Hodgepodge (of Courage)

Now that winter has--apparently--gone away, I'm working up the courage to get on a TV (Transport Vehicle) and go visit the little town of Ste Abattoir des Chevres Pres de la Mer.

So, I thought I would offer up a hodgepodge mishmash assortment of images whilst I build said courage.

The reason courage--or willfulness--is prescribed for a journey to Ste Abattoir des Chevres Pres de la Mer, is because it is a town of The Elite and therefore, heavily protected by The Apparatus.

That is to say, it is very dangerous for one of Prisoner Status--an Untouchable like me--to wander and loiter in such a town.

Ste Abattoir des Chevres Pres de la Mer is like a suburb or a country club (as they have in the United States). It is a place of privilege. As mentioned, more Country Club than town . . . Though only a few of the Elite of The Elite live there (the Elite of The Elite--the 1%ers, if you wish--mostly live in their Mansions in elite of the elite neighborhoods in Soybean island City or in Cornana, which is the oldest town on the island. I suppose they have stugas out among The Homesteads--possibly--and I suppose they could have secret homes out along the coast. I know nothing of the seaside [have not even seen a glimmer of its waters or sandy-rocky-weedy shores] but one can assume) . . .

For me to be seen in such a place like Ste Abattoir de Chevres Pre de la Mer is like finding a roach among the tulips. A lizard at a dog show. A broken stick among the lovely puff of clouds. A sea cucumber on a plate of boiled blue crayfish . . . Or some such thing like that.

That last photo is a quick shot of the Headquarters for The Apparatus. Very dangerous for me to post. But Danger is my middle name . . . Well, Nine Five is my middle name for all practical purposes, but hopefully you get my gist.


Here are two more very dangerous images. If you look closely there is some symbol being portrayed from a balcony. A flag, perhaps. It is not the flag of Soybean Island.

I know not what this means. It is highly unusal. Rare. Astonishing to see. I imagine whoever so lives in that abode quite quickly got a visit from The Apparatus. In fact, I went back the next day and the flag was gone. Disappeared. No doubt its fliers, the inhabitants of that little place, have also disappeared.

Again it makes me wonder, question, ponder: Could there be some opposition to The Apparatus' rule? Could there be some other souls within these unfriendly confines who are willing to act out in defiance to the Powers-That-Be?

It seems impossible. Es muy poco probable.

Yet, how did such a flag get smuggled onto the island? And who had the guts to actually fly it? Well, hang it.

Perhaps it is nothing. Perhaps but a imagining of my feverish imagining machine that is my hopeless brain.

But I will do it. I will travel to Ste Abattoir des Chevres Pres de la Mer. And I will take my necessarily inept photos. I shall make that forbidding and misbegotten and infinitely boring place exist within the ether of the Internet--even if no one ever sees it or understands it or does something about it.

I promise.

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

Goodbye from Soybean Island,

#1957