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A DADA Christmas Poem

A big part of the WNEP DADA process is the notion of interpretation -- you write something to express whatever you want (or be as absurd and nonsensical as you want) and then someone else reads it and they ignore your intentions and attempt to wrestle it into whatever meaning they want. Sometimes, you're even the other person.

Noah and I wrote the following piece during one of the writing meetings leading up to the show for an exercise and it ended up becoming one of the three randomly-triggered 'Christmas Stories' in the show. As such, it was cut for time and then wrestled to the ground by Segue and Brova as they interpreted the heck out of it. But here's the complete original piece:

by DADA XenigN.Rén and DADA little piece of string

Wite Beard

I have a giant white beard, made of candy canes and lollipops and tree trunks and car tires and little children and their smiles and their frowns and a 1959 Ford Packard Bell Hummel figurine of a sandbox and an angel.

Phat gi

This is my belly, which is large and jolly and smelly and full of small children and their dreams and their lunch and a fridge and the teacher from down the hall asking "are you done with your test! pencils down!". And an angel.

Big blak buuts

Look at my boots! They are shiny and black and dark and made of the skin of tiny children, their skin blackened from the heat of the fires that cook the dinner of elves for making toys all new and happy and what would you like for Christmas why don't you sit on my lap and tell your innermost wants and desires. And a shiny gold buckle.

Ironfisted Fascism

My bag is so full of happiness and joy for all wee children everywhere and trick or treat smell my feet give me something for auld lang syne you bastard come on my train is coming if you don't let go we're all go to be late for work and then where will be? Fired, that's where. And a fat lot of god that will do. And a star on top.


Hop to, my lovelies, and grab an antler of justice for you know that your mother is waiting and if she catches you up this late you're going to get a spanking like you so dearly deserve. And no presents for you! None! None! None! Not even that one that you picked out last week and I promised you I'd get you. Promises were made to be broken, why else would they call them tinsel? And then where will we be? Fired, that's where. Forced to feed on the flesh of tiny children everywhere. And a jingle bell.





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This page contains a single entry from the blog posted on December 24, 2008 11:34 PM.

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