Personal Pinpoints of Merry Lights

Merry Very Dada - @jschwartz63 - Jay Schwartz

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


Dada Ausfahrt

'Dada Ausfahrt' by Jay Schwartz (Dada Bloq Productions)

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

Substitute Sales

'Dada Sale' - Jay Schwarts
‘Dada Sales’ – Jay Schwartz

“Substitute Sales”

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.
Substitute moons for sale …

Everything must go.
All sales are final.

Sol But No Rhythm

Snow Jaywalking
“Sol But No Rhythm”

For the first time in months, I sat on my balcony,
in my woolen clothes, and drank in the Sun.
Sol … but no rhythm …

Please understand,
I am NOT patient; I am stubborn.
Please don’t confuse my smile for my defense mechanism.
An inner storm always rages; it is a force of nature.
I cannot control it … but it is who I am.
And yet, I am too stupid stubborn to come to terms with it.

So I think to myself …
“why hide when you can simply masquerade?”

Forever the cat, dreaming he was a dog.
Forever the dancing baton in a requiem.
Forever an undressed window looking out into the foreign.

Soul but no rhythm.
Poisoned by white tempo …
with increasingly fading vision …
and the buzz of white noise in my ears.
Not even sure when my heart skips a beat or two,
but surely it must …
Death, always advancing, never seeking an element of surprise.
And me?
Too stubborn to accept the calm before the storm.

A misappropriated cliché:
That which doesn’t harm you, kills you.

Soul … but no rhythm …
Why aren’t I Miles Davis?
A better question yet …
Why aren’t I Jay Schwartz?

The Call Center for Existential Obscenities

Dada Obscenity - Jay Schwartz

You have reached the ‘Call Center for Existential Obscenities’.
Please hold.

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

Dada Dentistry: Stereoscopic Trans-Dental Meditation

Dada Occlusion - Jay Schwartz

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.]