Excerpt:
I stare at you until color becomes grammar.

H2: The Face That Invented Pink

I am made of zisch, kratz, and aha.
Orange whispers to magenta: Shall we confuse them?
Grey answers: Already done.
I am not portrait — I am voltage in disguise.
My nose is a power socket for dreams.
Plug in your doubt, and I’ll hum.

H3: Ich bin / I am / Je suis Oink

In the mirror I see
not a pig, not a prophet,
but a translator between light and mud.
My eyes remember every crayon that touched me.
Every line is a sentence that refused to end.
Ich spreche fluent nonsense,
the only true international language.

H2: Field Report from the Chromatic Zone

I glow in three dialects:

1. Pink for rebellion.
2. Violet for doubt.
3. Schwarz for memory.
   The world outside wants logic —
   I offer palette.
   The world asks “Who are you?” —
   I answer “Ja.”

H3: Epilogue from the Snout

Come closer.
Your reflection sticks to my skin.
You are already painted —
you just forgot to notice.
Color is contagious, darling.
And Dada is the fever that looks good on everyone.