In Europe's art centers in the gay and bitter years just after World War I. there was nothing quite like the determinedly disorderly young men who called themselves dadaists.* Whatever anyone else admired, they despised; whatever anyone else believed in, they mocked. They were deliberately incomprehensible, studiedly outrageous, and they pledged themselves to respect nothing, not even themselves.
Dadaist dancers performed motionless dances; poets recited poems such as Grim glim gnim bimbim grim glim gnim bimbim . . .
bum bimbim bam bimbim . . .
o be o be o be o be.