«Cannibal Manifesto of Dada»
1918, Paris, Francis Picabia
You are all the accused. Stand up! I can speak to you, but only when you are standing.Stand as you do for the Marseillaise, the national anthem of Russia, or God save the King! Stand as you do before the banner. Or before DADA, which speaks for life and accuses you of loving only what is expensive out of snobbery.Have you sat down again? Even better—in that case, you will listen to me with even more attention.Why are you crammed in here like oysters in a barrel, wearing such serious expressions? You are serious, aren’t you?Serious, dead serious.Death is a serious matter, isn’t it?One can die as a hero or as an idiot; it’s the same thing. The only word whose meaning grows day by day is death. You love death when others die.So let them die, let them rot like flies!Only money is immortal; it merely wanders from one place to another.Money is a god! Money is a serious character—it is the guarantee of family honor. Hail money, long live money! Whoever has it is a respectable person.Honor is bought and sold like ass. Ass, like fried potatoes, represents life, and all of you, with your seriousness, smell worse than cow manure.But DADA doesn’t smell like anything; it means nothing—it is nothing.DADA, like your hopes—is nothingLike your paradise—is nothingLike your political leaders—is nothingLike your heroes—is nothingLike your artists—is nothingLike your religions—is nothing.Whistle, scream, punch me in the face—so what? I said it, and I will say it again: you are fools. In three months, my friends and I will sell you our paintings for a few francs.
