DADA EXCITES EVERYTHING

---

DADA knows everything. DADA spits everything out.

BUT . . . . . . . . .

HAS DADA EVER SPOKEN TO YOU:

about Italy
about accordions
about women's pants
about the fatherland
about sardines
about Fiume
about Art (you exaggerate my friend)
about gentleness
about D'Annunzio
what a horror
about heroism
about mustaches
about lewdness
about sleeping with Verlaine
about the ideal (it's nice)
about Massachusetts
about the past
about odors
about salads
about genius, about genius, about genius
about the eight-hour day
about the Parma violets

NEVER NEVER NEVER

DADA doesn't speak. DADA has no fixed idea. DADA doesn't catch flies.

THE MINISTRY IS OVERTURNED. BY WHOM?

BY DADA

The Futurist is dead. Of What? Of DADA

A Young girl commits suicide. Because of What? DADA
The spirits are telephoned. Who invented it? DADA
Someone walks on your feet. It's DADA
If you have serious ideas about life,
If you make artistic discoveries
and if all of a sudden your head begins to crackle with laughter,
If you find all your ideas useless and ridiculous, know that

IT IS DADA BEGINNING TO SPEAK TO YOU

cubism constructs a cathedral of artistic liver paste

WHAT DOES DADA DO?

expressionism poisons artistic sardines

WHAT DOES DADA DO?

simultaneism is still at its first artistic communion

WHAT DOES DADA DO?

futurism wants to mount in an artistic lyricism-elevator

WHAT DOES DADA DO?

unanism embraces allism and fishes with an artistic line

WHAT DOES DADA DO?

neo-classicism discovers the good deeds of artistic art

WHAT DOES DADA DO?

paroxysm makes a trust of all artistic cheeses

WHAT DOES DADA DO?

ultraism recommends the mixture of these seven artistic things

WHAT DOES DADA DO?

creationism vorticism imagism also propose some artistic recipes

WHAT DOES DADA DO?

WHAT DOES DADA DO?

50 francs reward to the person who finds the best
way to explain DADA to us

Dada passes everything through a new net.
Dada is the bitterness which opens its laugh on all that which has been made consecrated forgotten in our language in our brain in our habits.
It says to you: There is Humanity and the lovely idiocies which have made it happy to this advanced age

DADA HAS ALWAYS EXISTED
THE HOLY VIRGIN WAS ALREADY A DADAIST

DADA IS NEVER RIGHT

Citizens, comrades, ladies, gentlemen

Beware of forgeries!

Imitators of DADA want to present DADA in an artistic form which it has never had

CITIZENS,

You are presented today in a pornographic form, a vulgar and baroque spirit which is not the PURE IDIOCY claimed by DADA

BUT DOGMATISM AND PRETENTIOUS IMBECILITY

We are hatred and hated.

We are the bastard children of love. The offspring of accidentals full of summer's heat. Mindfucks and heartbreaks waiting to happen to be happened upon.

Waiting on nights of smoke and mirrored lightning to make the world a better place to perceive.

We touched hands once, our souls and stomachs all blue with liquid fire, and our words came, almost and stumbling, our eyes were full, definite, and blazing.

I staggered in my madness and you cried out in your drunkenness, and we were the same animal, the same damned platypus ducking and dying with its mind all strung out and its eggs all laid. If only we could remember how we wandered . . . How we nightmared and wished on the water that belonged to those with better things to do and not to do.

The dark in your eyes was sleep.

The whole thing was almost a crime, and I was guilty.

A Boat of Fire

O, the beauty of the word writ. Behold, and contemplate the element of your enlightenment and redemption, and know that all is not ever lost, even when it all is. Though we cannot all let the light flow through in wondrous withering strains, we can yet avoid tearing our clothes and gnashing our teeth through gentle observance of such strains, and equally gentle realization that while 'hope' may be a dead, worthless word --the word of the flat screen demons and pulpit politicians -- the ideal still remains and grants peace to those who cherish it.

-break-
-begin quotation-

Dear Brothers and Sisters,
Dear Enemies and Friends,

Why are we all so alone here? All we need is a little more hope, a little more joy. All we need is a little more light, a little less weight, a little more freedom.

We were an army, and we believed that we were an army, and we believed that everyone was scared like little lost children in their grown up clothes and poses; so we ended up alone here floating through long wasted days, or great tribulations... While everything felt wrong. Good words, strong words, words that could've moved mountains! Words that no one ever said.

We were all waiting to hear those words and no one ever said them.
And the tactics never hatched.
And the plans were never mapped.
And we all learned not to believe.
And strange lonesome monsters loafed through the hills wondering why...
And it is best to never ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever wonder why.

So tangle us -- oh tangle us up in bright red ribbons! Let's have a parade. It's been so long since we had a parade, so let's have a parade! Let's invite all our friends. And all our friends' friends! Let's promenade down the boulevards with terrific pride and light in our eyes; twelve feet tall and staggering... Sick with joy with the angels there and light in our eyes.

Brothers and Sisters, hope still waits in the wings like a bitter spinster; impatient, lonely and shivering, waiting to build her glorious fires. It's because of our plans, man; our beautiful, ridiculous plans. Let's launch them like careening jetplanes. Let's crash all our planes in the river. Let's build strange and radiant machines at this Jericho waiting to fall.

-end quotation-

-The Silver Mt. Zion Memorial Orchestra and Tra-la-la Band

awaywithwords[rough, typed draft]

I seem to have been kissed by a muse. I truly anticipate receiving the gentle inspiration I so often seek. It is a rare event. A short, inspired moment of clarity amidst the life of muddied and confusing vision and perspective.

I am using a medium I seldom use, for I lack a computer. My medium is the proprietor of poets: pen and paper. How ironic that in a state where I have no technology I have the brightest light around me.

I sit in my old room. Now unfamiliar and re-arranged. The empty space does not bother me. I enjoy it. My mind is too cluttered and messy, thoughts piled high and covered in dust, wishes and loves unsorted and in need of being put up, perhaps into the closet or drawer. Random, scattered desperations and desires to constantly trip over, or even stub your toe on. My room, now, is cleaned and foreign. A welcome change of tidiness I will only get to enjoy for tonight.

I am reminded of the past eighteen years here. My life, my family, my memories. I am forced to leave them, to get an education. To learn? To learn myself? To grow? Like a dandelion; to flutter away and crash-

What I want right now is a girl. No apparition or metaphor. I want a hand to hold. I want the private intimacy one can only obtain with clutched hands, silent mouths, racing hearts, and desires so strong they can be felt slipping through the hands like sand at a beach or in an hourglass......

I want my real inspiration.

I settle for writing. My lover the paper, my kiss the scribbling of my clumsy fingers. My thoughts flowing and escaping; my words only escape my mouth when my lips are locked with my lover.

Too much foreplay will only build an expectation unfulfilled. Do not expect too much of me. I am fragile. I am crushed like a bug. My insides, my frame, my skeleton- naturally exposed.



The folly of men is so often not due to a lack of knowledge, but instead due to a presumption of knowledge untrue. I think of those in disbelief over the world's roundness. I must remind you, you are not the center of the universe; I am sorry. Like those in the past, discovering such a fact can destroy you. I am your Galileo. Your Wright brothers. Take flight, but do not presume too much, lest you want to be burned alive by the sun, the true center of things.

The sun, the center of the universe? I'm not egocentric, I'm heliocentric. No, there lies other solar systems, other galaxies. You may think you see stars in the eyes of your lover, but I hope you can see that the true beauty when seeing stars comes from the realization of insignificance...

Imagine an explosion. A million, an infinite amount of explosions in the sky. Could this be the meaning of life? Such minimalism evokes a loss of words, almost.

A perfect explosion? You say, "how can a perfect explosion exist?" Do not presume impossibilities, for I have shown impossible is merely a lag in time.
A perfect explosion. It explodes outwardly. Like a riot from within, swift and brutal- magnificent in power, changing everything around it. It is the Big Bang. It is the starting point of a circle. The redundant, but necessary human-made arbitrary point that we must find in all things random. This circle, this sphere, explodes outwardly. It expands, and in this expansion is your life. Your thoughts/perspective/beliefs. Your universe.

This sphere, shortly, will soon grow so sizeable that the force of gravity will cause it to collapse in on itself. The arrangement will fold, the universe cashing in and cutting losses, in the same manner that it unfolded, perfectly. It will collapse to a central point. This culmination of so much matter/speed/energy will initiate another explosion. This explosion = a Big Bang. The universe will repeat. The same events stumbling forth just like last time. Identically, due to the precise arrangement of atoms upon the universe's implosion.

This bang will repeat itself forever. You are doomed to repeat every course of action- every kiss, fuck, meal, thought, ride, walk, soar- again and again, forever. Is this Hell? An eternity where change is impossible?

Did this circle, this rounded, no longer flat and superficial, this grand and perfect sphere ever begin? Is there a starting point?







Yes or No?







If you selected "no", please skip this section.
There is no start, therefore no end. All that you do does not matter. It is pre-ordained. Your presumed control over the universe is merely the same force that psychologically drives humans to find pattern in randomness. You are in Hell.









If you selected "yes", please skip this section.
What if this were the first expansion? What if the actions you are making now will forever be repeated? Are you making the right decisions? Are you happy with the course of action you have made or will make, knowing they will be repeated forever?




If you selected neither, then you need to think harder. Have courage in your convictions. Perhaps this long kiss has truly had an effect on you. You can hardly speak, overcome with those awkward boyish stammerings and confusion. Has this kiss at least aroused you? Will it inspire? Will it dissect? Will it free? Will it crush the universe, my universe, your universe, like an orange beneath the boot?

Idealist Capitalism vs. Idealist Democracy

I wish to point out some of the seeming contradictions that an ideally democratic nation (one in which all men, women, beings, of all races, creeds, social statuses, etc. are equal, that is, all have equal rights and an equal say in the workings of their government, which in effect influences the economy, society, and general moral status of the country) would have when embracing an ideally capitalist system (an economic system in which profits are based on performance within the system, or, in other words, the amount of work you put into your specific effort is directly proportional to the personal profit you receive from it, and the same goes for entities such as corporations).While in a sense, this is much like comparing apples to oranges, our aim is not so much to compare and contrast as it is to display contradictions that would emerge as a result of the union of the two, like in my darling motherland, the United States of A.

Let us say that this ideal state has an economy which works on principals close to our own, though in a much more simplified manner; the value of money is rooted in the overall performance of the country in the world market, which is a result of the proactivity and initiative taken by businesses and business owners to promote and sell their product. And let us also say that the governmental system works in a similar, albeit once again simpler, manner in that each citizen is granted one vote in all elections, from the induction of a law to the induction of a president, if they so choose, and all citizens are granted the same basic rights.

Beginning on the most basic level, it seems that the two are incongruous; democracy wishes to promote equality for all, whereas the capitalist ideal is to promote competition which inevitably leads to inequality. Though it would seem that since we are speaking in ideals, we can also make the argument that the capitalist ideal is to maintain equality through equal effort through all, despite the reality that no one will be as motivated as their fellow man, or as unmotivated. For the man of democratic principles, all should be equal in the matter of freedoms granted to them. But when placed within the constraints of a capitalist system, all of these men are hardly equal in the rights granted to them by the money they possess; those at the top of the chain (those with the most money) have much more say within their individual company, as they are ultimately in control of who is hired at the company, which will control how their product is marketed, how it is sold, and who it is sold to. And outside of our ideal example, those at the top of the chain exercise much more influence in the political system, where corruption runs rampant.. They have the potential to buy off politicians, who are eager to take the payments, since more money will be able to buy them more comforts, necessities, etc.

Though all of these men, from the lowliest janitor to the most affluent CEO, have the same essential legal rights, in the sense that they can all marry whomever they so choose, they can vote for who they want, they all have the right to speak on whatever topics they want, worship whatever deity interests them (or doesn't) and so on, the janitor who works just as many hours per day as his better, is paid far less, and is thus unable to afford a quality of life equal to the CEO. And further down the line, if our janitor and CEO decide to have their own children, the janitor's children do not have access to the same quality of education, nor the same quality of shelter, nor the same quality of sustenance.

"All men are created equal," and yet "You get what you pay for."

Inequality at its finest.

Enter/ManicExpressive Exit/RyanVergel

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It's 3:53am.
I can't sleep.
My damn fan is making noise for 3 seconds, every ten seconds. Like an atomic clock of annoyance.
"You're like the missile kind, little kingdoms in your chest."
Have you ever sat and thought about things you did in the past? How much of a little prick you were, or how bratty or snobby you were?
Maybe one day your dad was really busy, had to go somewhere- in a rush. You bitch and moan about a promised toy. He says to you "_____, I am very busy, but I have a deal. You can make me take you to the toy store, which will make me late, to buy you that toy. You can do that, or you can wait until tomorrow, and I will buy you the biggest toy you want." Being the little dickhead you are, the impatient, selfish, bratty fuck- you take the former. You want that toy NOW. You have no comprehension of other people's feelings. You do not understand investment and reward.
Or maybe as a child you felt the drive and need to kill animals.
Perhaps you would hunt lizards, and torture them. You would take perfume, pour them on a lizard that you stapled to a piece of cardboard, find matches, and watch the reptile burn alive and squirm. Or you would use a nailgun and have target practice at the creature. Perhaps force-feed a lizard some cleaning products. Maybe nail it's mouth shut. Maybe drown a few in a pool by tying them down, so that the oxygen bubbles would slowly deplete.
Maybe you played with larger game. A Cat? Turtle? Chicken? Whatever it was. Maybe one day you felt the desire to place a new kitten in a toy chest, sit on the lid, and suffocate it. Or perhaps you got upset at a turtle for wandering off, and responded by throwing it against a stucco wall until all you could see was modern art. Hammer+baby chick=


I was a deranged child. Turns out I was a genius though. I questioned the existence and logic of Santa Claus before I could understand why I was different than my family. Apparently being a different skin color went above and beyond me, but I had a difficulty believing Santa Claus could come into my chimney-less house, along with all the other millions of kids-even the kids with no houses at all, the ones who got nothing for Christmas except cold and suffering, and deliver presents.

Genius is marked by insanity is marked by loneliness.
In ten minutes I've managed to tell you a story you probably didn't care about.
I thrive on company. I hate being alone. I hate the thought of being alone. I hate the thought of dying alone. And everyone dies alone. I hate death, and I gave it away so freely as a child. Maybe the more I gave away the less there would be for me.



To be, or not to be: that is the question:
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,
And by opposing end them? To die: to sleep;
No more; and by a sleep to say we end
The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to, 'tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wish'd. To die, to sleep;
To sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub;
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause: there's the respect
That makes calamity of so long life;
For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,
The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely,
The pangs of despised love, the law's delay,
The insolence of office and the spurns
That patient merit of the unworthy takes,
When he himself might his quietus make
With a bare bodkin? who would fardels bear,
To grunt and sweat under a weary life,
But that the dread of something after death,
The undiscover'd country from whose bourn
No traveller returns, puzzles the will
And makes us rather bear those ills we have
Than fly to others that we know not of?
Thus conscience does make cowards of us all;
And thus the native hue of resolution
Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought,
And enterprises of great pith and moment
With this regard their currents turn awry,
And lose the name of action.

---
The glory of Hamlet. The most important question ever asked. To BE or NOT to be, What is nobler, what is right? Is the easy path the right path? Is the hard path even worth it? What does death hold for us? What proof or validation does death offer?

More importantly, what proof does life offer? What in life will tell us what happens in death? That which attempts to tell us lacks in so many ways. Why should I believe in God when the first "cause" being God seems just as likely as the first "cause being the Big Bang. How is God all-loving when men are created to suffer? What is the purpose of life when we are to die, why bother with it all? If our destiny is known, by both the Creator and ourselves[a destiny of death] what purpose is it to have been made at all? What are we, mere mortals-incapable of understanding perfection, to offer? Does God have self-esteem problems? Is God going through his awkward teen years which so plagues us all?

We have no free will if we cannot change our ultimate destiny, which is God's will. We are not loved if we are created to go to Hell. We are truly alone in our lives and in our ends. We are alone in the destructive and hostile universe. We have no true truth, no validation, no reason or purpose or security. We are hurtling through an unknown space, with unknown rules and boundaries, set here by an unknown cause with unknown endings. We are insignificant specks on an insignificant dot rotating round an insignificant blip in the incomprehensibly large universe.

"Have Faith, Ryan." Faith in what, I ask? Why have faith in anything? Why not have faith in everything if I'm going to have faith in one thing? Jesus seems just as possible as Apollo or Ganesha, does He not?

"Do not try to wrap your mind around infinite things, Ryan." What is truly infinite? What does not have boundaries? Rules? Laws? Exceptions? The Universe only has so much mass, is only so large, and is following certain rules. God is imprisoned within the Bible, He must be what He is described as being, otherwise He is not what He is supposed to be, and is therefore not what people are worshiping. Thus, even God has limits. Why should I not try to question existence? My mind and boundaries seem just as limited or limitless as the Universe. There are more possible brain states(formations of particular connections) than atoms in the universe(Thank you Carl Sagan). Why not judge God; if He made me, it must be my purpose. If He did not make me, then why not attempt to understand the universe?

I'm trying to sift and sort through existence, I need something to ground me. I need some solace, I need some sort of reassurance. I need to know what I am, what I am here for, where I could have come from(or at least where I did NOT come from).

I live for the hope that there is no end. I live for the hope that I can understand myself and my surroundings. I live for the hope that I won't have to find out what the end is like; I don't want to die. I know what my life calling is; I know what I want.

I see so many people hurrying about their lives, doing nothing. They achieve nothing meaningful, they've thought nothing grand, they've tried for nothing magnificent. Everyone seems to be complacent in their superficial lives. Money, sex, wealth, material things will somehow make them happy. No intelligence or creativity or real purpose or change in life. Makes me sick.

Take a look at your lives, everyone. Do you truly matter? Does being a rich doctor matter? Don't settle in whatever you do, make something, do something, BE something.

Don't waste life and don't take life away-it's the only unknown we have, so don't try to measure it's value- DO NOT TAKE IT FOR GRANTED.

4:43am
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