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#dada
Boom. No corners, no spine. Flat letters, soft edges. The pineapple floats because it forgot how to sink. Trebek nods—final answer. Mother Teresa blinks twice and folds into the wallpaper. Nothing left but a doggle. Sans serif. Sans meaning. Sans everything except the blorp.
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Mar 4, 2025
Mar 4, 2025 at 4:48 AM UTC
"Sans Serif Doggle"
sum-sum butter-done outcome Won-won one 1 done reason
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Jan 31
Jan 31, 2026 at 6:26 PM UTC
end
age? no vrrn blood pshht marrow tick-sun tick sunbox sunspill sun??? blind claps blind yes yes no toast! toast!! anx-anx crumbtime fear wears shoe shoe forgets foot day day taxed drip mast— slv— swap frag frag frag powr says sss ear = ? eye = ! truth fell cry has no teeth law sleeps time coughs sideways begin begin againagin wrongloop sun goes sun goes sun goes alone or not spoon static
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Jan 31
Jan 31, 2026 at 4:21 PM UTC
brk brk
Faster faster! And faster still! Broker the masters will! Broker the faster faster faster will! YOU! Are you alone? Build a home! Cardboard! Prince! Glue the glue with glue until the glue gives way! And the glue gives way! And the glue gives sway! And you sway sway sway sway— No longer you! Or longer you! Or wronger you! OFF! What is off? A cough? A scoff? A sickness? A witness? An offness off-off-off Switch the switch to ON-OFF-ON. But is it art? Or start? Or violence? Or silence? Monetary sums, capital stinks, capitals wink— CLICK! Dragon chewing hashtags in the basement, Dragon burping thunder in the basement, Dragon nothing, dragon ruin, dragon echo echo echo— The valley said thunder. The valley said ruin. The valley said nothing. Faster faster faster! Stack the bricks! Stack the likes! Stack the mirrors—fall inside! You are the glue. You are the sway. You are the echo chewing echo in the dragon tower. Thunder thunder nothing thunder. Nothing thunder nothing thunder. Off. On. Off. On. Scroll. Scroll. Scroll. Faster. Faster. Faster.
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Oct 8, 2025
Oct 8, 2025 at 11:22 PM UTC
Close to Home
I am boasting of knowing something about Pergamum, and the altar from there, that is now in Berlin, and the library that was in that city, where as one of the cities linked to the Satan of Revelation,... ------ Inserting myself, the meat minded man, qwerty guy, I am not alone in thinking these are unprecedented times to be alive and literally reading defined and cross translatable buzz words that trigger points, like bullets, but itchy, or spark, cringe, sometimes, ew, feel where whose pain? Yeh we know, now, Iyobe, he talked back, wisdom has no problem with that, ask James, 3:17, powerful truth, I used to escape an infamous cult, in the summer of 1985, which happens to be the last time I saw Wendell Havatone, Sr. alive, that 4th of July, in 1985. The part of friends who approach laughing, every time you remember a friend, that's the spirit, we share. Just true, no wu wu doctrine ritual walk, you live long enough, you know. ……………. ...I am not defining sorrow, I am not sorrowful, nor sorry. I am ordinarily silent, my fingers speak more e-loquaciously than my lips, yet saying thus saith the tyrant in my mind, guy in charge, boss, saith, accept the cast and acknowledge reception, then be not deceived, no tool in the bag is non essential, to be excited about life, become excited about dying, right, with chutz pah - ummpapa, steady increase in the overall confusion, mixing material substances to invoke reversion to the common thread, the survivor animus, she prima donna, mother superior, Y- certainly we understand the taste in the white of the egg, -wait, I'll check. Shad-dah' ee, the Almighty, all powerful, all schadenfreudlich Dada's still art you are the other people, too. - laugh after you know, you knew, secrets - heart felt truths we treasure as children, - wishing some one really dead, as seen on TV. - Ow, intended for adult audiences, greasy gopher guts. - anatomically correct Barbie dolls, mentally challenging. Salt of the earth, pillars in the house of my god, who has sons and daughters, stories abound, certainly -- bound by something, some herding instinct near the mean path of least resistance. Armed with 2023 word processing technology, we confess to stretching the vernacular idiolect past positive resistance to the polar opposites being the most sublime iteration of our situation, see, I am wind, and you are water, and, oh, oh, no, yeh way cool, heat rises, join me, be yourself, no problem cloudy skies are good things in July.
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Aug 3, 2023
Aug 3, 2023 at 4:27 PM UTC
Where Satan sat in Revelation
I am boasting of knowing something about Pergamum, and the altar from there, that is now in Berlin, and the library that was in that city, where as one of the cities linked to the Satan of Revelation,... ------ Inserting myself, the meat minded man, qwerty guy, I am not alone in thinking these are unprecedented times to be alive and literally reading defined and cross translatable buzz words that trigger points, like bullets, but itchy, or spark, cringe, sometimes, ew, feel where whose pain? Yeh we know, now, Iyobe, he talked back, wisdom has no problem with that, ask James, 3:17, powerful truth, I used to escape an infamous cult, in the summer of 1985, which happens to be the last time I saw Wendell Havatone, Sr. alive, that 4th of July, in 1985. The part of friends who approach laughing, every time you remember a friend, that's the spirit, we share. Just true, no wu wu doctrine ritual walk, you live long enough, you know. ……………. ...I am not defining sorrow, I am not sorrowful, nor sorry. I am ordinarily silent, my fingers speak more e-loquaciously than my lips, yet saying thus saith the tyrant in my mind, guy in charge, boss, saith, accept the cast and acknowledge reception, then be not deceived, no tool in the bag is non essential, to be excited about life, become excited about dying, right, with chutz pah - ummpapa, steady increase in the overall confusion, mixing material substances to invoke reversion to the common thread, the survivor animus, she prima donna, mother superior, Y- certainly we understand the taste in the white of the egg, -wait, I'll check. Shad-dah' ee, the Almighty, all powerful, all schadenfreudlich Dada's still art you are the other people, too. - laugh after you know, you knew, secrets - heart felt truths we treasure as children, - wishing some one really dead, as seen on TV. - Ow, intended for adult audiences, greasy gopher guts. - anatomically correct Barbie dolls, mentally challenging. Salt of the earth, pillars in the house of my god, who has sons and daughters, stories abound, certainly -- bound by something, some herding instinct near the mean path of least resistance. Armed with 2023 word processing technology, we confess to stretching the vernacular idiolect past positive resistance to the polar opposites being the most sublime iteration of our situation, see, I am wind, and you are water, and, oh, oh, no, yeh way cool, heat rises, join me, be yourself, no problem cloudy skies are good things in July.
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58
Friend energy vulnerable of honest. When fulfils, they group feeling safe. encourages thoughts of capable a trust.
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Apr 29, 2021
Apr 29, 2021 at 11:33 AM UTC
DADA poem : trust in friendships
To depend we when; Safe doing feel thoughts and can purpose. Vulnerable trust what honest encourages; Safe when fulfils family feeling. Other depend.
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Apr 29, 2021
Apr 29, 2021 at 11:23 AM UTC
DADA poem : trust in family
verily as i sit here an exercise in automatic writing in the vain of all those dada artists before me i sit and compose and i wonder oh how lucky i am that amongst the marvel of the present amidst the bone and sinew of my hand i possess still the ability to type and to see the beauty in the real and in the unreal like those many in my past oh how lucky i am and i wonder just how many before me have loved in that same way that only i have loved loved the feeling of fingers and keyboards and of cookies in my mouth and of music in my ears oh how lucky i am to be in love with a woman a woman as real as me and you and although she is not here with me in this moment she exists as i imagine her like the fleeting image of a siren in the sea spray and i write oh how lucky i am and i gaze past my bare legs onto the floor the floor of my room and i wonder oh how lucky i am oh how lucky i am in love with the image of a coke can like so many andy warhols before me and i stare into his sunglasses on the poster next to my bed that i got at the art institute of chicago and i wonder oh how lucky i am
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Feb 4, 2021
Feb 4, 2021 at 8:55 PM UTC
Oh how lucky i am
ONCE is less than MORE but if you go off allow something to grab you if you fall inside pollen-eye bites when you taste blue and smell summer zeros hiding inside a hookah vision ,,__,, defies logic bends the Divine Proportion of smAll a supra sutra deluxe rule fights cRhyme sends the devils running higher fly these angels so heavy to consider this; once is less than more is less than less | V than zero 0 02.28.2020
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Mar 1, 2020
Mar 1, 2020 at 10:23 AM UTC
ONCE IS LESS THAN MORE
for all my preparation this project begins to slip away what if my great fantasy hinges on a banal happiness? the ink of ballpoint pen takes me as far as sorrow's edges i confess best to myself wetness skin to skin, with sweat's sweet and sour accompaniment is as close to happiness as i can steer this sinking ship as of late there's nothing left of the sweat to cleanse my dead palate
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Jul 21, 2019
Jul 21, 2019 at 11:16 AM UTC
The Utter Dregs: Pig Beast
I have no perspective, I bring nothing new. I absorb everything, I am pressed to consume. I consume. They press me, to consume me, to imbibe, to savor the flavor of the fruits to their labor. I'm impressed you haven't yet guessed my game correctly. (. . .rebranding. . .) I'm impressed you haven't yet guessed my game. If I'm alive, then we're ****** If I die, then you're ******
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May 6, 2019
May 6, 2019 at 11:41 PM UTC
FCK 666: "The Brand Name"
I woke up with a universe dried to my hands. Post observable, Post ****** of; water, seed, death and fingernails, scratching at a birth canal. Who is hungry?
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Mar 25, 2019
Mar 25, 2019 at 7:13 AM UTC
Fingerbirth
Contemporary art Dada and surrealism Paint in my heart
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Aug 6, 2018
Aug 6, 2018 at 4:30 AM UTC
Art
let's forget eachother - let's forget who we are where we are going let's forget and just remember names and streets where we met why did we fall in love? where are we going? let's forget where and why we met where we fell in love streets and names let's forget ourselves forget who we are just remember where we met, just remember let's forget where we are going why we met? let's forget eachother let's forget who we are names and strets let's forget why did we meet? where did we meet? let's forget who are we? where are we going to? let's forget streets and names just remember to forget forget remember loving meeting where are we going to? names and or streets, forget forget what we were supposed to forget let's forget ourselves what? why? me? she? let's forget what is "we" where?
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Feb 23, 2018
Feb 23, 2018 at 5:26 PM UTC
where
Rebellion – for too long the status quo, is, in our day, a predictable show. Antichrist irony, absurdity shockingly daring incongruity no longer shock the bourgeois, you know… Alone in the temple of glass with a rock, you’re out of traditional symbols to mock. Surrealists did it much better than you – and it meant a lot more in ’32. You chew your cud on the cattle-wagon overused shock-tactics (moo ! ) now draggin’ (or herding) aboard the iconoclast train (b)lowing through boxcars your bovine refrain: “to, um – make people think…” Oh Lord, how uncouth. Nihilist narcissus – tell me, what’s Truth? Must creative always be subversive? I discern, in your frenzied discursive, a dull and predictable lack of life. While you brandish that plastic butter knife I seem to note, in your constant ****** dearth of artistic ability. Must bohemian acolytes (some yawning) ever be deer in the headlights, fawning before the ironic gesture? It’s sad; the bitter is sweet but the art is bad… They circle hors d’oeuvres on opening night like moths around white wine in candlelight, cerebrating in a modernist void: contemporary aesthetes, overjoyed to know once more that life has no meaning; the planet is doomed; that kings are queening; that chic just arrived, escorting philosophy (Forgive us, Duchamp, for all this monstrosity). I long for Hudson River School sunsets Old Dutch Masters, religious art, portraits, Red, green, or black propaganda-art? NO ! The view does not merit the price of the show. I’m dada-ed to death, beyond the surreal. Conceptual gimmicks have failed to conceal your want of ability, values, and faith In the book you despise it is written: “thus saith the fool in his heart: that there is no God…” You: Postmodern Art – to the firing squad!
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Sep 10, 2015
Sep 10, 2015 at 9:57 PM UTC
Dada Dethroned
Rebellion – for too long the status quo, is, in our day, a predictable show. Antichrist irony, absurdity shockingly daring incongruity no longer shock the bourgeois, you know… Alone in the temple of glass with a rock, you’re out of traditional symbols to mock. Surrealists did it much better than you – and it meant a lot more in ’32. You chew your cud on the cattle-wagon overused shock-tactics (moo ! ) now draggin’ (or herding) aboard the iconoclast train (b)lowing through boxcars your bovine refrain: “to, um – make people think…” Oh Lord, how uncouth. Nihilist narcissus – tell me, what’s Truth? Must creative always be subversive? I discern, in your frenzied discursive, a dull and predictable lack of life. While you brandish that plastic butter knife I seem to note, in your constant ****** dearth of artistic ability. Must bohemian acolytes (some yawning) ever be deer in the headlights, fawning before the ironic gesture? It’s sad; the bitter is sweet but the art is bad… They circle hors d’oeuvres on opening night like moths around white wine in candlelight, cerebrating in a modernist void: contemporary aesthetes, overjoyed to know once more that life has no meaning; the planet is doomed; that kings are queening; that chic just arrived, escorting philosophy (Forgive us, Duchamp, for all this monstrosity). I long for Hudson River School sunsets Old Dutch Masters, religious art, portraits, Red, green, or black propaganda-art? NO ! The view does not merit the price of the show. I’m dada-ed to death, beyond the surreal. Conceptual gimmicks have failed to conceal your want of ability, values, and faith In the book you despise it is written: “thus saith the fool in his heart: that there is no God…” You: Postmodern Art – to the firing squad!
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43
Some mornings, I want to leap from bed: pluck the eyes from anacondas, beat monkey butts with broken spoons, and steal flowers from cemetaries to warm the homeless. But this particular morning, I'd much rather stay in bed with your warmth, your deep kisses, your long sighs and let the anacondas, monkeys and homeless fend for themselves. ~mce
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Apr 25, 2015
Apr 25, 2015 at 9:09 AM UTC
Some Mornings
Arthur dear, don’t fret. Papers, papers, get your papers.   I have never been to the sea.  I always wanted to go to the sea.   No, never since my husband died.   Oh aye, a sight to behold.   The rascals of Ballydrim out in force.   The maid peept out the window. The fryar and the nun.   An old man is a bed full of bones.   Is he not, is it not, is it not? Rose is red and rose is white.   New new nothing.   Row well ye mariners.   I have never seen the sea.   The pauper and the layman, the priest and the scoundrel, all moving with intent.   Sometimes, fleetingly, never anything less.   Profound, very, yes dreadfully profound.   Labour in vaine.   In great concentric circles about the time your husband died.   Biting the bullets one by one, out on the green fields of Amerikay.   Interest rates climbing on the national stew fund.  Spiralling into a new dawn of exoneration of traditional values.   Gracie did all those things and more.   And the quaker danced. Rose is red and rose is red.   For judge and jury.   Very very far. Quite near actually.   Further than strictly possible.   In all reason dear.   75 miles from the sea.  Exactly. And another. And another. AND another.   Drawing to a conclusion. Bliss.   Seemingly. Fleetingly.   (pause) Have at thy coat old woman!
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Dec 27, 2014
Dec 27, 2014 at 1:21 PM UTC
Punchline to a Romance
Mud, mud, mud Can't cha get enuff? Nup, tuft. Alleviate normative Chairtime penalties Helper Scalper! Oh, I drew the crucifix! I must cruise for a fix and machinate my auto-licks. Guitars all bent from rotten trips into acid bath houses of Babylon!
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Nov 6, 2014
Nov 6, 2014 at 12:40 PM UTC
Automatic Writing III
Geometric Considerations and Nomenclature for Reflectance, U. A march section in B flat minor follows. Cordelia is nervous about her father's tax position but does not tell the others. Japan's Olympic judo team. Rehberg married his high school sweetheart, Jan, a water attorney who represents farmers and ranchers. In four games, he had been sacked 23 times and had a pass intercepted 12 times. Eastern Europe, and conspired to spread communism throughout the world. There are 55 schools in Kortrijk, on 72 different locations throughout the city, with an estimated 21,000 students. Go through all tools, materials, and so forth in the plant and work area.
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Oct 9, 2014
Oct 9, 2014 at 7:25 AM UTC
Ready-Made Spam
1 the free wheel turns and from the asphalt the chains dissolve after every consonant like a sphere walking on heels sums the response of your epoch daaa-brrrum-pa-uf the sound continues 2 on a sleeping tree that spits butter every other morning MERZ came along dancing on neglected values like the horn of whales bending water at every corner in the slums of egotism 3 art has no meaning unless art has no arms unless art devours brains unless art verifies stupidity unless art has to be edible unless art sleeps like an idiot unless art bleeds through my fingers unless art 4 falling like dominos will turn the bipolarity of the glass only to be slashed so I can see my pillow that rebells to the murdering machine every night every night with gloves filled with blue feathers 5 we are born we are children we grow we die in between, there is a shadow covering the ghost slowly piercing your skull singing on tip toes in the enchanted forest 6 I call for the un-trembling hand amidst the violence and humanity against the frozen word breast of black matter where spring holds her veil river stones and milk ghost of love 7 garbage laying daughters of despair renounce the yolk of logic senses shall play as it was intended do not let reason fool you she’s no more than a servant 8 who disbelieves imaginary facts 9 the betrayal of reason 10 Popart popart garbage of the past 11 a malicious smile Hans Arp, Raoul Hausmann, Hannah Höch and Richard Huelsenbeck out of the ruins of German culture all conceivable materials the union of art and non-art 12 continue to study the natural world childlike and convoluted the elated and troubled new forms of typography a new visual language 13 The **** regime banned all your creative activities Primiti Too Taa 14 rakete rinnzekete  rakete rinnzekete                                                          rakete rinnzekete  rakete rinnzekete  rakete rinnzekete  rakete rinnzekete  Beeeee  bö. 15 Why? 16 the movements of the poem string, cotton wool or a pram wheel equal with paint to reverberate carved on its journey repeating them in many different voices a relentless momentum 17 new people, new shapes, colors, and details 18 blast the institution of slavery blast the educational system blast the paper cup morals 19 simultaneous happenings will reign in the hearts of men and turn them small and smaller 20 Imaginary facts and the marvelous appearances of the right moment which is a woman or a dice with the shape of a cloud ******* on happiness 21 find a place 22 The nose is a myth 23 feign of death the modern man
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Aug 25, 2014
Aug 25, 2014 at 12:06 AM UTC
23
1 the free wheel turns and from the asphalt the chains dissolve after every consonant like a sphere walking on heels sums the response of your epoch daaa-brrrum-pa-uf the sound continues 2 on a sleeping tree that spits butter every other morning MERZ came along dancing on neglected values like the horn of whales bending water at every corner in the slums of egotism 3 art has no meaning unless art has no arms unless art devours brains unless art verifies stupidity unless art has to be edible unless art sleeps like an idiot unless art bleeds through my fingers unless art 4 falling like dominos will turn the bipolarity of the glass only to be slashed so I can see my pillow that rebells to the murdering machine every night every night with gloves filled with blue feathers 5 we are born we are children we grow we die in between, there is a shadow covering the ghost slowly piercing your skull singing on tip toes in the enchanted forest 6 I call for the un-trembling hand amidst the violence and humanity against the frozen word breast of black matter where spring holds her veil river stones and milk ghost of love 7 garbage laying daughters of despair renounce the yolk of logic senses shall play as it was intended do not let reason fool you she’s no more than a servant 8 who disbelieves imaginary facts 9 the betrayal of reason 10 Popart popart garbage of the past 11 a malicious smile Hans Arp, Raoul Hausmann, Hannah Höch and Richard Huelsenbeck out of the ruins of German culture all conceivable materials the union of art and non-art 12 continue to study the natural world childlike and convoluted the elated and troubled new forms of typography a new visual language 13 The **** regime banned all your creative activities Primiti Too Taa 14 rakete rinnzekete  rakete rinnzekete                                                          rakete rinnzekete  rakete rinnzekete  rakete rinnzekete  rakete rinnzekete  Beeeee  bö. 15 Why? 16 the movements of the poem string, cotton wool or a pram wheel equal with paint to reverberate carved on its journey repeating them in many different voices a relentless momentum 17 new people, new shapes, colors, and details 18 blast the institution of slavery blast the educational system blast the paper cup morals 19 simultaneous happenings will reign in the hearts of men and turn them small and smaller 20 Imaginary facts and the marvelous appearances of the right moment which is a woman or a dice with the shape of a cloud ******* on happiness 21 find a place 22 The nose is a myth 23 feign of death the modern man
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136
What I see is imperfection in the eyes of Elevator. John is sleeping. John is kicking the ball. Dear Papa, why the cosmos is the cosmos. The reverence shines through my hole. The whole swimming pool was left in the ocean. Dear Papa, please tell me how to have sand.
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May 16, 2014
May 16, 2014 at 5:29 PM UTC
A letter to my father John
Da dana da da dana da, Da dana da da da; Dana da ddana da, Da dana da dada.
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Apr 21, 2014
Apr 21, 2014 at 9:18 AM UTC
Daa.