Human Projections

by Bryan Edenfield

Human Projections

The limits of mammalian performance:

attempt to bite off the tip of your finger.

swallow, let the nub of flesh linger, its

chemistry altered first by the toxicity

of your bile and then by your stomach



engage your gag reflex.

remember that the tip is explosive,

the nail, skin, bits of bone,

now a volatile cocktail that, when

it slides past your recently mutated

tongue and copper coated lips,

becomes a burning projectile

traveling at a velocity of 4000 feet

per second, and when it enters my



we have yet to reach that stage.

So much for consciousness, for autonomy.

Are you human? What for?

There are better things to be,

augmentations to exploit,

genes to splice,

molecules to rearrange.

Our designer manufactured flaws:

(planned obsolescence)

a lack of expressive and sensual

control over our internal organs

(try to wiggle your toes. now,

try to wiggle your small intestine.),

the inability to perceive large swathes

of the spectrum.

the inability to change skin color.

only one set of genitals per person.

a stunning lack of diversity.


finite faces, the necessary parts can only

be arranged in so many ways

and so

as the population explodes, and if we expect to continue

to look different from one another,

to have distinguishing characteristics,

then we must embrace deformity.

We must allow for a cubist restructuring of the face;

we must allow the nose to hover above the ears;

we must allow the lips to go vertical;

we must allow the eyes to ~plop~ shoot out.



I’ll be the bullet.

I’ll be the weapon and the ammunition.

My body will be a perpetual war zone.

My body will be a game I play.

We will all have tyrannically divine control.

        (why be human? Because of the kiss

and the bang)