What is DaDa?

Perhaps Strange

The world is full of goods trains
The passengers are cows
And milk and butter.
And cheese and lovely marmelade
And bulls and horses,
And cocks and hens.
The cow is mother to the milk,
And grandma both to cheese and butter.
The cheese is cousin to the marmelade.
The horse is cousin to the cock
The hen lays eggs.
The egg is cousin to the cheese and butter,
The son and daughter of the milk.
Isn't it strange?
It is.

Kurt Schwitters

can you spot the irony?


So you want to be a writer?

if it doesn't come bursting out of you
in spite of everything,
don't do it.
unless it comes unasked out of your
heart and your mind and your mouth
and your gut,
don't do it.
if you have to sit for hours
staring at your computer screen
or hunched over your
searching for words,
don't do it.
if you're doing it for money or
don't do it.
if you're doing it because you want
women in your bed,
don't do it.
if you have to sit there and
rewrite it again and again,
don't do it.
if it's hard work just thinking about doing it,
don't do it.
if you're trying to write like somebody
forget about it.

if you have to wait for it to roar out of
then wait patiently.
if it never does roar out of you,
do something else.
if you first have to read it to your wife
or your girlfriend or your boyfriend
or your parents or to anybody at all,
you're not ready.

don't be like so many writers,
don't be like so many thousands of
people who call themselves writers,
don't be dull and boring and
pretentious, don't be consumed with self-
the libraries of the world have
yawned themselves to
over your kind.
don't add to that.
don't do it.
unless it comes out of
your soul like a rocket,
unless being still would
drive you to madness or
suicide or murder,
don't do it.
unless the sun inside you is
burning your gut,
don't do it.

when it is truly time,
and if you have been chosen,
it will do it by
itself and it will keep on doing it
until you die or it dies in

there is no other way.

and there never was.

charles bukowski

taken at my favorite flea market!


click here for some bill...

bill santen:the latest next-ist

shorted on symbols

as transparent as the lucky; in lucubration
all this time is just a means to test the endurance
similarly threaded with it's own promise and despair
an interuption of all that endless articulation and arrogance
filled to the limits with the the originator; the all of every
instruments grow flat then mostly mute though
organized they end up lost all those things
attached in this worldcan not see beyond this want

j.vincent:fellow next-ist
and future godfather
to any children i might
ever have.

"all but one is gone"

"cull her"

william s. burroughs cut-up machine

have true all and a need it's file bump dough sure
this and the of we bubbles beware the like is exits
free bitch you meat race the drum clothes while
we eat him exist dropped video those bark folks

dogs the moment captured progressive we into gravy
the real like the wasn't in with three know there
keep whispers heads hell for below a pause want
more it folks ground about more done turns

moron we if food grief hear platinum how
tears can even help is bark good torture folks
dogs out the night wakes in to rewind rewind moments

captured poor big lens progressive

cash even we no into it's bubbles beware folks
gravy the light smoothering no eager the
bump real under our like into lifeless the
forward fast is want more idiot don't left

rotting buy radioactive bump building vote
the beware years swell rain down who's kids
human cash into real the shock never of
and over full left that teeth skin lovely folded

the buttered bread good out night wakes above
to poor lens it even no it's folks light
smoothering eager our into life less forward

fast want more him bite fall afraid a please

failing here...please selves plastic want more
if delivery lots when lens even light
smoothering bump our heroes around we and

for a the rolling from make crushed between for

kisses and is of charge so noone covered even of
more help it you the so noone so bark can
good covered torture even folks
dogs of out more the help night wakes

it in charge above you moments captured


the shadow of death

does anyone want to kiss me?