Park Leftover Park

There are a number of Parks In Soybean Island City and Cornana and the other outpostlike communities on Soybean Island. There are parks that don't quite belong to any community as well. A lot of these places--much like the Soybean Islanders themselves--look about the same.

So, here's another one:

Park Leftover Park!

Yes, it has its little bridges and greenery and splot of brown water.

It also has its rocks:

Metallic shiny dangerous statue?

Of course:

Unplayable Piano Keys in the grass?

Yes--also:

As said--its splot of brown water:

Green?

And many items depicting captivity and control:

Of course!

Here

is a strange item I see all over, almost as often as colored plastic ribbons on sticks. I believe them to be some ancient rune or mystical artifact of the lost race of aboriginal Soybean Islanders--known as the Habs--who were wiped out quite some time ago upon this historyless rather large non-atoll atoll. I often see them associated with trash receptacles where the authorities who rule this land try to cover them up.

Yes, I think that these are works of significant significance that the humans in charge want to keep hidden.

Anyway--hmmm--Park Leftover Park is called Park Leftover Park because it was once a park that became developed yet they didn't need this leftover parcel of the park and thus so named it.

I think the numerable lookalike buildings that surround this leftover parcel park are part of the larger network that runs this place--so I dare not show you much.

Well--okay--I'll show you this much:

Indeed. I must stop.

Why?

Because:

And that's that. Park Leftover Park in Soybean Island City.

No more to report.

Until next time,
if there is a next time:

Goodbye from Soybean Island,

#1957

Fears Trapped Inside

All my fears trapped inside. Yes. That is who how what where when I feel . . . Fall has come to Soybean Island. A quick and quiet fall quickly descending into winter. Winter is the long season here on this quicklime quixotic quagmire island nation. Winter is the true season, the time that best represents what this place is and, oddly enough, I think I am looking forward to it. That anticipation of bleak light and frozen temps and discomfort is puzzling and it is something I shall have to speculate about within my own mind . . . But now, some obligatory photos (to please The Apparatus):

Fall. Autumn. The Middle Season before The Season of Death. Yes. Just look at the pretty yellow leaves fallen in a circle beneath the tree. Leaves soon to turn brown and mushy and skeletal and to then vanish into the great unknown hellcloud of the unknown.

That was in ARK RK Park near my shabby Apparatus-Approved Apartment in Soybean Island City.

But I also ventured out of town, taking a TV to a newly routed section of The Homesteads where, it was rumored, a woods had been opened up for the shy public of Soybean Island, a place--again rumored--where the Rutabaga River roams free, or as free as anything could be in this repressive little stinkhole.

So yes, I went. And, as usual, I found myself alone. But here is my evidence that this currently unnamed spot does indeed exist:

How they love their grassy-mowed trails on Soybean Island!

But, more:

Yes! Actual semi-stands of trees! Trees in their near-naked glory of deathlike dormancy!

I was delighted--but there was better to come:

A hard trail and some trapped water.

But then, further along . . .

A riverlike river?

Why, yes--more or less a riverish section of the Rutabaga River!

I was astounded and pleased and depressed as always. Still, even in the falling Fall this was quite the discovery, almost as if some remnant of humanity existed in this remnant of nature here on this remnant island.

How good. How good. Among the how everlasting bad.


And then there is the necessary and unfortunate, or unfortunate necessary, return:

The return back to the reality of the unreal world. This ghoulish land I refuse to call home because it is not my home. Is not! Can not! Shall never be, shall always be not:

Soybean Island City revealing its true nature.
Soybean island City showing off yet another spy tower of the gargoyle-ian state run by The Apparatus:

Yes. Back. Again. Still. Sigh. And look!

A touch of snow to welcome and remind and foretell what is to come. Yes. To say: "You are trapped. You are inside. Your fears are your commander!"

Yes.

All my fears trapped inside:

Yours too?


That is all I have to report.
Nineteenfiftyseven over and out and Goodbye from Soybean Island.