SchWeinWelten.DE

Hon sitter som ett kommatecken i rummet,halvvägs mellan tanke och färg. Stolen lutar mot evigheten,vingen på sidan viskar turkos tystnad. Ett glas vin håller sig fast vid ljuset,rosar sitt eget eko. Hypotes: vila är en sorts rörelse.Mot-hypotes: stillhet är bara rytm i förklädnad. Hon dricker långsamt ur kvällen,läppar målade av ordlös musik. Linjerna darrar som minnen i penna,stolen andas, bordet tvekar. Och Dada säger:hon är inte kvinna,hon är pausen efter meningen—den plats där verkligheten tar… read more – weiterlesen Damen med vinglaset (Dada nr. 14)

she enters sideways—half rumor, half revolution in emerald ink. the hat spins, a portable galaxy;her earrings orbit sentences never spoken. the air smells of turquoise decisions,and she hums in pink vowels. hypothesis: poise is an accident of color.counter-hypothesis: grace leaks from confusion. her hand rests on time,casually misplacing the century. DADA applauds in lowercase,forgets why, continues anyway. somewhere between her shoulder and the skylanguage melts into gesture. she looks past us—into the echo of her… read more – weiterlesen Lady in Green (Dada Portrait No. 13)

No chairs, only gestures pretending to sit.Ink gathers like gossip—each stroke a rumor of movement. Cups? Perhaps. Or thoughts poured halfway.Someone raises a toast to the unfinished.The table hums with caffeine and contradiction. Hypothesis: this is a conversation about silence.Counter-hypothesis: silence has already left the room. Lines overlap like drunken syntax.Speech leaks sideways.Hands dissolve into exclamation points. Black laughs. White blinks.DADA orders another round—served neat,in the geometry of confusion.

Ink scratches obedience into rhythm.Puppies?—no—metaphors with tails. They chase syntax, chew grammar,fetch surrealism from the void. A leash made of laughter,a command spelled backwards: sit → tis. The page drools devotion,black strokes bark philosophy. DADA says: collars are circular logic.Desire wears fur when words run out. Each snout a signature,each paw a manifesto. We roll in the absurd,we lick the sublime,we sniff at the boundaries of sense. Conclusion:Art is a trick we taught ourselves—and forgot… read more – weiterlesen Dada Puppy Fetish – Manifesto in Ink

The eyes are coins of thunder,spent on the altar of maybe.Magenta mumbles in cursive,yellow sighs like late afternoon. Lines trip over each other—syntax chasing heartbeat.The smile escapes custody,wears irony as perfume. Hypothesis: faces are jazz instruments.Counter-hypothesis: jazz invented faces. Ink remembers rain.Color forgets shape.Emotion unbuttons its coat and leaves. Paper breathes.DADA whispers:nothing to fix,everything already vibrating.

this face is a sunrise seen from the inside—lids melting into mandarin thought,nose curved like a hymn in lowercase. green hums near the mouth,blue forgets its name and turns to water. each color kneels in sequence,haloed by laughter,worshiping nothing but light in transit. hypothesis: emotion is refraction.counter-hypothesis: refraction feels too much. the line stutters,the page trembles like wet glass. you can hear orange thinking aloud—it says, “I never wanted to stay in the lines.” the… read more – weiterlesen Chromatic Prayer (Dada Spectrum No. 11)

green speaks leftward,magenta listens with its beard.between them—two glasses glowing like unspoken verbs. blue leans in,a rumor wrapped in vowels.yellow hums background chatter,the sound of furniture thinking. no subject, only syntax:a circle, a counter,four outlines dissolving in drink. hypothesis: all colors argue politely.counter-hypothesis: light is the fifth guest. somewhere a laugh forgets its owner.a thought spills,orange and irretrievable. the night folds its napkin—DADA pays in echoes,leaves a tip of silence on the table.

The piano melts,each key a color in exile.Magenta hums bass,lime green coughs melody. He plays rectangles of thunder,the chair applauds in orange.Notes spill like broken rainbowsacross a parquet of maybe. Hypothesis: harmony is a rumor.Counter-hypothesis: rhythm forgives all. His beard conducts the chaos—each stroke a tempo for lost umbrellas.Yellow leans in, listening. Behind him, walls dissolveinto vertical applause,architecture unbuttoned by sound. He laughs once—and the air rearranges itselfinto jazz.

Ich bin der Schweinebär,halb Oink, halb Brumm.Mein Fell riecht nach Sonntag,mein Atem nach Neon und Zweifel. Im Spiegel tanze ich rückwärts,meine Schatten applaudieren höflich.Ich trage die Welt auf einer Hufspitze,und sie quietscht bei jedem Schritt. Hypothese: Ich bin das Zwischentier.Antithese: Ich bin das Laut, das sich weigert.Synthese: Ich bin, weil Dada nichts dagegen hat. Die Linien zittern – rosa, orange, schwarz –ein Urschrei aus Filzstift und Milch. Ich denke in Farben,ich träume in Kanten,ich wache… read more – weiterlesen Der Schweinebär – Ein Dada-Gedicht

DADA says:the world begins againevery time a snout inhales magenta. this pig dreams in triangles—each one a vowel of astonishment.its eyes: punctuation marks of empathy. orange drips through the thought-field,scribbles rearrange gravity.meaning sighs and falls asleep. I hear the color thinking,a murmur shaped like maybe. the mouth opens not for speechbut to swallow symbols whole. logic trots away,tail curled into an exclamation point. conclusion:the universe is a pig drawing itselfwith both hooves and laughter.