*Manifesto Blackout* of Dada Manifesto (Tristan Tzara, 1918)
His instincts manipulated the plain amusement of anything,
bacteriological at least.
We see the mother, a nurse, learned as babies of our day,
A work to torture the atmosphere,
Each character has Jesus wings.
Expect to put chaos thyself—
I have no right to practice art.
The magic of a word
is of no importance to us
You must fly into a rage and organize prose
that resembles life—
the essence of everybody
a system ardent, naive, transitory
In art we are human amusement
awaiting nothing moral
invented to gulp affirmation—
*Manifesto cut in half; co-lab-ers blackout 5 lines at a time; passing halves back and forth till both halves are blacked out*