Consoling Exchanges and Rhythm Changes
Whiter than white,
but warming to human touch,
just a stone’s throw away
from sticks and brush.
Hit the dirt shuffling;
pay no attention to rags and bones
or the masked tears and shouts
to send him home.
Kalo Mhna! Where’s my panacea?
Another December to dismember,
but never forget to remember …
the days it was glad to see ya.
The Last Grasp for a Gasp
Deeply lost in the woods in the unsettling comfort of your grasp.
The misunderstood remain elusive, purposely so …
and, there but before ego, grace falls in serpentine gasps.
The window will turn seasons again in a few moments.
Stay tuned—the show is about to begin!
A cast of characters scatter the dreams, laid out like serpents.
Go into the supermarket,
see the British pork.
See the British beef;
see they way they squawk.
In the summer, sun goes up,
then where does it go?
Hanging in the sky like a fookin’ UFO.
Social Distancing Elegy
Oh, children! Where are you marching off to today?
Oh, children! Where are you stomping off to today?
Are you going down to St. James Infirmary?
– (No, Lord, I’m staying home today.)
Will you go down to Maggie’s Farm?
– (No Ma, I’m staying put today.)
Let me tell you ’bout social editing
in the new math of justifying
the survival of the populist regime.
One soul dying … but it’s only one.
Ten souls dying … but not in my home.
A hundred souls dying …
– (Well, they were already gone.)
A thousand souls dying …
– (Didn’t know ’em. Save the other ones!)
Ten thousand souls dying …
– (Not in my constituency. Come on!)
A hundred thousand souls dying …
– (Gotta keep moving on …)
A million souls dying …
And it goes on and on … Continue reading
The Scream Of The Reader
The demands of others are paramount …
Relentless, they are – in sickness and in health.
Unyielding in their vying for your attention.
Be warned …
Yes! Yes! A story!
A story of infinite glory!
Have you ever met a spineless wonder?
How about a spec of thunder?
“To each his own”, says the needy,
mainly to brave the trickling pity.
But wait for the punchline; it will come in time.
Continue reading
To Each His Own
Why do we cast our eyes from one to another …
but only to those who nod in kind …
with eyes averted …
from what is common among us?
To each his own …
Oh, what a world …
Oh, what a world …
Hate finds objectivity …
an equal opportunity pervades all.
Tears are subjective …
seeking comfort in the cognate.
To each his own …
Oh, what a world …
Oh, what a world …
“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.
Continue reading
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.
Lucky You!
Scratch-off ticket puncture wound
Admit one launch to the moon.
Holy triptych revelation
Cryptic moog insinuation.
Ride on … write off. Ride on … write off.
Ride on … write off. Ride on. Lucky You!
Cornbread fiber simulation.
Stem-cell taco face the nation.
Germinate your chocolate soldiers
Rover red send June right over.
Ride on … write off. Ride on … write off.
Ride on … write off. Ride on. Lucky You!
Laughing haha tour-bus
Magic dada mackeral can of war.
Abstain from your apathy, it’s
live and learn and then forget it
Ride on … write off. Ride on … write off.
Ride on … write off. Ride on. Lucky You!
Yellow matter mustard leaking
Lyrics rip-off no redeeming
value-added taxidermist
Lather, rinse, dial ‘9’ for service!
Ride on … write off. Ride on … write off.
Ride on … write off. Ride on. Lucky You!
Lyrics: Jay Leonard Schwartz (ASCAP)
Dear Twentysomethings,
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.
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
‘Aubade for Forced Poverty’
Force me into ‘the red’ …
Force me to beg ….
Force me to work ‘black’…
Force me into the roofless darkness …
Force me to agree to the financially irrational …
Force me to ‘human slavery’ …
Force me to turn ‘enemy of the state’ …
Force me to foster hate …
Force me to ‘cancer of the mind’ …
Force me to leave all behind …
Force me to starve …
Force me to roll over and play dead …
Force me to the ‘no loitering’ corner …
Force me to a vicious circle of forced poverty …
Force me to ‘no way out’ …
Force me to leave my home …
Force me to eat my bones …
Force me to pay false debt …
Force from me my bread …
Force me to lose sight …
Force me to ‘plight’ …
Force me to see you turn your eyes away …
Force me to lose faith …
Force me to sing a self-composed requiem with no ending …
Force me to hear no voice from heaven …
AND THEN the bank says to the client …
“We are ONLY responsible to the tax office, not you” …
Force me to leave dehumanized and empty-handed …
Greek Government
Clique Government
Reek Government
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.]
‘Vagaries Of The Moment’
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?
Dadaism is a lot like that.
Loitering Words 