Author: Dr. Stephan Pflaum

PrologueTonight the colors rehearse without conductor.Each hue hums its own rebellion.The air smells of melted syntax and wet applause. Body INew law: repetition becomes identity.Every face copies itself one beat late,until the fifth remembers the first and forgets its name.Voices rise like stairs,made of ink, sweat, and fluorescent remorse.The yellow… read more – weiterlesen The Choir of Vertical Rain

PrologueThe air is made of violet noise.Every thought hums in neon veins.Yellow ghosts whisper: “Speak, but melt your words.” Body INew law: sound turns into color at the edge of doubt.Every sentence leaks pink, every pause glows lavender.The figure kneels to the frequency,mouth half open, heart half wire.A word begins—becomes… read more – weiterlesen The Speaker of Magenta Silence

PrologueToday the air hums in reversed direction.Orange drips from the mind’s edge.I hear the color before I see the thought.Pssst — says the left eye to the right one. Body INew law: all faces must think through their fingers.Each touch edits a memory.The index becomes philosopher,the palm becomes parliament,and the… read more – weiterlesen The Violet Listener in Orange Weather

She sits there,as if the paper had drained her dry.The cigarette holds itself,the wine keeps thinking slowly inside her. Lines go rogue —none wants to touch the other,yet all know:they belong to the same fatigue. The hand is a questionthat refusesto be answered. Dada whispers from the glass: “Drink me,… read more – weiterlesen The Smoker at the Edge of the Line(a picture-poem in black and defiance)

Das Schwein hat sich aufgelöst,nicht gestorben, nur verdunstet.Jetzt schwebt es als Gedankeim Zwischenraum von Blau und Rosa,ein Schweben, das kein Gewicht kennt. Manchmal formt der Dunstnoch ein Ohr, ein Grunzen,ein Schattenlächeln.Aber sobald du hinsiehst,wird es Farbe —und Farbe kennt kein Tier. Dada sagt: „Wenn du lange genug in Rosa blickst,blickt… read more – weiterlesen Rosa Wolke denkt sich selbst (ein Pigture ohne Kontur)

The pig arrives already half-dissolved, a magenta thought that forgot which direction to think. Its snout opens to ask forgiveness from the color blue. The black ink around it is not shadow— it’s the pig’s opinion about itself, held too tight. Listen: the oink is a whisper, a correction. The… read more – weiterlesen Profile Pigture

The lids close and the spirals begin— no, the spirals close and the eyes begin. Lime-yellow burns inward, a scream that forgot it had sound. Pink riots at the corners. Gray dust swallows its own question. Turquoise is not a color here— it is a window that refused to open…. read more – weiterlesen The Eyes Spiral Downward, Laughing

Ein Schwein träumt sich selbst in die Farbe,nicht rosa, sondern violett —ein melancholisches Zwischenschwein,halb Rauch, halb Erinnerung. Es grunzt in Moll,verwechselt die Zukunft mit dem Echo,und die Schatten applaudierenmit kleinen, schwarzen Hufen. Dada kommt vorbei,trägt einen Hut aus Fragenund ruft: „Sei kein Tier, sei Idee mit Rüssel!“ Das Schwein denkt… read more – weiterlesen Oink im violetten Nebel (eine Dada-Ballade für die Pigture)

Sie kommt ohne Geräusch,die schwarze Dame,setzt sich an den Tischaus Schattenholz,die Tassen voll mitlange ungezogenem Tee. Die Stühle erinnern sich —nicht an Menschen,sondern an Formen,die mal Möbel waren,in Blau und Schweigen getaucht. Sie spricht,denn Worte sind nichtnur Masken der Farben,und die Farbenhaben heute Lust,gesehen zu werden. Oder etwa nicht? Dada… read more – weiterlesen Die schwarze Dame.

Once upon a snort in the land of Unfinished Lines, there lived a gentle Snout who could see sound and hear color. Every morning, it awoke inside a teacup of forgotten ink and whispered: “Today, I shall not oink — I shall think in spirals.” The clouds above were drawn,… read more – weiterlesen The Snout Who Dreamed of Blue Silence

of SchWeinWelten with the “German Mediation Foundation”

Prologue The air hums in chromatic calm.Pink listens; blue hesitates.Speech turns translucent —and time politely looks away. Body I Law one: Dialogue is a form of weather.Law two: Words evaporate faster in love.Law three: Blue and pink never argue, they just blend. He gestures — meaning flickers.She tilts her head… read more – weiterlesen The Conversation of Light