Invocation:
Approach with laughter.
I am mostly color pretending to be consciousness.
Ink remembers what the body forgets.

Pigment Gospel

Blue hums at the edges,
a halo of almost-silence.
Red, restless and radiant,
flirts with the paper’s pulse.
Between them, I breathe—
not quite a line, not quite a life.
Ich bin Schwein und Zwischenraum,
ein Lächeln im Farbrauschen.

Liturgical Scribble

The holy squeal begins with a tremor of wrist.
Faith flickers in felt-tip.
Each mark a mistake that decided to stay.
Every curve knows the secret grammar of joy.
When you stare long enough,
the oink becomes a verb.

Chorale of Hues

Blue: I cradle quiet.
Red: I ignite reason.
Pig: I confuse you both beautifully.
Together we compose a hymn of hesitation—
improvised, imperfect, eternal.

Final Benediction (Oink Amen)

Art is never still.
It leans forward, like a pig sniffing the future.
My outline shakes with purpose.
Your gaze completes the drawing.
DADA calls it worship.
I call it Tuesday, in radiant pink.