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.
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 →
Love hides well in the shame of misplaced givings.
Love cowers in the face of a brutal ‘no’.
Love whispers from the dying throes of embers.
Love runs for sanctuary …
… and surrenders only when ambushed.
In the hope of what might be …
With the wish of things to come …
And the passion of a haunting desire …
Will dissolves …
… and the orderly becomes disordered.
Only then is love consummated.
The mind agrees and the heart nods in kind.
And the soul breathes a gentle flame.
Darwood’s Field Notes: The Eventual Demise of Dadaland
The county pig lives in the village! It serves the good of the community by gnawing on rooftops and prepubescent annoying children. At City Hall, the town jester hunts his prey with a Geiger counter and ukulele, hoping to ensnare civil servants in order to sing to them.
In the village square, the heretic vomits on pedestrian consumers as they exit a pharmacy. A hermit, dressed in orange, watches from a safe distance, fondling his turnips. At times, he waves nervously to a priest who is fishing for compliments from his cathedral.
At the steps of the palace, a royal guard clips his toenails and sells them to the hungry and the poor. Inside the reception hall, the King lays in state, farting silently. And, in the adjacent courtyard, the town crier shoots bare-footed messengers who have gathered for communion before embarking on a pilgrimage to the post office.
On the path to the community abattoir, a streaker sits in a small park studying a Fall fashion catalog from a mail-order cheese-maker. An old hag sits above him in a tree blowing a whistle. A groundskeeper is observed planting sardines in the rose-garden … and in time, some firemen arrive and begin hosing off the sidewalk pavement from the previous evening’s defecation rituals. A temperamental mutt barks in the distance before being pounced on by a rabid armadillo.
A long procession of duck-billed platypi, not to be confused with chicken-beaked platypodes or faux anteater-snout wearing platypuses, march towards the post office. They honk in unison as they pass a little girl named Dadiana who is scolding a large tree for its vanity. Her older brother, the village sophisticate, rolls around on the ground beside her, laughing obnoxiously at his own jokes.
Yes! All was well in Dadaland … until the day a cargo freighter fell from the heavens above … flooding the village with its hold: an assorted mix of pink lawn flamingos, toy bowling pins and tin soldiers. The village was never the same … and in three days’ time descended into the annals of mediocrity as just another lost Atlantis cum Washington.
Oh, such was the glory and cautionary tale of Dadaland, the lost paradise. Such a cavalcade of exceptionalism, the world would never see the likes of again.
PS: Please contact me, if you would like to license this work for ‘Hollywood treatment’. Cheap rates.
PPS: To learn more about ‘dadaland’, please listen to the ‘Dada Venduza’ soundztrack for free on Spotify.
Stop worshiping 30-40somethings who are desperately trying to act like they are still 20somethings but who are managed by 50-60somethings who are forever stuck in middle-management and who are being paid by 70-80somethings to distract you until you grow old enough to get sucked into their system and a world which they continue to control.
It’s your life and your world. You can take control of both but only with:
#OpenBorders
#OpenMarkets
#OpenSource
#OpenData
#OpenSociety
#OpenGovernment
#OpenPockets
#OpenHearts
#OpenMinds
#OpenLove
#NoRulez except one: there are no exceptions.
PS: For a new word order, resistance is not futile; it’s just life.
Do something with it.
Call it your own.
Or call it ‘Dada Youth TV’ if you like.
Words.
I have no peace of mind.
I have no piece of mine.
I have no peace of mine.
Substitute rooms for sale …
My dreams have become bothersome,
both in fact and in fiction.
They betray me with the truth;
a false reality I denied long ago.
Substitute coffee for sale …
And what am I to think of love?
The most loving remains unloved.
The zealot slowly bleeds to death
of ruptured rapture.
Substitute hearts for sale …
There is chaos in the world.
You know it. I know it.
We like to think saner heads will prevail.
Bullshit.
Substitute moons for sale …
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.
Apolitical Preamble:
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.
Membership:
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.
Disclaimer:
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!
Lucky You!
Loitering Words 