Wondering, Wandering, Waiting for Winter

Oneninefiveseven here, ready for another report.

Only, there's not much to report.

Needing to fulfill my ordered obligation to be An Object of Curiosity, I struck out into the un-sunstruck city to see and be seen and to commit general weirdness simply through my own silent presence amongst the population of this repressed and repressive isle.

Yes.

And here--above--are two demonstrative photos of what one can find.

Lovely.

I am anticipating a long cold hard dark lonesome winter with much glee. Well, glee is not the correct word unless you want to insinuate and inject a huge level of cynicism and irony into it. But I do find myself anticipating the dark season with some form of appreciation. I think that it best represents this place and my place within this place.

Anyway, on with my walk:

A trestley picture and . . .

a dismembered burnt one.

Hmm.

One never knows . . .

Winter. I hope for much snow and sub-zero temperatures, for icicles and black ice and spalled concrete, for potholes and high drifts and days with little sunlight. Ahhh. Winter.

Here are some impotent photos:

I will let their power speak for themselves . . .

Winter winter winter. We--I--are--am--on the edge of winter right now. What I dislike about winter is that Spring will come afterwards and with Spring comes an infestation of Robins . . . I find Robins to be the most frightening of the animal kingdom what with their incessant gathering and bobbing about, their dark heads and piercing black eyes always searching the yards and fields and empty macadam and their ruddy red breasts littering the landscape, slithering pink worms in their pointed beaks . . . It makes me shudder to think of them. Here's to a long hard winter without any signs of those dastardly birds.

Even out here when wandering and wondering there is sculpture:

This piece is oddly common except for its lack of shiny knife-like metal or capacity for enclosure and incarceration like most "sculpture" on the island. I am not convinced as to what this depicts: A musical note? A lizard or dragon? It is somewhat Robin-like, much to my displeasure.

I think that artwork, as well as parks and other supposed societal amenities, are a way for The Apparatus to maintain control or a semblance of non-control for the plebeians. It is there not out of any sense of appreciation or beautification but more out of a sense that it's supposed to be there, that it's what's expected in a normal world of which this place is most definitely not.

Art and parks are an illusion, here on Soybean Island. Not a mirage, but an illusory real thing that exist purely as advertising or promotion, false presentations to make one look the other way and not at what's really going on right beneath their frozen noses.

What's this?

I don't know . . .

A hirsute sunrise? The winter shell of a Soybean Island Snail (Fighting Snail, Transcendental Snail)? A mark of the ancient Hab language? Another piece of attempted art by our overlords, The Apparatus?

I don't know . . .

And that sums up everything--at least for today and yesterday and tomorrow: I don't know.


Until next time, if there is a next time:

Goodbye from Soybean Island,

#1957