Sometimes as I prepare to take a photo, I get a creeping sense of apprehension. When I prepare to take a photo of a sensitive subject here on Soybean Island, I often hesitate. If someone is watching me I'll often switch quickly to some offhand subject. Or, if I get that foreboding, paranoiac feeling of being observed, observed too closely, then I will also shoot something else or abandon the photo opp altogether. Yes, it is paranoia--but a real one--which is just another symptom of life here. I am being observed. Judged. Marked. Yes, it is fear. Also a real one. So, here are some of these paranoiac and fearful photos:
This may be a giant anthill or termite mound or, possibly, a pile of leaves. Insects do not abound on the island. There is, especially in the spring, a miasma of pesticides in the air, mostly coming from the agricultural activities which dominate this place . . . Leaves it is, I suppose.
This I found in Cornana. It is a dangerous photograph to post. I believe it is an archaic example of the original writing/language of Soybean Island. It is a rare find. No one that I know of, or have heard of, or have read about, speaks the native Soybean Island Language anymore and most of its primitive-ish writings have vanished--purposely obliterated (by The Apparatus, you can be assured). It is not taught at the University of Soybean Island, I do know because I looked it up. Just as the University has no History Department . . . I do not know what this says, maybe Mens Room. Or perhaps, Obey Your Overlords . . . If it said something in defiance, or fomented revolution, or even promoted individualized critical thinking, it would have been sanded away, rubbed out, disappeared.
This is also a bit of a mystery to me. I do not know if this is a bovine face or two Bean Snails in very close proximity with each other. A tossup . . . I have to say, I'm still a bit on edge after being out in The Homesteads and meeting one of The Apparatus' many spies. Although I have taken a quick and uneventful trip to Cornana since then, I still have not forgotten the experience out in the country. There are roads out there, but (so I have gleaned) they all end in roadblocks--with sentry posts--before you can get to the sea; that is, the coast. There is also such a checkpoint on the single road that leads to Stalag Ranville . . . Anyway: Two Transcendental Snails in coitus? Two Fighting Snails in battle? Two Bean Snails in one small bed due to poverty? Or a cow.
You make the call.
This is a tree.
That was easy.
I do not know what this is, but it is a most dangerous photo as well, though I do not know why.
Well, that's it for today's report. Today's hapless attempt to communicate with the outside world. I do not think anyone can comment upon my work here. I'm sure it is censored, blocked, un-optionable. And I do not believe, do not recommend--at this juncture, at this locus of my puny operation for my hopes and dreams of escape--that someone should be so brave as to attempt it. You too can quickly find out how unsafe your safe little world can be. You too could--possibly, yes possibly--find yourself here, on Soybean Island . . . Having said that, I will show one more vapid photo:
There. Now that is a bovine rendering for sure. I think. Unless it's some kind of snail . . .
Until next time, if there is a next time:
Goodbye from Soybean Island,
#1957
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