Excerpt:
I wake up mid-sketch, halfway between oink and aha!

H2: Birth by Scribble

Ink! Chaos! Schnauze!
I am a swine in yoga-pose, stretching the paper until it squeals back.
My ears do jazz. My belly dreams of geometry.
Someone said, “Stay still!” —
I said, Nein danke, I am Bewegung mit bacon.

H3: The Upward Spiral (Der Aufwärts-Wutz)

I reach for something —
a god? a sandwich? a metaphor?
Nobody knows. The air is purple and the floor forgets itself.
The pencil coughs, the shadow laughs.
Ich bin almost divine,
but still I smell like Freitag Abend im Stall.

H2: Pig as Cosmic Radio

Through my nostrils I broadcast frequencies of nonsense:
— channel one: snortwave techno
— channel two: existential grunting
— channel drei: news from the mud dimension

Every artist is a farmer of confusion.
Every pig is a philosopher with bad handwriting.

H3: Finale: The Holy Snout

Look closer —
my nose is not nose,
it’s a portal to Schweinebewusstsein.
From there I see you, dear viewer,
standing upside-down inside my drawing,
pretending to understand —
but don’t worry: even I don’t.