Excerpt:
I once was round. Then logic arrived.

H2: Pig Constructed in Theories

Oink, interrupted by a theorem.
My curve was deported to a triangle.
The compass laughed, the ruler cried.
I am architecture disguised as appetite.
Every line is an apology to my former softness.
Ich bin Schwein als Gleichung:
1 + 1 = maybe.

H3: The Snout Becomes Polygon

My nostrils — two small black portals of abstraction.
Not holes, but hypotheses.
The world enters me as idea,
leaves me as laughter.
Each plane debates its angle:
is this still flesh,
or already philosophy?

H2: Dialogue Between Pencil and Paradox

Pencil: I make sense.
Pig: Don’t.
Pencil: But perspective!
Pig: But poetry.
Together they invent Dada cubism —
where the outline goes on strike
and the void applauds.

H3: Epilogue from the Edge

I am no longer round,
but I remember roundness fondly.
I dream in corners now,
softly, efficiently, absurdly.
Every face I show you is a different mood of math.
I grunt in straight lines.
That’s progress.