Prelude:
Drawn in blue,
somewhere between breath and bewilderment.
I am mostly volume disguised as line.
The page trembles,
the pencil remembers panic fondly.

The Anatomy of Alarm

Mouth open—
but is it song, protest, or weather report?
Ears like question marks,
nostrils like emergency exits.
Every curve shouts: Now!
Ich bin Schwein und Echo,
ein akustisches Missverständnis in Bleistiftform.

The Theology of Sound

Oink is not noise.
It’s philosophy with a pulse.
Every scream is a syllable
the world refuses to translate.
In blue, everything feels true—
even confusion.
DADA whispers:
Art is what happens when silence gets bored.

Dialogue Between Mouth and Void

Mouth: I exist to announce existence.
Void: I exist to swallow applause.
Pencil: I just follow orders.
Together they invent hysteria
with perfect shading.

Final Cacophony

This is not despair—
it’s expression unfiltered.
The page survives, slightly bruised.
I exhale graphite.
You inhale meaning.
Somewhere between us,
the scream continues,
beautiful and useless.