It rained instead of snowed. Spring remains unsprung, but at least there is some sense of the possibility of a more enlightened season.
Post precipitation, I ventured out into the controlled world (i.e. Soybean Island) and came to a green light--
(more than one, I should say . . . )--and even in a place like this, it means go. Yes, I would love to go. But since I am not a man who believes much in the symbolic, let alone in omens, I took it as I should only cross the street and further the day's travels. Though maybe, courageously, out of Soybean Island City . . .
And out into the dreadful countryside . . . Just for a bit. Not too far . . . So, I hopped a Transport Vehicle (TVs as they are known colloquially) and off I went, towards the north, a direction I don't usually go in.
I saw some unusual things--different, at least--though believed them to be connected to the agricultural side of Soybean Island Life. Particularly, as this appeared to be a rutabaga farming area:
Visit Soybean Island
And I was feeling surprisingly chipper. Perhaps a result of the unsprung Spring. Nonetheless, here's some of what I witnessed:
Though lightyears away from a giddy comportment, I was at least able to keep my melancholia in check; able to, for a spell, forget my situational situation on this prisoner's island and even--Zenlike--to ignore my overriding desire for escape . . . Yes . . . But then, I saw this:
Some type of observatory. Hmm. But to observe what? Certainly not the vastness of the universe, but perhaps the vastness of many citizens' inner lives.
And then--riding peacefully in the frontmost seat of the Transport Vehicle--I saw this:
I have no idea if the video can be viewed, if it has made it past The Apparatus' many image defenses. It certainly frightened me to surreptitiously film such a thing. But there it was, twirling among the soybean fields, gathering all the secret information it could gather. Reaping the conscious and unconscious acts of, perhaps, millions. No doubt my own life has been captured by this machine. I shudder now, as I did then.
But. Yet. Well . . . What did I expect? Of course . . . This. That. It . . . Is how things work on Soybean Island. And of course my small, minuscule reverie was broken, lopped off, truncated--just by seeing what I saw.
Alas.
Until next time, if there is a next time:
Goodbye from Soybean Island,
#1957
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