The Homesteads

I realize that I have not written much about the rural community and their homes--The Homesteads--that dot the island. Soybean Island is, after all, a grower and exporter of soybeans (as the name implies) as well as corn and rutabagas. There is livestock also--cows, sheep, horses, pigs, goats. (There used to be a plethora of goats on the island, from what I understand, but that history, that story, is for some future post.) Anyway, The Homesteads--

--are where the people who toil and till and trudge the rural landscapes live. I have been told that, for the most part, they do not own the land. The farms themselves are owned by The Elite (or perhaps by the elite of The Elite) and these people are but, essentially, renters, hired hands, sharecroppers, indentured servants. Take your pick.

It has been such a cold and desolate winter, that I had no mind to make it out to the despondently grim landscapes of the island. Add in the fact that I have no car or cycle or roller skates or ice skates or snowshoes (though the snow outside of town has evidently blown out to sea--the island is inconsolably windy--or somewhere) and it makes it doubly difficult to get out beyond the cities. Except for the connections between towns, I know of no Transport Vehicle routes into the rural kingdom . . . But, the weather finally cleared somewhat--almost above freezing--and so I took a Transport Vehicle to the outskirts of the city and began to walk. Then a car came along.

Its sole driver--a man--stopped and asked if I needed a ride. Very strange behavior from a Soybean Islander--not that they are not nice people, in fact they are overly polite and cautious, but they have a tendency to keep to themselves. Nonetheless, I accepted. So he drove and I took photos of The Homesteads in situ.

Some of it is rather attractive, in a bleak and stark and depressing way:

The driver--who was pleasant but not generally chatty--said he worked a rutabaga farm east of Cornana. He did not appear to be in a hurry to get there. He did not ask where I was going or why I took photos. I was glad that he did not, though, in retrospect, it should have made me uneasy. A bold red flag. Anyway, he said that Soybean Island, though shaped somewhat like an actual soybean, was named after the crop, not the configuration. And of course it--soybeans--is it's main product and source of income, along with the corn and rutabagas.

I, of course, know this. I also know that though agriculture is the economic lifeblood of the island as far as official records go--on paper, that is--the island deals in a different kind of blood to make its richest income; i.e., the housing of international pariahs, prisoners, and my ilk: The Disappeared.

Look! Two views of the Rutabaga River:

                                                             Visit Soybean Island

A ridiculous and slimy little river, but much beloved by the local islanders.

My suspicion was aroused after I saw that the man had taken me in a circle and silently deposited me back where I had begun, at the outermost Transport Vehicle Stop.

Hmm.

And I noticed that, even out among the fields, there was evidence of The Apparatus' reach:

I am not too proud to admit that I fear The Apparatus . . .

And I suspect--no, I'm quite certain--that the man who gave me a ride (be he truly a rutabaga farmer or not) was a spy for The Apparatus.

It is a frightening world on Soybean Island. I am here. I am being watched. I must be careful. Therefore, until next time, if there is a next time:

Goodbye from Soybean Island,

                                                        #1957

Weather Report

The weather is still quite hostile here on Soybean Island:

But really, I'm just using it as an excuse to post another "message in a bottle" to the Free World.

The true punishing genius of The Apparatus--at least regarding my situation--is how they have given me just enough physical freedom on the island and too much mental freedom. I have no occupation, other than as the prescribed Object of Curiosity, which leaves me only room to dwell on my soul-crushing confinement to this totalitarian archipelago. (Of course, the use of the word archipelago is a misuse; there is only the single, largish blot of Soybean Island here. I could be wrong, but to the best of my knowledge, this is it.) But The Apparatus--who work out of this building:

In this city:

--are the true masters of the land. They have placed me in a purgatorial hell . . . I will create a post that explains how they became the master, but let it suffice to say that they were once but an office of the local government--an Economic Outreach Program to large corporations--that ran amok . . . Well, as said, that's for a latter post. And to divine the true history of The Apparatus, despite being dangerous, is also full of propagandic cul-de-sacs, rewrites, obscurities, obliquities and re-imaginings of events that makes a search nearly impossible. But, later . . .

                                                             Visit Soybean Island

Here is a Soybean Island Snail, as promised from an earlier post.

Also known as the Bean Snail. The Fighting Snail. The Transcendental Snail. I will try to find out the reasons behind these multiple names--but that may prove to be as daunting as finding out the true history of The Apparatus.

And anyway, the photo depicts only a molded-concrete rendering of the island snail--it is still too frigid here for the living snails to come out. But the human population, the Soybean Islanders, are quite proud of their snails. Perhaps the snails know more than the rest of us . . .

Here is a curious sign:

Nomen. No men. Hmm.

I have no idea. Noidea.

And another:

ARK RK.

One never knows on Soybean Island. But as mentioned before, English was long ago adopted as the official language here. I will elaborate on my thoughts as to why in some future post. Meanwhile here is a sign I understand--to some degree:

Why a dog needs a station, I do not know. Is this where a dog catches the local Transport Vehicle? Or is this where a local catches a traveling dog?

A mystery.

Well, that's enough of being An Object of Curiosity for the day. Hopefully I have spread the news of my situation and of the deplorable conditions here. Hope. Hope. Hope. Seemingly that is all I have. Here is one more obscure and obtuse photo to throw off the trail of The Apparatus:

There. Now they are looking elsewhere.

So, until next time, if there is a next time:

Goodbye from Soybean Island,

                                                        #1957

Have A Happy Day

Is this a sunrise?

Or is it a sunset?

Is it a sign of hope and a new beginning?

Or a sign that time has run out and a great darkness is coming?

One never knows on Soybean Island . . .

For The Apparatus, they will see a sunrise. A positive to represent their fair and hermetic and authoritarian island. For me, I see dark days. I see how futile this blog, my photos, my messages are. Yet it is--for now and the foreseeable future--my only hope at communicating with the outside world. The Apparatus has control over all media here, it is even called, simply, State Media. Oh, sometimes it can appear to be a loose control--there is the facade of competition, of differing views--but even that is by design so that the people feel as though they are in charge. Feel as though they are actually free. But I know better, as do my fellow captives (of which none I know, other than the fact that they are here, suffering as I do, amongst the crowds). I know who is in control:

The Apparatus is in control. And I am but a flea, a voiceless voice attempting to broadcast their secrets to the (perchance) uncaring world. The Internet here is censored; sites and links are viewable or unviewable, allowed or disallowed. It is an effort just to put out this seemingly innocuous blog and a herculean effort to believe, to believe against great odds that someone of merit will see it. And on days like these:

I realize how ignorant I am in that belief, to envisage even one human from some free nation discovering it, viewing it, reading it, understanding it and then, after all of that, doing something about it. Yes. Quite hopeless, indeed. Like a man trying to communicate to a parking lot.

Or a concrete post.

Yet, like the sunrise, I will keep coming back. Will keep rowing against the current, against the totalitarian tide. I will fight this furtive and vain fight. Alone. The Apparatus may win, most likely will win. But I will not go down in utter silence and anonymity.

And so, as they like to say all throughout this land, be it Soybean Island City or Cornana or Ste. Abattoir de le Chevres Pre de la Mer or Stalag Ranville or those isolated Homesteads among the soybean, corn and rutabaga fields:

                                                            Visit Soybean Island

Yes.

Have A Happy Day . . .

Have A Happy Day as you walk out the doors into the sunrise or sunset or wherever you may be.


Because, until next time, if there is a next time:

Goodbye from Soybean Island,

                                                         #1957

A Quick Note About Snails

Just a quick note to let you know that I am still here, that I still struggle to escape this prisoner's island and that it is still winter:

That is not frosted glass, it is ice-covered glass.

And that is snowed-in glass.

There are no signs of Spring here. No tufts of green grass, no early flowers, no tendrils of vine, certainly no buds on flowering trees. No new birds or un-burrowed rodents. No bears among the rutabaga fields. Or the soybean fields. Or the corn fields. Hay fields. In fact, there are no bears on Soybean Island. No wolves or cougars or hippopotami or giraffes. No snow leopards or yaks or jaguars or tapirs; no springboks or bison or platypuses. I suppose there are deer, raccoons. I have seen opossums. I suppose there may be coyotes. I do not know of any animal that is specialized to Soybean Island except the snail. A certain species of snail. It--this snail--is almost revered here. It is called The Soybean Island Snail, or more commonly the Bean Snail.

These escargots de haricots have also been called Fighting Snails and Transcendental Snails.

Phasellus pugnae cochleam? Phasellus transcendens cochleam?

One never knows on Soybean Island.

I will investigate further, at some point, and also try to give you a photo of the creature.

For now, here is a shot of their most likely habitat:

This is the--currently frozen--sea grass that grows near the coast. It is as close as I can get to the ocean, the shore, because I am a prisoner of rendition, not a citizen and certainly not an Elite Citizen. Anyway, the Soybean Island Snail: I do not know where they go in the winter, but am told they can live in the hollowed boles of trees:

Perhaps a community of such snails lives in this tree, found on the campus of The University of Soybean Island, home of the Transcendental Snails. The Fighting Snails. The Bean Snails.

I have heard all terms used. As stated, one never knows here.

That is all I have for now. I hope conditions will improve. I hope I can escape The Apparatus, escape the Island; I hope to live as a free and productive man once again.

So, until next time, if there is a next time:

Goodbye from Soybean Island,

                                                         #1957

Soybean Island City

#One Nine Five Seven here. Before I begin to talk about the only metropolis on the island--and I should put that word in quotes or italics or perhaps both--the only "metropolis" (Soybean Island City) on the island, I'd like to commence with a silly photograph and its accompanying caption:

                                                            VISIT SOYBEAN ISLAND


There. Glad to get that out of the way. I have no idea what the photo and caption mean, but it makes the locals smile. I suppose it could make you feel good about visiting this wretched place, or more to the point, make the inhabitants feel good about themselves through such an association. Nevertheless, in my position as An Object of Curiosity, I sometimes take pictures that please the populace. They are of the kitschy variety, as you might expect. I try to give them captions which only adds to their insipid value. But there you go . . . I try to keep The Apparatus happy, satisfied, at arms length and, hopefully, fooled. I want to lull them into the belief that I am a subdued captive of this island. Of course, I plot my escape--or at least dream of it--every single day, if not every hour.

Anyway, on to less important matters:

Soybean Island City. Though it is not the capital, it is the economic hub of this island nation. It is where The Apparatus resides, where their nefarious handiwork is the most profound. But, I'm getting a little off point. Excuse me . . . I live in Soybean Island City. I am not downtown yet not all that far from it. I live in a Apparatus-run apartment--live alone--in a decent if not beautiful neighborhood. There are few "bad" places on the island or in the city; there is little crime on Soybean Island (I suppose you can credit The Apparatus for that--though there are no doubt extensive levels of corruption among The Elite, though I will never be privy to such machinations), so I am safe as all the other "residents" are safe. Okay, time for a photo--Soybean Island City at night:

And here's another:

Perhaps I should mention, once again, how judicious I have to be with images, about how careful I must be with what I reveal. The Apparatus pays great and detailed attention to images. I am pretty much free to write as I wish (though that too must be carefully considered--one never knows what can happen) but with images, if I reveal too much of the island, about the island and its many secrets, I could end up in Stalag Ranville. Sorry, these photos are the best I can do for now.

Maybe this is a bit better:

Then again, maybe not . . .

I will try to reveal more about Soybean Island City, as well as other communities and the University. I will try to communicate to the outside world what really goes on in this self-determination-forsaken place.

I will leave you with a view of a sunrise, because everyone likes a sunrise. Even I, who have little hope.

Perhaps more depressing than uplifting? Such is life on Soybean Island . . . So, until next time:

Goodbye from Soybean Island,

                                                       #1957

Geography

Yes. I promised a look at the island's rudimentary geography and I will get to it. But first I insist on saying how much I despise my situation here on Soybean Island, and beyond that, how much I abhor this long winter in which I find myself.

It is an endless winter of which I would write such profane invective about if my curse words weren't so common, so overused, and could actually properly convey my desperate despair and hatred of this place and its horrid season . . . Alas.

But, on to geography: Here, to the best of my current ability mixed with the best of my current daring, is a map of the island

And when I said rudimentary, I most certainly meant rudimentary.
This is the most basic outline I can conjure for now. There are no details--no roads or streets, no ports or industrial parks; no woods or even a scribble of the Rutabaga River (which is but a shallow creek of fresh water yet they call it a river).

But you can see where the cities are--Soybean Island City (where I reside/am held), Cornana--the capital--which is smaller, and Ste. Abattoir Pre de la Mer (also known more formally as Saint Abattoir de Chevres Pre de la Mer) . . . But you can also see Stalag Ranville to the north, which is called a "settlement" by those who will acknowledge its existence but is indeed some type of gulag run by The Apparatus. There is also a large university--The University of Soybean Island--home of the Fighting Snails (more on this at some other time).

As you might suspect from some of my photos, there are large amounts of arable land on the island. Soybeans. Corn. Rutabagas. All are grown around and between and inside the cities/ towns. I imagine there are subdivisions, perhaps resorts, along the coast--but if so, such communities are even more guarded by The Apparatus than Stalag Ranville.

The Apparatus operates out of Soybean Island City, from a building that is the only true architectural landmark on the whole island. It is ridiculously dangerous for me to photograph it, yet nonetheless I did:

Though this is all I feel comfortable with in revealing.

I will try to continue with this geographical motif in subsequent posts--will try to show you specifics of each community (even Stalag Ranville, if possible). But I must wait for the Spring ---- the Spring-That-Never-Comes. And I must be sly about it. Discreet. I sometimes can only take quick shots from a moving Transport Vehicle. But I will try. It is very important to get this information out into the Free World.

And in that vein, I will leave you with a secretive shot of a communication tower near The Apparatus' headquarters:

That is all for now. I have put myself in grave danger by revealing this much in one post. So, until next time, if there is a next time:

Goodbye from Soybean Island