Category: Pigture

GEDICHT / POEM Das versteckte Gesicht im Berufsverkehr Zwischen Schultern und Aktentaschen wird er unsichtbar. Sein Gesicht zerfällt in die Farben der anderen— ein Stück Blau gehört der Frau links, das Gelb seiner Stirn ist vom Mann mit der Zeitung geliehen. Um acht Uhr morgens gibt es keine Individuen mehr,… read more – weiterlesen Gesichter der S-Bahn / S-Bahn Faces

GEDICHT / POEM Der Dirigent der Linien Sein Kopf war ein Fahrplan, der sich selbst nicht glaubte. Jede Linie behauptete, die einzig wahre Route zu sein— das Türkis fuhr nach innen, das Rosa nach außen, das Orange diagonal durch seine Gedanken. Bei Rosenheimer Platz faltete sich seine Stirn dreimal. Seine… read more – weiterlesen Gesichter der S-Bahn / S-Bahn Faces

The black square in the sky began transmitting at noon, beaming its geometry downward in rays of pure opinion. The houses below received the signal in stripes— magenta conviction, cyan doubt, yellow certainty— arranging themselves in vertical arguments behind windows that couldn’t agree on transparency. Pink insisted it was the… read more – weiterlesen Poem: The Broadcast House

GEDICHT / POEM Die Frau, die ihre Farben vergaß Sie stieg ein mit einem Gesicht aus reinem Weiß. Bei Donnersbergerbrücke bekam sie Augen— blau wie gestrichene Lügen, grün wie verpasste Versprechen. Die Nase kam bei Hackerbrücke, violett und entrüstet. Ihre Wangen wuchsen mit jedem Halt— orange für die Wut auf… read more – weiterlesen Gesichter der S-Bahn / S-Bahn Faces

GEDICHT / POEM Der Mann gegenüber von Mittwoch Sein Gesicht zerfiel in Vierecke, als die Bahn anfuhr. Jede Farbe behauptete eine andere Richtung— das Blau wollte nach Pasing, das Orange nach Freising. Seine Augen blieben stehen, während seine Wangen weiterfuhren. Zwischen Ostbahnhof und Marienplatz verlor er seinen Mund an Zone… read more – weiterlesen Gesichter der S-Bahn / S-Bahn Faces

The Colors had been living together for years when they finally admitted it wasn’t working. Red was too loud. Blue claimed to need more space, which was ironic given how much space it already occupied. Yellow kept interrupting. Green had become passive-aggressive. “We need mediation,” said a small orange shape,… read more – weiterlesen The Colors Filed for Divorce

The room was drawn in blue ink on Tuesday, but by Wednesday it had forgotten the instructions. The black lines that were supposed to define its boundaries kept changing their minds about where walls should end and where space should begin. An architect arrived to repair the confusion. She brought… read more – weiterlesen The Blueprint Remembered Itself

The Sitter had been sitting for three days when she noticed her edges were no longer hers. They belonged to the blue triangles behind her, which had been slowly claiming her outline while she wasn’t paying attention. “Excuse me,” she said to a particularly assertive purple plane. “That’s my shoulder… read more – weiterlesen The Sitter Forgot Her Edges

The Conductor arrived at the concert hall to find the building had collapsed inward overnight, but was still functioning. The architecture had decided to become its own audience, folding and refolding until every surface faced every other surface simultaneously. “The show must go on,” said a pink beam to a… read more – weiterlesen The Performance Ate Itself

The Directions held a meeting to determine which way was correct. North brought a magenta argument. South arrived with blue evidence. East and West came together, couldn’t agree on who was whom, and split into orange and green factions. The meeting was held inside a triangle, which was the wrong… read more – weiterlesen The Directions Held a Meeting

The building’s reflection had filed for independence on Tuesday morning. It no longer wished to mirror the structure above, it explained in a tersely worded manifesto. It wanted to pursue its own architectural ambitions. The building above was concerned. It was a cheerful arrangement of colored squares—pink, yellow, magenta, coral—assembled… read more – weiterlesen The Reflection Refused to Match

The Walker had been walking for three hours but hadn’t moved. The tunnel kept generating itself around her at exactly the speed she traveled, so technically she remained perfectly still while covering enormous distance. The colors were arguing about which direction was forward. Yellow insisted forward was a warm concept…. read more – weiterlesen The Walker Forgot to Arrive