SchWeinWelten.DE

On Thursday morning, the engineers discovered their robot had assembled itself incorrectly. Not technically incorrectly—the blueprints were wrong, the robot insisted. It had forty-seven angles where it should have had six, and its arms grew inward instead of out. “I refuse,” said the robot, “to be constructed sequentially.” The chief engineer consulted the manual. Page 347 clearly stated that robots must have insides and outsides, that their geometries must not overlap, that yellow should support… read more – weiterlesen The Recalcitrant Robot

Am Dienstag um halb vier beschloss der Turm, dass Oben und Unten ohnehin Erfindungen waren. Er hatte jahrhundertelang versucht, in die Höhe zu wachsen, doch die Stockwerke weigerten sich, übereinander zu liegen. Stattdessen drängten sie seitlich, querfeldig, einander durchdringend wie ungeduldige Gedanken. Das Rot erklärte sich zum Fundament, obwohl es bereits im dritten Stockwerk wohnte. Das Blau behauptete, es sei der Himmel, lag aber tief unter dem Grün begraben. Die Gelben mischten sich ein, argumentierten… read more – weiterlesen Der traurige Turm, der nicht mehr weiter wusste und aus dem Rahmen sprang

The Architect built the staircase on a Thursday, but by Friday it had rearranged itself into Wednesday. Each step argued with the one above it about which direction was forward. Red insisted it led up. Yellow swore it went sideways. Turquoise claimed the whole thing was actually descending into next month. “I counted twelve steps,” said the Architect, standing at the bottom with his notebook. “We’re seventeen,” said the steps in unison. “But I only… read more – weiterlesen The Staircase Debate

The towers held a meeting to decide which way was up. Magenta insisted it was already up, but Yellow pointed out that Magenta was clearly leaning left. “Left isn’t a direction,” said Turquoise from somewhere in the middle. “It’s a political stance.” The Architect had designed them to stand side by side, but they preferred to stand side by inside. Each tower occupied the same vertical space while remaining entirely separate, a feat of geometry… read more – weiterlesen The Vertical Argument

He arrived in seven cities simultaneously, carrying the same briefcase in different colors. In Munich it was yellow, in Prague purple, in Vienna it had ceased to exist but still held all his notes. The Traveling Lecturer had mastered the art of being fractured—not broken, fractured. There’s a difference. “Today’s topic,” he announced to the empty conference room, “is how to be everywhere you’re not.” The audience consisted of his own angles, arranged in uncomfortable… read more – weiterlesen Der Vortragsreisende Mitmensch / The Traveling Lecture Companion

The Architect kept his unbuilt buildings underwater. Not drawings—the actual structures, made of glass that had learned to breathe. He visited them every Thursday by forgetting how to swim, sinking straight down through the blue until his feet touched the pink floor that wasn’t there. “This one was supposed to be a library,” he said to the turquoise walls, which were simultaneously in front of him and behind him. The walls didn’t answer because they… read more – weiterlesen The Drowned Blueprint

On Tuesday, the rectangles declared war on the trapezoids. No one remembers why—something about a yellow stripe that claimed it was actually horizontal when everyone could see it was vertical. The Color Commissioner tried to mediate, but she had been dead for three weeks and her authority was questionable. “I refuse to overlap,” announced a turquoise plane, standing perfectly still in the center of a purple one. “You already are overlapping,” said Purple. “That’s your… read more – weiterlesen The Glass Argument

The Architect painted his face with arguments. Orange for the vowels he swallowed in 1987, purple for the consonants that refused to leave his throat. When he spoke, the audience heard only the colors bleeding into one another. “Listen,” he said, but the word came out cyan. The auditorium was empty except for seventeen shadows that had forgotten their owners. They sat in the back rows, perfectly still, their silence so loud it drowned out… read more – weiterlesen Der Farbensprecher

The Architect found it on a Tuesday morning, exactly where he hadn’t put it. A balcony had grown inside the building, surrounded by blue walls that insisted they were sky. “Architecturally impossible,” noted the Color Commissioner, though her measuring tape had started laughing halfway through the assessment. The Conductor tapped her baton against the railing. It rang in C-sharp, which shouldn’t exist in orange. “It’s humming a melody about being elsewhere,” she reported. “Clearly a… read more – weiterlesen The Balcony That Refused to Stay Outside

The Jester arrived on a Thursday that had been cancelled three weeks prior. He carried his bells in a suitcase because they had complained about being worn. “I’ve come to deliver the punchline,” he announced to the Color Commissioner, who was measuring the temperature of purple. “But no one told a joke,” she replied. “Exactly,” said the Jester, setting down his suitcase. The bells inside began laughing without him. The Conductor appeared, baton raised. “You’re… read more – weiterlesen The Fool Who Forgot to Laugh