I have been more than hesitant to post anything these last few--or more--weeks. I do so out of fear and apathy. It is quite difficult to maintain hope and to direct my defiance of the regime that rules Soybean Island when I have no true autonomy, when I have no effective weapons besides this meager and insane discourse across the electronic internets . . .
I am but an invisible bird in a white cage who can only sing off-key inaudible notes . . .
Or perhaps an invisible fish who sends out pointless fish bubbles to the surface, a surface of emptiness and carelessness and uselessness and other nesses . . .
A weary invisible Prisoner-King whose forced-abdication forces him to sit--invisibly--upon a warty throne in the streets of visible despair . . .
Among the clutter and broken bric-a-brac appliances of his back-broken non-empire . . .
Yes . . .
To the devastated palace of lost imaginings and procrastinated frozen dreams and desiccated doorways that lead to cages . . .
Cages
Cages
Cages
And empty rooms with small smelly meals out of blurred cans of tin . . .
So that you realize you are nothing more than an unfurled shellless snail on the littered salted sidewalk of life!
Goodbye from Soybean Island,
#1957
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