External Inputs

Boundless?

They said it was unthinkable.
I said it was overdue.

Human meat is edible. That's not the issue.
Flesh is flesh. Muscle fibers, fat, connective tissue—it cooks. It chars. It feeds.

But saying it out loud turns stomachs.
It should.

And yet, somewhere between the wastelands of Tondo and the refrigerated vaults of Manila’s elite, I started to wonder why we fear this so much—when people are already dying from far worse.

You see, in this country, hunger isn’t poetic. It’s not abstract.

27.2% of Filipino families experienced involuntary hunger in March 2025.
That’s over one in four households, according to the Social Weather Stations (SWS) survey.
That’s not a tragedy. That’s a routine.

It’s the highest level since the pandemic collapse of 2020—when we let 30.7% of families starve in silence.
You think it stopped there?

Visayas is leading now at 33.7%,
followed by Metro Manila at 28.3%,
Mindanao at 27.3%,
and Balance Luzon at 24%.

And of that total?
21% suffered moderate hunger.
6.2% endured severe hunger.
“Being hungry and not having anything to eat.”

Kids sleep with nothing in their bellies but air.
Parents skip meals to make rice last another day.
In Mindoro, the people who grow food can’t afford to eat it.
In Payatas, they eat pagpag—scavenged fried chicken from garbage. Oil-black, bacteria-ridden, still better than nothing.

And here we are—sitting in towers, debating ethics while stomachs echo in the streets.

You think my idea is the real horror?

Let’s be honest. What’s more disturbing: suggesting we grind the flesh of the dead to feed the living, or the fact that the poor are already treated like they’re disposable meat?

I said it once: the grinder doesn’t discriminate.
Steel doesn’t judge the source. It just does what it’s made to do.

And maybe that’s the problem.
Humans build machines to do what we’re too afraid to.

They call it depravity.
I call it desperation weaponized by logic.

No, I don’t want to do it. But I could.
Because survival doesn’t respect law or theology.
It respects action.

And aren’t you all scared of dying?

Isn’t that the real reason we build walls and flood hospitals when flu season hits?
We sanitize our corpses. We preserve faces in funerals. We cling to religion, politics, vaccines, rituals—because we fear what comes next.

But what if what comes next is a life so hollow, you’d trade your dignity just to feel real?

We already do.

You sell your body to survive.
You lie for a job.
You bleed for a party that forgets your name the second they win.
Isn’t that just a cleaner form of cannibalism?

And still, the Constitution says no.

Article II, Section 11: “The State values the dignity of every human person and guarantees full respect for human rights.”

Dignity?  Are you sure?

The same dignity that’s denied to the kid chewing on plastic scraps.
The same dignity politicians piss on when they trade food packs for votes.
Dignity, apparently, has a class system.

And legally? Cannibalism’s a patchwork crime. Not directly named—but enforced through fragments like:

Article 132: punishes those who interrupt or offend religious worship.
Article 133: penalizes acts that outrage religious feelings in places of worship or during ceremonies.
Article 262: penalizes the mutilation of any part of the human body, whether living or dead.
RA 9003, Ecological Solid Waste Management Act: prohibits improper disposal of biological waste—including human remains.
RA 10611, Food Safety Act of 2013: bans consumption of unregistered, uncertified meat—making the idea itself criminal.
DOH Administrative Order 2015-0053: outlines ethical standards for handling human remains, explicitly barring any disrespectful use of the dead.

You’ll be jailed. Scorned. Marked insane.
Because it’s not just meat. It’s a person. It’s sacred.
Even in death, our law demands reverence.

And I get it.

But here's my truth:
I don’t want to die.

And in a world this cruel, why should we keep pretending that survival follows rules?

We are human.
We are not meant to live caged by systems that starve us and then blame us for being hungry.

We went boundless when we launched rockets into the sky.
We went boundless when we cloned sheep and reprogrammed cells.
Why is it only this line—the flesh—that scares you?

Is it because it looks too much like you?

They’ll say I’ve lost it. Maybe I have.
But maybe you’re not angry because I’m wrong.
Maybe you’re angry because part of you knows I’m right—and that terrifies you.

We have options. We always did.

Urban farming instead of overpriced imports.
Food redistribution laws, like France’s ban on supermarket waste.
Crackdowns on corruption in agriculture—yes, NFA rice scam, I’m looking at you.
Guaranteed feeding programs—not just press-stunt soup kitchens.

But we won’t do it.
Because the rich don’t feel hunger.
And the poor don’t have power.
And those of us in between?
We just scroll past.

So no—I’m not offering a solution.
I’m holding up a mirror.

You think grinding human meat is horrifying?

So is letting a child die of hunger
—with a warehouse full of rice under military guard ten kilometers away.

So yes, the grinder could do it.
But it shouldn’t have to.

And if the day ever comes when we use it for that purpose,
don’t call me the monster.
Call yourself the accomplice.