Journal of a Dadaist

I met Ernst in the mountains today debating with the anti-hegemon about whether Franz Ferdinand was really from Scotland or Austria.  Either way, Europe was ablaze and the heat made me hungry.  Antiquated colanders were suspended from the sky which created rain from the drainage of green bean cookeries in the firmament and hunger consumed me.  Once I had digested myself, I could not decide if I were Romanian or simply a hobby-horse and therefore I dismissed it completely whereas I inspected the empty leash.  It had once belonged to r mutt, but he had evidently gone to bathe in the fountain where he played chess in a readymade inner tube.  Anticipating a loss, he formulated a collage of the board and rearranged it in such a way that the pawns created a model of the Berlin Wall across the squares.  Watches were stopped in Zurich and set to 4 squared past 19.  A little yes and a big no came from the crowd where George and Heartfield scuffled over whether a hand had five fingers.  Arp pointed out it was only half of the problem as it is really the other hand you should worry about.  It was the first thing able to be agreed upon, and so they all went to New York where oxen were rarely on roofs, and the 6 played the piano while the rest raised their glasses to toast the new era of the anti-era.  The bartender asked the crowd to pipe down, but an onlooker named René convinced the barkeep that in fact it was not a pipe.  The anti-era was surreally invaded by the next age, but the persistence of their memories will live on forever.