece,
not so far behind,
with nothing to the table
did you bring?
Ah yes, democracy,
in which all votes go to the usual swine,
and to their constituents
trickle down the usual piss, vinegar and aftershave-cum-wine.
Full stop.
Beyond what you feel
you can sense,
but you refuse to see.
Pause.
Too much thoughtlessness,
– the usual behavior
concerning progress.
Freeze.
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Canned love;
open at your own risk.
Contains vacuum packed soul;
all air has been removed to ensure freshness.
Nutritional benefits may vary according to serving size.
Warning! Love is a perishable item.
To retain the composure of your composition,
conserve your passion and keep your heart refrigerated.
“Dada Free Beach”
Wind crab – breaking waves.
Sun dried tomatoes lay …
Where do we go from here?
– To the ship of fools, my dear!
To the buffet of souls, I fear!
And you with the flippers, a beach belly flop!
– Breakfast is served at 10 to never o’clock.
See the reclusive infant reclining in the lounge chair;
less than hyper is he,
for he’s got plenty to play with in his diaper, you see.
Such was the day, panting in the yellow tide,
with two menstrual mermaids, a Buddha and I.
All down the drain we fell,
with a parade of spandex wearing hippos,
paddling like hell.
Now the moral of this beach tale you know must be foul:
always remember to throw in your beach towel!
#Dadaism #Dada #Collage #DigitalArt #Summer #Resistance #BeachParty #Trump #CollageArt #Art #BeachLife #Absurd
#SpilledInk #WordPorn #AmWriting #Poetry #Prose
At long last and under extreme financial duress, I have decided to sell my soul and air my dirty “dada” laundry. My book, titled: Loitering Words: The lyrical poetry & wooly musings of Jay Leonard Schwartz, a self-confessed dadaist at large, is available online Amazon internationally in both paperback and electronic formats.
As with most of my writings here on my blog, the book is highly introspective and was written with the aim of liberating the creative spirit via self-actualization ideology and in part through the “Dada” idiom. Read all about my own inner-chaos and the dysfunction I’ve faced dealing with the “establishment” in two countries … as I desperately try to remain true to myself and my spirit through creative expression, poetic license and music/lyrics.
Got existential angst? Find solace, comfort and commiseration. Please consider buying my book, at the very least, just to touch and heal the suffering soul of a writer and fellow human, in a completely legal & voyeuristic fashion.
On Amazon US: Loitering Words: The lyrical poetry & wooly musings of Jay Leonard Schwartz, a self-confessed dadaist at large.
On Amazon UK: https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/1980911312
PS: A big thank you to all those who have already purchased a copy. Your discerning taste (or lack thereof) is a testament to your being fully human.
This old snake has shed many skins.
He can not take them back.
In fact, he has no desire to.
Was the old snake comfortable in his old skins?
Yes, sometimes for a while,
but in time they grew old,
lost their vitality and betrayed him.
And so, he slithered away from them naked.
Old acquaintances still ask,
“Where have you gone?” and
“What is this new look of yours?”
They spit “We hardly recognize you anymore!”
They grew so comfortable with this or that old skin of his
that they took it for granted.
But this old snake understands all too well;
it is just his old skin they want, not him.
And so he answers “That was just an old skin.
It is gone and I am born anew, again.”
Some say the snake is just a trickster and a fake!
The snake says “No. You mistook me for my skin.
But it was just my skin not my nature.
I have always been just a snake.”
The lesson:
Never chew over dead skin; you will get skinned.
For skin, like clothes, makes neither the man, nor the snake.
In fact, this old snake isn’t even a snake!
He is, after all, just a cool cat and a Dadaist-cum-Sartrist!
Light up the world …
into my brain,
into my fantasies.
Unleash it …
onto my train of thought.
From across the ocean,
you make a commotion
to preach your principles
and then deliver … deliver …
delivery is free from 9 to 11.
All you can eat.
Shop ’til you drop.
Deliver unto us our pizza,
not our daily bread,
not our fair-weather friends,
not our symptomatic-autonamic overdrive.
It’s the cheese in us!
We demand from them to please us!
Only that will appease us,
so they release us.
Deliver unto us our daily pizza!
Deliver unto us our daily pizza!
Shop ’til you drop!
All major credit cards are accepted.
Release us from this impression
of our daily oppression
of our self-repression
of our fantastic suppression
of our governmental pollination
of our unfathomable fascination with simplification.
Deliver unto us our daily pizza!
Deliver unto us our daily pizza.
Deliver unto us our daily pizza …
Shop ’til you drop!
Shop ’til you drop!
Shop ’til you drop!
All major credit cards are accepted!
POS! POS! POS!
Shop ’til you pop.
This post is very personal because life is ultimately about the collection of personal moments we hold so dear. These treasured memorable instances of self-connection and self-awareness are all we have, and all we will ever to take the grave. If we were Christmas trees, such memories would be our twinkling lights that give us color and character.
Step into my background for context. I’m an American; I live in Greece. I’m originally from Miami (Florida), or more specifically Westchester and some temporally conglomerated junction of Bird Road (near the old trains tracks), Coral Way, Galloway Road, South Dixie Highway, Dadeland, Coral Gables and all the old haunts I still visit in my mind from time to time. If you don’t know Miami, these places have nothing to do with Miami Vice, South Beach, Art-Deco or Calle Ocho. I’m from a period time when neon signs flashed brilliantly in the looming darkness along a two-lane corridor of rushing four-wheeled headlights causing horizontal blurring streaks across falling dusky skies of electric blues and burnt oranges.
But this post isn’t about Miami; it’s about Christmas, self-actualization, self-awareness, self-worth and all those personal selfies we hold so dear. It’s not just about the blues and oranges, but also the punctuated reds and greens that grew out of early images of black and white. Continue reading
How does one make a Dada Ausfahrt? Blend the following ingredients together: friendship, Christmas, exorcism, a psychedelic rock jam, balloons, farmer blockades, Lord Byron poetry and dada. But first, one must go to war.
Yes, it’s a dirty old shame that inner and universal peace is won only by waging war with the universe. At least, this is what happened to me and how I eventually created my new film, Dada Ausfahrt. I kid you not.
Continue reading
Loitering Words 