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Dies ist eine pigture, oinkographisch echt,ein Schwarm aus karminroten Gedanken—die Schnauzen sind Kompassnadeln,sie zeigen nach Jetzt. Grunzwärts marschiert die Grammatik,die Tintenlinie stolpert vor Freude,ein Ohr ist ein Fragezeichen,das mit dem Mond telefoniert. These: Der Schweif ist ein Satzzeichen.Antithese: Der Huf ist ein Taktstock.Synthese: Wir zählen oink-two-three,und die Farbe dirigiert die Stille. Zwischen den Schatten liegt ein Futterhaus aus Tempo,wir essen Minuten, wir rülpsen Metronome,wir wühlen im Heu der Wirklichkeitund finden einen funkelnden „Vielleicht“-Knopf. Hört ihr?… read more – weiterlesen Velvet Rausch of the Pigture

Danke fürs picture—magenta, cyan, limette, schwarze Linien im Takt; ich höre Ventile regnen und die Luft wird saxophonisch. Blue-weather evening in the lungs of paper;brass clouds comb the skyline;mmm—trombone thunder,shh—marker-rain along the spine of Tuesday. Gesetz 1: Magenta krümmt die Zeit um jede Note.Gesetz 2: Grün ist ein Fluss: Töne schwimmen stromauf.Gesetz 3: Jede Linie ist ein Schilfrohr, das atmet: draw, blow, let go.I walk between strokes like a bassline in sneakers;du nickst syncopated—jawohl—und die… read more – weiterlesen Magenta Breath Parliament

Prologue Wetter: kühles Blau, doch die Kanten knistern.Sound: klack—klack—klack, city metronome.Hier fällt das Licht diagonal wie ein Beschluss. Body INeues Gesetz Nr. 1: Diagonalen sind Flüsse; wer quer schaut, treibt ab.Ich lege mein Ohr an die Kante—sie spricht: allererstens später.Magenta speichert Wärme und gibt sie als Erinnerung zurück,blau wiederholt die Sätze, jedes Mal ein Ton tiefer.Schwarze Konturen sind Partituren; wir lesen uns als Akkorde,bonjour façade, hallo Innenleben, je suis ein Winkel im Aufbruch.Die Stadt kippt,… read more – weiterlesen The Tilted Magenta Observatory

I. Intro The sun forgot moderation.Pink floods the senses,drowning grammar, saving joy.The Pig opens both eyes—each a portal to a carnival of maybe. II. Gesetz der Farbe New law: emotion exists only in saturation.Happiness requires magenta,thought must be drawn in trembling lines.Every contour burns its own language.Oink becomes echo, echo becomes light. III. Zwischenruf des Filzstifts “Do I exist or am I highlighted?”Pig asks, glowing like a prayer.The orange background sighs:“Existence is a marker bleeding… read more – weiterlesen Neon Genesis Oink

I. Feuerhaut The world begins in blush and charcoal.Every pore a secret sunrise.Pig stands between light and laughter,its snout a compass, pointing toward warmth. II. Gesetz der Glut New law: emotion must burn before it speaks.Red hums like an afterthought,yellow translates ache into rhythm.Between nostril and whisper—a whole philosophy of breath. III. Gegenrede des Pigments “Why must I glow to be seen?”asks the Pig, softly furious.Graphite sighs: “Because gray remembers.”Together they invent a new verb:to… read more – weiterlesen Feuerhaut

PrologueThe paper tilts toward heaven.A breath of ochre, a whisper of graphite.The snout points where language forgets itself. Body INew law: aspiration has a texture —soft as dust, stubborn as hope.Each wrinkle becomes a galaxy,each line a vector through the impossible.Pig stares past gravity’s etiquette,snout aligned with the horizon of absurd grace.The Latin burns slowly,a quiet engine beneath the ribs. Body IIPig muses: “Stars are just patient mud.”The cosmos blushes, unsure whether to agree.Silence translates… read more – weiterlesen Porcus Astralis

PrologueA faint hum, half blush, half question.Gray becomes pink, and pink forgets its reason.Somewhere between snout and silence, the world begins again. Body INew law: emotion stains the air in visible hue.Sadness blushes, joy sketches itself sideways.The Pig, trembling with half-erased laughter,teaches gravity how to wobble.Every curve is a hesitation,every eye a small conspiracy of light.Words dissolve into furrows of color. Body IIPig says softly: “I was never fully drawn — only remembered.”The page nods,… read more – weiterlesen The Pink Whisper of Pencil Time

PrologueSoft morning on paper’s edge.Ears like question marks, eyes like commas —a grammar of calm emerges from graphite breath. Body INew law: tenderness has mass.It bends the light of pencils,pulling circles into meaning.The Pig gazes forward,and the whole page listens.Shadows kneel, outlines murmur —the snout becomes a moon of modest gravity. Body II“Why draw me twice,” Pig asks,“when I already contain my echo?”The artist nods, erases, redraws,and finds the same face smiling under the dust…. read more – weiterlesen The Gentle Geometry of Oink

PrologueThis morning smells of graphite rain.Silence sketches itself behind the snout.Every shadow waits for a name. Body INew law: thought travels through texture.Each swirl of pencil births a new emotion —joy in spiral form, sorrow as soft erasure.The Pig walks forward into its own outline,discovering that lines are leashes and wings alike.It whispers: “Oink equals infinity divided by care.” Body IIAn unseen hand trembles: am I drawing or being drawn?The paper blushes grey.Pig laughs in… read more – weiterlesen The Pig That Dreamed in Pencil

PrologueTonight the colors rehearse without conductor.Each hue hums its own rebellion.The air smells of melted syntax and wet applause. Body INew law: repetition becomes identity.Every face copies itself one beat late,until the fifth remembers the first and forgets its name.Voices rise like stairs,made of ink, sweat, and fluorescent remorse.The yellow one sings future tense,the cyan one weeps in parentheses.Time dances sideways. Body IIPig appears with a baton of mud:“Oink forte, my chromatic citizens!”But the barlines… read more – weiterlesen The Choir of Vertical Rain