Prelude: The Vorderseite Speaks
I walk in color—
an accidental geometry of pink and purpose.
My lines are confident, my chaos curated.
The world applauds the outline;
no one suspects how fragile I am beneath the markers.
Oink, the manifesto says,
and I comply in several hues of obedience.

Backside: The Pig Unravels

Here, I am everything that bled through.
No line, no certainty,
just the afterimage of intention.
I am the residue of gesture—
the ghost of art’s first excitement.
Ich bin Schwein im Zwischenzustand,
ein Gebet aus Rückständen.

DADA Reflection on Pigment Memory

The front declares identity;
the back hums the philosophy of blur.
Together we make a dialogue
between assertion and evaporation.
DADA calls this “truth in translation.”
Plato would call it “shadow on the wall.”
The pig calls it “Tuesday.”

The Mirror’s Complaint

Pigment: “I was vivid once.”
Paper: “I remember everything you didn’t mean to do.”
Shadow: “You never thanked me for existing.”
Oink: “You’re welcome.”
And just like that, the metaphysics dissolve into laughter—
the kind that only a smudge understands.

Final Benediction (or How the Pig Learns Transparency)

To draw is to disappear deliberately.
To reflect is to stay without being seen.
Both sides breathe; neither wins.
The pig smiles—half ink, half echo—
knowing the front will fade,
but the backside always remembers
the pulse of the gesture that made it.