SchWeinWelten.DE

PrologueI arrive as bright interruptions,a face toggled by lightning,my snout humming like a signal flare. Body IFuchsia says: cut the silence in zigzags.Charcoal says: hold the line, then break it.White says nothing—so loudly it shakes the room.My left eye inventories your doubts;my right eye quantizes them into beats.Between the marks, a freeway for breath—each dash a ramp, each pause a horizon. Body III practice the quick art of being visible.A blot becomes a cheek becomes… read more – weiterlesen Switch-Face, Neon Snout

PrologueI arrive in petal-layers,two eyes carrying small moons,my snout a compass that hums north. Body IPink says: be soft but not simple.Violet says: keep an archive under each curve.Magenta says: now turn—slow—like a carousel of skin.The lines remember every touch before it happens.I speak through the nostrils: a velvet trumpet,mapping the room in circles you can’t quite finish. Body III practice the science of almost-smiles.Each segment is a door I can close without locking.Your gaze… read more – weiterlesen Lavender Cartography of Oink

Prologich, citrus-warm, oinke die nacht anmein auge trägt leise brandwächterund die farben machen blut zu licht Body Irot sagt: bleib.orange sagt: dreh dich—langsam, orbit, orbit.gelb sagt: ich bin die kleine sonne, die dich stiehlt.im kohlemeer raschelt die luft: hush, hush.ein strich ist eine weide, ein zweiter: gedächtnis.je näher die schnute, desto länglicher das morgen.wer schaut, wird geschaut—habitus, mon amour. Body IIbonjour, miroir: I sniff your gravity.die falte überm auge ist eine treppe nach innen.jeder schraffurwind… read more – weiterlesen Sonnenwange im Graphit-Orbit

Prelude:I am mostly line and laughter,a sketch that didn’t get the memo about melancholy.Pencil hums like a breeze through barn air,and suddenly — joy happens by accident. I. Anatomy of a Smile Look closer:the snout is a portal, not a punchline.The eyes hold a secretthey’re still deciding whether to share.Every curve of graphite says,“Not everything drawn in grey must be sad.”Ich bin Schwein und Schmunzeln,ein leichter Gedanke in schwerem Bleistift. II. The Gesture of Becoming… read more – weiterlesen The Pig Who Forgot to Frown

Prelude:Graphite spirals like thought after coffee.I am mostly roundness pretending to understand gravity.Somewhere between snout and sculpture,logic collapses into form. I. The Geometry of Appetite Circles, circles, always circles—as if perfection were edible.They pile up politely,an architecture of maybe.The pig watches,half guardian, half gourmand.Ich bin Schwein und Gleichgewicht,ein Träumer aus Kurven und Kohle. II. The Theology of Overabundance Too much is the beginning of meaning.Each sphere hums softly—a universe rehearsing itself in miniature.Desire ascends, cautious… read more – weiterlesen The Pig and the Tower of Circles

Prelude:Good morning, graphite and gravity.The word I WISH hovers like breath on cold glass.I am mostly longing with a snout attached—a soft hypothesis about hope. I. The Architecture of Desire Every wish begins as a sketch:uncertain, trembling, almost erased.Lines curve toward possibility,then loop back into habit.Ich bin Schwein und Sehnsucht,ein Bleistifttraum auf dünnem Papier. II. The Physics of Wanting The light falls shyly,as if afraid to illuminate disappointment.Even shading becomes prayer.In every smudge:a heartbeat rehearsing… read more – weiterlesen The Pig Who Wished

Prelude:Graphite trembles into anatomy.I am mostly mouth and motive,half syllable, half sigh.Speech begins here—in the soft geometry of almost. I. The Philosophy of the Snout Form is accident, repeated with feeling.Every curve suggests a vowel,every shade a hesitation.I open my mouth not to say—but to ask permission for sound.Ich bin Schwein und Versuch,ein Echo mit Hoffnungston. II. The Syntax of Smudge Pencil marks think faster than meaning.They argue in whispers,cross out, return, insist.Expression collapses,reborn as… read more – weiterlesen The Pig Who Tried to Speak

Prelude:I am mostly accent—a snout caught between apology and irony.My vowels stretch,my consonants salute.DADA laughs in bilingual. I. The Syntax of Becoming “Me trying not to be German too.”The sentence already stumbles,half self-defense, half confession.Language here doesn’t communicate—it blushes.Ich bin Schwein und Fremdheit,ein Dialekt im Übergang. II. Grammar as Performance Art “Guten Abend, wir sinken.”Yes, we are sinking politely—with punctual despairand well-articulated doom.“Darf ich mich setzen?”Permission granted,but the chair has opinions.Even courtesy tremblesunder historical weight…. read more – weiterlesen Das Schwein der Doppelübersetzung

Prelude:Good morning, soft apocalypse.I am mostly pencil and patience today.Light crawls gently across my snout,unsure if it’s allowed to stay. I. The Monochrome Awakening No color, no drama—just hush.Grey hums like coffee in reverse.Lines wander half-awake,remembering dreams they can’t afford to finish.Ich bin Schwein und Stille,ein Gedanke, der den Schlaf noch trägt. II. The Theology of Pencil Dust What is truth if not shading?Each shadow negotiates its own honesty.My eyes are parentheses,holding what can’t be… read more – weiterlesen The Quiet Pig of Morning Graphite