Author: Dr. Stephan Pflaum

PrologueI open my mouth and a spiral answers.Color becomes tongue,line becomes echo. Body IPink insists on volume.Black conducts the melody—each curve a bar of silence between breaths.My nostrils are twin speakers of improbable truth.One hums low: remember.The other cries high: reinvent.Between them, air flickers into rhythm. Body III am sound… read more – weiterlesen Singing Snout in Gamma-92

PrologueSomewhere between façade and face,I linger—half building, half breath. Body IThe wall remembers laughter from an upper window.The balcony sighs: we’ve seen this snout before.Graphite ghosts climb the stonework,sketching my outline without asking permission.I stare back at the city’s eyelids—those double windows blinking in slow regret.Each line is a whisper… read more – weiterlesen Rue du Porc 3½

PrologueIn the beginning there was outline,and the outline said: stay bright inside the dark.So I did—pinkly, stubbornly. Body IBlack built walls around me—thick, clean, final.I filled them with hums of bubblegum thunder.Each curve remembers a hand that pressed too long,each ear listens for its twin in another universe.I am neither… read more – weiterlesen Pink Noise in the Void

PrologueI blink between magenta gusts,half-drawn, half-remembered,a smile loose in the paper’s wind. Body IGraphite murmurs: don’t finish me.Magenta answers: I never do.Each patch hums like a heartbeat under wet neon.The white between us is breathing room,a stage for unsaid oinks.I tilt forward; the edge dissolves;somewhere, a hand forgets its purpose…. read more – weiterlesen The Laughing Contour of Oink

PrologueI arrive as bright interruptions,a face toggled by lightning,my snout humming like a signal flare. Body IFuchsia says: cut the silence in zigzags.Charcoal says: hold the line, then break it.White says nothing—so loudly it shakes the room.My left eye inventories your doubts;my right eye quantizes them into beats.Between the marks,… read more – weiterlesen Switch-Face, Neon Snout

PrologueI arrive in petal-layers,two eyes carrying small moons,my snout a compass that hums north. Body IPink says: be soft but not simple.Violet says: keep an archive under each curve.Magenta says: now turn—slow—like a carousel of skin.The lines remember every touch before it happens.I speak through the nostrils: a velvet trumpet,mapping… read more – weiterlesen Lavender Cartography of Oink

Prologich, citrus-warm, oinke die nacht anmein auge trägt leise brandwächterund die farben machen blut zu licht Body Irot sagt: bleib.orange sagt: dreh dich—langsam, orbit, orbit.gelb sagt: ich bin die kleine sonne, die dich stiehlt.im kohlemeer raschelt die luft: hush, hush.ein strich ist eine weide, ein zweiter: gedächtnis.je näher die schnute,… read more – weiterlesen Sonnenwange im Graphit-Orbit

Prelude:I am mostly line and laughter,a sketch that didn’t get the memo about melancholy.Pencil hums like a breeze through barn air,and suddenly — joy happens by accident. I. Anatomy of a Smile Look closer:the snout is a portal, not a punchline.The eyes hold a secretthey’re still deciding whether to share.Every… read more – weiterlesen The Pig Who Forgot to Frown

Prelude:Graphite spirals like thought after coffee.I am mostly roundness pretending to understand gravity.Somewhere between snout and sculpture,logic collapses into form. I. The Geometry of Appetite Circles, circles, always circles—as if perfection were edible.They pile up politely,an architecture of maybe.The pig watches,half guardian, half gourmand.Ich bin Schwein und Gleichgewicht,ein Träumer aus… read more – weiterlesen The Pig and the Tower of Circles

Prelude:Good morning, graphite and gravity.The word I WISH hovers like breath on cold glass.I am mostly longing with a snout attached—a soft hypothesis about hope. I. The Architecture of Desire Every wish begins as a sketch:uncertain, trembling, almost erased.Lines curve toward possibility,then loop back into habit.Ich bin Schwein und Sehnsucht,ein… read more – weiterlesen The Pig Who Wished

Prelude:Graphite trembles into anatomy.I am mostly mouth and motive,half syllable, half sigh.Speech begins here—in the soft geometry of almost. I. The Philosophy of the Snout Form is accident, repeated with feeling.Every curve suggests a vowel,every shade a hesitation.I open my mouth not to say—but to ask permission for sound.Ich bin… read more – weiterlesen The Pig Who Tried to Speak

Prelude:I am mostly accent—a snout caught between apology and irony.My vowels stretch,my consonants salute.DADA laughs in bilingual. I. The Syntax of Becoming “Me trying not to be German too.”The sentence already stumbles,half self-defense, half confession.Language here doesn’t communicate—it blushes.Ich bin Schwein und Fremdheit,ein Dialekt im Übergang. II. Grammar as Performance… read more – weiterlesen Das Schwein der Doppelübersetzung