Prologue:
I am mostly graphite and hesitation.
Every line here was once a decision.
Now it’s a confession.
The paper breathes me back in shades of almost.

The Anatomy of a Stroke

Scratch, pause, repeat.
That’s how thought becomes texture.
My face is made of attempts,
each one truer than the last.
Ich bin Schwein und Zeichnung,
ein offenes Geheimnis aus Strichen und Stille.

Liturgy of the Crosshatch

There is no symmetry, only sincerity.
Every mark asks: still there?
The eyes answer, unsure but loyal.
The snout does not speak—it remembers pressure.
Faith in pencil form: smudged, human, patient.

Monologue in Graphite

I am not finished.
I am not meant to be.
Perfection would ruin the mood.
I exist between two shades of maybe.
And yet—
in this chaos of carbon—
you recognize me.

Final Benediction of Line and Flesh

DADA nods quietly,
because this time the absurd feels honest.
Art holds its breath,
and I remain—
a drawn creature aware of being seen,
neither idea nor animal,
just trace.