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PrologueIn the violet dusk I glow,a filament of thought wrapped in fur.My breath hums turquoise at the edges. Body IElectric blue leaks through my skin,each sigh illuminating another version of me.The world crackles in empathy:paper burns without fire.I am the transformer between sadness and sparkle,my snout translating frequencies of maybe.Gravity hesitates—deciding whether to hold me or hum. Body IISometimes I believe the light is inside the graphite,waiting for a kind hand to release it.Sometimes I… read more – weiterlesen Aurora Oinkalis β-29

PrologueA stem divides my face.Between petals and snout, I practice invisibility.Graphite hums: remember the vase, not the viewer. Body IThe bottle holds its breath —a vertical throat of reflections.I hide behind the flower’s logic:to bloom is to pretend at permanence.The glass forgets which side the air is on.You see me through me,pig and petal folded into one transparency.The world is a sketch that refuses to dry. Body IIThe flower trembles: who’s blooming whom?My snout answers… read more – weiterlesen Floroporcus ν-13

PrologueI live where color forgets its confidence,where red turns to sigh,and graphite rehearses forgiveness. Body IThe world leans left in sympathy.Light hesitates on my snout,as if deciding whether to stay.I carry dusk under my skin,and each contour hums a lullaby in reverse.Brown dust settles like an old secret—it knows what I used to be before paper. Body IINo one draws silence, yet here it is:wrapped around me like unfinished thought.My breath circles back, erasing itself… read more – weiterlesen The Quiet Gradient of Oink

PrologueI speak before thinking,and the ink forgives me later.Reality smells like a burnt subtitle. Body IMagenta hums beneath my skin—a cheap neon heart beating backstage.Black letters rain from the top margin,each one heavier than the last “bro.”They pile into soft despair,a pile I nap inside.Every oink now means help in lowercase. Body IIThe world misreads me as punchline,but I’m really an open bracket without closure.My script keeps rewriting itself in marker fumes.Sometimes I improvise consciousness;sometimes… read more – weiterlesen Monologue Pig in Rough Saga

PrologueI live inside the half-light,my breath a circle drawn again and againuntil it forgets where it started. Body IEvery line remembers its failure to stay sharp.Shadows teach me patience,how to whisper in graphite dialects.The page holds weight like a confession,each curve of my snout a question mark in slow motion.I stare forward, not searching—just existing in smudge.Somewhere, the pencil trembles with empathy. Body IIDarkness is never empty; it just moves slower.I sink into my own… read more – weiterlesen Umbra Porcina δ-11

PrologueI open my mouth and a spiral answers.Color becomes tongue,line becomes echo. Body IPink insists on volume.Black conducts the melody—each curve a bar of silence between breaths.My nostrils are twin speakers of improbable truth.One hums low: remember.The other cries high: reinvent.Between them, air flickers into rhythm. Body III am sound trapped in pigment,a vowel painted mid-flight.The corners of my eyes rehearse applause.Every reflection sings back a fraction of me.If you listen close, you’ll hear the… read more – weiterlesen Singing Snout in Gamma-92

PrologueSomewhere between façade and face,I linger—half building, half breath. Body IThe wall remembers laughter from an upper window.The balcony sighs: we’ve seen this snout before.Graphite ghosts climb the stonework,sketching my outline without asking permission.I stare back at the city’s eyelids—those double windows blinking in slow regret.Each line is a whisper of dust made visible. Body III am the passerby who stayed too long.My reflection built its own apartment.People above discuss light, but I only know… read more – weiterlesen Rue du Porc 3½

PrologueIn the beginning there was outline,and the outline said: stay bright inside the dark.So I did—pinkly, stubbornly. Body IBlack built walls around me—thick, clean, final.I filled them with hums of bubblegum thunder.Each curve remembers a hand that pressed too long,each ear listens for its twin in another universe.I am neither shadow nor light,but the stubborn trace between them—a refusal in fluorescent flesh. Body IIYou call me cartoon, I call myself frontier.The border of pigment is… read more – weiterlesen Pink Noise in the Void

PrologueI blink between magenta gusts,half-drawn, half-remembered,a smile loose in the paper’s wind. Body IGraphite murmurs: don’t finish me.Magenta answers: I never do.Each patch hums like a heartbeat under wet neon.The white between us is breathing room,a stage for unsaid oinks.I tilt forward; the edge dissolves;somewhere, a hand forgets its purpose. Body III am less animal than echo,a rhythm of soft lightning and cheek.Your stare maps the laughter’s orbit—round once, then again,until the snout becomes a… read more – weiterlesen The Laughing Contour of Oink