Author: Dr. Stephan Pflaum

Prelude:I am mostly appetite translated into art.The pot is not a pot — it’s a mirror with hunger issues.Between us lies the philosophy of leftovers. I. The Economy of Oink Value circulates in circles:pig, pot, promise.One gives, one holds, one hopes.Ich bin Schwein und Bedürfnis,ein rosa Gedanke mit metallischem Nachhall.DADA counts nothing,and therefore owns everything. II. Still Life with Expectation The pot waits.I wait too.Waiting becomes a duet in minor key.Steam is memory rehearsing resurrection.If… read more – weiterlesen The Pig and the Empty Pot

Prelude:A face divided by hesitation—I am mostly outline,half drawn, half remembered.The second me hovers above,a ghost of graphite and déjà vu. I. Echo in Pastel Minor Violet sighs.Pink nods, distracted.The pencil scratches at silenceas if truth were buried in the paper.Ich bin Schwein und Schatten zugleich,zwei Linien, die denselben Atem teilen. II. The Double That Watches Back Look closer:one snout speaks,the other listens.Between them—the secret geometry of doubt.The world insists on symmetry;I insist on being… read more – weiterlesen The Whisper Pig and Its Double

Prelude:Half-asleep, half-sketch —I am mostly sigh wrapped in violet.The air smells of thinking.My snout drifts toward silence. I. Chromatic Drowsing Purple stretches like a yawn across paper.Orange hums quietly at the edges —a leftover warmth from yesterday’s courage.Nothing moves,yet everything leans toward meaning.Ich bin Schwein und Zwischenmoment,ein Atemzug aus Kreide und Gefühl. II. Meditation in Mauve This is not color.It’s memory fading politely.Every line remembers its intentionand forgives itself mid-way.Even my outline hesitates —as if… read more – weiterlesen The Pig Who Dreamed in Lavender

Prelude:Red hums like a furnace of feelings.I am mostly warmth shaped into worry.My snout contemplates combustion,my eyes study the color of exhaustion. I. The Warm Logic of Chaos Orange argues with pink.Yellow interrupts both.Somewhere between outline and accidentI become emotion with geometry.Ich bin Schwein und Hitze,ein Temperament aus Kreide und Zweifel. II. Pigment Philosophy Every stroke asks: How much is too much?The answer arrives as flame.Fire does not speak; it annotates.Graphite becomes smoke,and thought turns… read more – weiterlesen The Pig in Heat (of Thought)

Prelude:Somewhere between flame and blush—I ignite politely.I am mostly warmth pretending to have meaning.My face, a landscape of almost-burning. I. The Gospel of Heat Red preaches without punctuation.Orange hums like an exhausted sun.Magenta interrupts—she never learned moderation.Together they create theology through friction.Ich bin Schwein und Glut,ein Beweis, dass Farbe schwitzen kann. II. The Sketch That Forgot to Cool Down Every line trembles from velocity.Graphite gasps, “enough!”But the fire insists:Art must overheat at least once per… read more – weiterlesen The Pig of Combustion

Prelude:Silence froze mid-oink.I am mostly sound turned into color.Breath became hue,and meaning melted somewhere between cyan and fear. I. The Theology of Temperature Blue is not sadness.It’s restraint with good posture.Every chill carries a whisper of control.The air doesn’t move—it listens.Ich bin Schwein und Winter,ein Denkmal aus Atem und Eis. II. Anatomy of the Frozen Cry Mouth open,not to speak,but to echo what the world forgot to answer.The snout shivers in metaphysics.Even desperation looks elegant… read more – weiterlesen Blue Oink in Cold Major

Prelude:Drawn in blue,somewhere between breath and bewilderment.I am mostly volume disguised as line.The page trembles,the pencil remembers panic fondly. The Anatomy of Alarm Mouth open—but is it song, protest, or weather report?Ears like question marks,nostrils like emergency exits.Every curve shouts: Now!Ich bin Schwein und Echo,ein akustisches Missverständnis in Bleistiftform. The Theology of Sound Oink is not noise.It’s philosophy with a pulse.Every scream is a syllablethe world refuses to translate.In blue, everything feels true—even confusion.DADA whispers:Art… read more – weiterlesen The Scream of Oink

Prologue:Elegance meets Oink.I am mostly style,wrapped in existential knitwear.Warmth is my philosophy,irony my cologne. The Texture of Thought Wool scratches,but so does awareness.Every thread is a timeline,every fold a question mark.Ich bin Schwein und Stoff zugleich,ein Faserwesen mit Haltung.DADA says: “Fashion is only chaosthat learned to pose.” Snoutology 2.0 Look closely.Behind the pullover,there beats a heart made of graphite and gossip.My eyes are windows,but they charge admission.The snout? A punctuation mark—half period, half portal. The… read more – weiterlesen The Pig in the Rollkragenpullover

Prelude:I am mostly yellow,which means I’ve been pretending to be sunshinefor too long.Beneath the gloss—a trembling geometry of maybe. Chromatic Metaphysics Color is not decoration.It’s confession in disguise.Gold: the arrogance of optimism.Pink: the blush of recognition.Black: the echo of all things swallowed.Ich bin Schwein und Oberfläche,ein Prisma der falschen Ehrlichkeit. The Pig Who Painted Its Own Halo Once, I believed in outlines.Now I melt them.The eyes orbit the snout like small planets of empathy.Everything circles,… read more – weiterlesen Oink of the Golden Mask

Prologue:Liebe drückt.Soft, sweet, strangling.Ich atme durch das Herz –das quietscht ein bisschen.Oink, my darling. Scene 1: Romantic Asphyxiation Two pigs, one emotion.Hands, or maybe hooves,wrapped around tendernesslike philosophy around breakfast.Liebe sagt: Komm näher.Ich sage: Ich kann nicht.DADA flüstert: Genau richtig. Scene 2: Die Farbe der Nähe Gelb – das Licht, das alles verrät.Grün – the jealousy of grass.Rosa – bleeding metaphor.Everything glows and gasps.Love is just a longer word for almost.Ich bin Schwein und Schicksal,ein… read more – weiterlesen Im Würgegriff der Love