Author: Dr. Stephan Pflaum

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 of dust made visible. Body III am the passerby who stayed too long.My reflection built its own apartment.People above discuss light, but I only know… 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 shadow nor light,but the stubborn trace between them—a refusal in fluorescent flesh. Body IIYou call me cartoon, I call myself frontier.The border of pigment is… 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. Body III am less animal than echo,a rhythm of soft lightning and cheek.Your stare maps the laughter’s orbit—round once, then again,until the snout becomes a… 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, a freeway for breath—each dash a ramp, each pause a horizon. Body III practice the quick art of being visible.A blot becomes a cheek becomes… 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 the room in circles you can’t quite finish. Body III practice the science of almost-smiles.Each segment is a door I can close without locking.Your gaze… 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, desto länglicher das morgen.wer schaut, wird geschaut—habitus, mon amour. Body IIbonjour, miroir: I sniff your gravity.die falte überm auge ist eine treppe nach innen.jeder schraffurwind… 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 curve of graphite says,“Not everything drawn in grey must be sad.”Ich bin Schwein und Schmunzeln,ein leichter Gedanke in schwerem Bleistift. II. The Gesture of Becoming… 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 Kurven und Kohle. II. The Theology of Overabundance Too much is the beginning of meaning.Each sphere hums softly—a universe rehearsing itself in miniature.Desire ascends, cautious… 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 Bleistifttraum auf dünnem Papier. II. The Physics of Wanting The light falls shyly,as if afraid to illuminate disappointment.Even shading becomes prayer.In every smudge:a heartbeat rehearsing… 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 Schwein und Versuch,ein Echo mit Hoffnungston. II. The Syntax of Smudge Pencil marks think faster than meaning.They argue in whispers,cross out, return, insist.Expression collapses,reborn as… read more – weiterlesen The Pig Who Tried to Speak