Full text: The little review (12 (1926), 1)

40 
the wonderful mellow voice to life its odd acts. The drunken 
bum who bumped into her was her dissipated drunken brother 
and the wayward son of those with the books, parasol and hard 
thumping cane. Life and the changes of life’s acts, mostly sham, 
had changed their lives that none knew one another from the 
other, deaf to hear, blind to see. 
Later newspapers reports unknown man kills self with gas. 
Unknown tramp killed riding between clickety click wheels, 
the vibrating half inch rods. Unknown woman taken from river 
same day, different parts of the country. Three unknowns bones 
back to dust started decaying in potters field. Who were these 
three with eyes they had and saw not and ears they had and 
heard not, and the wages of sin from sham is death. 
CHARLES L. DURBORAW 
IN PRAISE OF VIOLENCE 
N OTHING IS lost sooner than violence (unless it be 
collective.) Only when arm in arm with his brothers 
has the individual any lasting strength. War or revo 
lution is all right; between two bombs nothing keeps 
man from dreaming of his armchair or his cabbages. 
But left alone on the tight rope with no one in front or behind, 
a grenade in each hand to kill, every minute, it does not last. 
A star bursts in the sky and passes in a veil of fleeting brilliance. 
The warm deep darkness remains with its nightingale’s songs, its 
quilts, its flakes of hope. 
An epoch of violence has just ended—we do not mean the 
war, but the one which assailed all the moral defenses. How 
short a time it lasted! Does one still remember Dadaism, except 
to laugh, to scorn and spit? 
Dadaism did not last any more than the length of skirts or a 
fashionable colour. It may have been the excess of violence 
itself that did it, that collective violence itself more remarquable 
for submerging every individual. And everyone breaking his 
shell, went crowing to war, in search of the Almighty. Putting 
on the airs of a general is becoming but only when heading an 
army. A general in an autobus is little more handsome than a 
bank clerk. 
After Dadaism had scattered its parts and its glands to the 
four winds, it ceased to draw attention upon its perpetual virility. 
Its acquired impetus only enabled it to go on making love.
	        
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