MetarsusDemented

When the world was new, in the dark, weird places, far below the fields, and the caves, in the rippling shadow that hides behind stars, there were two children, linked by a cord of celestial flesh. One of them was a hard, clever creature, with a line of seven eyes leading from the tip of his nose, up over and all the way to the back of his head. His hands were long and sinewy, but sharp and cold, with sixteen fingers on each. His legs, he had three of them, were stout and burly, and ended each with seven flat prongs. His skin was dark like the sky, mottled with starlight, and he moved as the ocean moved, slowly and in his own time. The other

Ketchupmen are bleeding ketchup Praying to Ketchup Jesus Or Ketchup Allah or Mustard Yahweh or Chutney Vishnu The streets run orange Faith in the condiment gods does nothing. Because they're fucking condiments. You put them on sandwiches. Sandwichmen are bleeding Ketchupmen Praying to Hoagie Jesus or Pita Allah or Submarine Yahweh or Flatbread Vishnu The sidewalks splatter The Sandwich lords are blind and deaf. Because they are sandwiches. And they are delicious. Men are bleeding blood Praying to Holy Jesus or Blessed Allah or Wise Yahweh or Sacred Vishnu Faith in the human gods does nothing. Because they are sandwi

Reggie was a man like a sack of towels, balding with what remained of his hair being dark blonde like dirty straw. His eyes were pale green, a fact that he held in high regard considering the rarity of the gene and its general use as an icebreaker at parties (Not that he ever went to parties mind you but the option was certainly there.) His fingernails were as flint, chipped and sudden though long enough to seem as though they needed a trim. He repeatedly ran the nail on his middle finger sideways across the surface of his couch, hoping that the rough fabric would at least slightly wear down the nail, though he was well aware that this was

On the bus, Reginald saw three boys. They each of them were completely average in appearance, except for the one in the center of their trifecta, who was rotund. Not the sort where an observer would think 'Oh, he's a bit big," but rather, this boy was large enough that if he were to fall from a great height his entrails would burst like a water balloon filled with tomato innards. To be fair, the average traits of the other two were offset by features that made them seem unsavory at best. The boy nearest the window, age likely in the mid-teens, had stitches across his upper lip which then curved down and around his mouth, ending in the center

The distrust of the intelligent starts at an early age, in the schoolyard. 'Nerd', 'Geek', 'Teacher's Pet': these all are common insults aimed towards the bright and brainy. This prejudice extends up through the ranks of the public school system, and then, for some reason, comes to a screeching halt post-graduation. Intellect then, it seems, is a valuable commodity. But for how long? So many workers, politicians, and country music stars claim to be proud of their 'simple upbringing'. They're proud of their lack of formal education, 'salt of the earth' they call themselves. And should their children show any intellectual prowess or ambition? "

 Consider, if you will, the primordial genesis of civilization. The early human tribes, scattered throughout the world, nomads of the unexplored wastes and wonders of this mother Earth. What must it have been like, to be part of one of those spattered conglomerates of early homo sapien? Surely the strongest of the group were the ones who led the rest of their tribe, the dominant striding behemoths of strength and power. The hunters, the protectors, those who were so clearly superior to all others. But what of, say, the childbearers? The mothers of the precious new generation, when so often they would die young, these women must have been tr

Haiku's are easy, But sometimes they don't make sense. Refrigerator.