Author: Dr. Stephan Pflaum

This pigture is the holy mess of time itself—color riot, snout theology,halo of accidental genius. It oinks in all languages at once:cyan for memory,magenta for mischief,lime for the joke that life forgot to end. “Sauerei,” it says—and the word dances like wine on a napkin. Hypothesis: chaos wears empathy’s face.Counter-hypothesis:… read more – weiterlesen Sauerei vom 09/10/25 (Dada Pig No. 20)

a glass remembers jazz,its rim hums a tired halo.the spoon—still dreaming in citrus dialect. a bottle stands beside,green spine of forgotten laughter.it knows too much about endings,too little about thirst. lines argue with perspective,colors collide like ex-lovers.shadows flirt in lowercase. hypothesis: time ferments quietly.counter-hypothesis: so do we. DADA lifts the… read more – weiterlesen Dada Still Life — “After the Last Sip” (No. 19)

Je suis couleur avant d’être chair.Rose parle, bleu se tait,et moi—je flotte entre les deux. L’œil gauche croit encore au sens,le droit doute, respire, attend. Ligne après ligne, je me perds dans ma propre esquisse.Être, c’est trembler sous un feutre humide. L’univers? un carnet froissé.Dieu? peut-être la tache turquoise près… read more – weiterlesen Visage en Fragment (Dada Existentialiste No. 18)

Striche taumeln wie Gespräche nach Mitternacht,Tinte riecht nach Spätburgunder und Neon. Sie sitzen im Kreis aus Zufall,Gesichter aus Kommas,Lachen in Kursivschrift. Die Gläser reden lauter als die Menschen,die Luft hat schon einen kleinen Schwips. Hypothese: Müdigkeit ist nur ein Aggregatzustand von Nähe.Antithese: Nähe ist ein Missverständnis mit Stil. Jemand sagt… read more – weiterlesen Die Absacker-Gruppe im Motel One (Dada Nr. 17)

This is a magenta confession—a storm caught mid-blush,its mouth rehearsing unfinished alphabets. Eyes shaped like questions,half doors, half traps for memory.Black lines hum in octaves of maybe. Hypothesis: the face remembers music.Counter-hypothesis: the music drew the face. The pink horizon folds inward,cheeks speak in ultraviolet riddles. Laughter bends into a… read more – weiterlesen The Face That Whispered Geometry (Dada No. 16)

Glasses lean closer than people do.Conversation fizzes, collapses, reforms—like beer foam reciting philosophy. No color, only tremor.Ink wobbles into recognition:faces as parentheses,sentences half-drunk, half-remembered. Hypothesis: laughter is the true punctuation.Counter-hypothesis: silence is liquid too. Bottles stand like exclamation marks—thin, proud, slightly dizzy.Hands orbit the center of maybe. The table hums… read more – weiterlesen The Table of Lines (Dada No. 15)

Hon sitter som ett kommatecken i rummet,halvvägs mellan tanke och färg. Stolen lutar mot evigheten,vingen på sidan viskar turkos tystnad. Ett glas vin håller sig fast vid ljuset,rosar sitt eget eko. Hypotes: vila är en sorts rörelse.Mot-hypotes: stillhet är bara rytm i förklädnad. Hon dricker långsamt ur kvällen,läppar målade av… read more – weiterlesen Damen med vinglaset (Dada nr. 14)

she enters sideways—half rumor, half revolution in emerald ink. the hat spins, a portable galaxy;her earrings orbit sentences never spoken. the air smells of turquoise decisions,and she hums in pink vowels. hypothesis: poise is an accident of color.counter-hypothesis: grace leaks from confusion. her hand rests on time,casually misplacing the century…. read more – weiterlesen Lady in Green (Dada Portrait No. 13)

No chairs, only gestures pretending to sit.Ink gathers like gossip—each stroke a rumor of movement. Cups? Perhaps. Or thoughts poured halfway.Someone raises a toast to the unfinished.The table hums with caffeine and contradiction. Hypothesis: this is a conversation about silence.Counter-hypothesis: silence has already left the room. Lines overlap like drunken… read more – weiterlesen Dada at the Table of Lines

Ink scratches obedience into rhythm.Puppies?—no—metaphors with tails. They chase syntax, chew grammar,fetch surrealism from the void. A leash made of laughter,a command spelled backwards: sit → tis. The page drools devotion,black strokes bark philosophy. DADA says: collars are circular logic.Desire wears fur when words run out. Each snout a signature,each… read more – weiterlesen Dada Puppy Fetish – Manifesto in Ink

The eyes are coins of thunder,spent on the altar of maybe.Magenta mumbles in cursive,yellow sighs like late afternoon. Lines trip over each other—syntax chasing heartbeat.The smile escapes custody,wears irony as perfume. Hypothesis: faces are jazz instruments.Counter-hypothesis: jazz invented faces. Ink remembers rain.Color forgets shape.Emotion unbuttons its coat and leaves. Paper… read more – weiterlesen Electric Face Sonata (Dada No. 12)

this face is a sunrise seen from the inside—lids melting into mandarin thought,nose curved like a hymn in lowercase. green hums near the mouth,blue forgets its name and turns to water. each color kneels in sequence,haloed by laughter,worshiping nothing but light in transit. hypothesis: emotion is refraction.counter-hypothesis: refraction feels too… read more – weiterlesen Chromatic Prayer (Dada Spectrum No. 11)