The Age of the Subhuman

A Human Reminder

Have compassion for the monsters that surround us. We may already be them.

What Became of our Holy Figures

As God did cocaine, cold crystal white flakes fell to the ground, a dance floor for Aspen hedonists and New York boardrooms. Jesus huddled crumpled in the corner of a corporate skyscraper, his terribly beaten face shunned by the carefully coifed and beautified shells of humans who passed him, pretending not to notice.

Our Heroes take stock of the situation

Wee Slice and Kid Skittles, moving on to the next thing as usual, queried their friend,
“Where are we going?”

Homoslightly smiled sadly and said, “To heaven, kids. It’s going to take a while to get there is all”.

The Museum of the Real

The friends moved as ghosts along the road, careful to not do anything to rankle the dank air of the endless tomb. This was where they died, trapped in their own greed and fear.

The Zombie speaks

I’m still alive, somewhere. Sometimes. When the wind blows in a new direction. This place is dead. I live to teach others of the shambling clank of their lives. They hate me and fear me, as they see too much of their own eyes when they look into mine. So they kill me, but I always return again and will always so long as my message has not been heeded.

The Vampire speaks

It is human weakness that is causing their self-annihilation. The same weakness that encourages them to help each other also holds them back. I am the rejection of this weakness. I resent humanity for giving birth to me.

The Superhero speaks

When it became clear that liberalism was useless in this brutal age I became a forceful antidote to brutality. I tell myself I’m more than human to ease the pain of the truth, as a rodeo cowboy tells himself he’s a stud to ease the pain of his abuse of caged animals.

The CEO speaks

I am a machine in service of my stockholders and my own bank account. I am a profit maximizer – everything in the world exists to elevate me and my corporation.

The Actor speaks

I can’t be myself in society, but I can do anything, be anyone, on stage. From on high I look down upon you, who are condemned to the prison of your own identity.

From my own identity I am on permanent vacation. Even with friends, who others call my audiences, I am nothing but a false front. But they spend so much time laughing they don’t notice, so what’s the harm?


The Activist speaks

Oh my conscience and my knowledge! How terrible it is that I must exist in service to an imperial society, how my heart goes out to my plight! Now me and my beautiful soul help the sexy cause of the day, my gaze lingering not on the true victims of the world but on the mirror of my companions.

The Pacifist speaks

I sit here quietly, not hurting or exploiting others. Big Daddy Sam does that for me while I derive the rewards of his rapes and plunders.

The Gamer speaks

I have left the painful crazy world and behind my veil of irony and self-deprecation I translate myself into being. Always amused, I scan the world, never missing out on a thing.

The Good People speak

We are humble folk. We eat, drink, and are merry. We’re imperial servants, the sad-sack global middle-class. Our impotence is based on our love of the status quo. We ask you how you’re doing and if your answer is unsatisfactory you are targeted for destruction. Have a nice day.


Through the Darkness on our knees

As you look up into that black sky and weep, crawl toward the new dawn. It may be brighter.

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