Week 15: Dadaist Manifesto

The magic of a word—Dada—which has brought journalists to the gates of a world unforeseen,
is of no importance to us. To put out a manifesto you must want: ABC to fulminate against 1, 2, 3
to fly into a rage and sharpen your wings to conquer and disseminate little abcs and big abcs, to
sign, shout, swear, to organize prose into a form of absolute and irrefutable evidence, to prove
your non plus ultra and maintain that novelty resembles life just as the latest-appearance of
some *****  proves the essence of God. His existence was previously proved by the
accordion, the landscape, the wheedling word. To impose your ABC is a natural thing—
hence deplorable. Everybody does it in the form of crystalbluffmadonna, monetary system,
pharmaceutical product, or a bare leg advertising the ardent sterile spring. The love of
novelty is the cross of sympathy, demonstrates a naive je m'enfoutisme, it is a transitory,
positive sign without a cause.