Cornana

Number One Nine Five Seven reporting from downtown Cornana, the capital city of Soybean Island . . .

It was not snowing or sleeting and the skies were actually blueish, so I took a Transport Vehicle, heading east out of Soybean Island City, across the University (and its campus town, known as Snailtown--more on Snailtown some other day), past some open fields and a few of The Homesteads and into Cornana, the seat of government in this (un)fair island nation; this Secret Isle of the Damned.

Anyway, here's some photos:

Cornana, by and large, is a government town. Soybean Island City (where I live, am interred) is a more vibrant place, more successful. But Cornana--to me--is the more desirable place, if any place could be called desirable here. The local government, though on the face of things appears active and engaged, it is but a facade. A shadowplay. Kabuki for the populace. The denizens of Soybean Island pay much attention to the local shenanigans that pass as news, to the charade of government that emanates out of Cornana. So be it. In many ways I do not blame them. They receive scant information from the outside world and what they do get is an altered, sanitized, much censored version. They are an insular people by nature as well as by training. Conditioning. Constraint . . . The real power lies in Soybean Island City, that is, with The Apparatus.

                                                    Visit Soybean Island

(Despite the seemingly innocuous frivolity in the above photo, what is it really depicting? It is books being watched. Yes. Watched. In a trunk. A trunk with latches. Yes.)

And so . . . so, I wandered the streets of the city for a bit, clandestinely taking my photos while also fulfilling my position as An Object of Curiosity. I got some shots of the government buildings:

It is dangerous to do so, but I am compelled to reveal what I can of this gaol-ish place. The government's edifices are closely tied in with Cornana's rather placid downtown:

Which has its nice side--

--and its dark--

but perhaps it's up to one's own disposition to say which is which. Or either or neither.

There is also its residential:

And its odd:

In the future, I do hope to capture other places: The University of Soybean Island (and Snailtown), Ste Abattoir des Chevres Pres de la Mer and Stalag Ranville (though I don't know how I can get there, nor why I should risk it, though feel compelled to do so . . . I shiver just to think of it).

Well. This posting has proved exhausting. As one might imagine, my nerves are quite worn--especially of late--trying to relay and reveal what goes on here in this cloistered location, this oppressive land of the oppressed. Land of the repressed, fooled, controlled, blissfully ignorant . . . Excuse me. As said, I am quite frazzled. I wake among anxiety and go to sleep among anxiety.

I must sign off. I must recuperate as best I can. I must rest and recharge so that I can re-summon the energy and courage to report again some day soon. To put this horrid spit of an island on display for the Free World to see--even if no one does see. But they will. They will. I must always tell myself that they will . . .

Until next time, if there is a next time:

Goodbye from Soybean Island,

                                                        #1957