Indeed.
This supposed New Year looks a lot like the old. Its predecessor. Prior. Posthaste. Insert profanity of choice here . . .
Anyway, at least winter has finally struck:
Snow and cold have arrived.
Delicious negative (fahrenheit) temperatures abound.
And hello darkness, my old friend.
Hah. I have no friends here on Soybean Island. It is not allowed. It would greatly interfere with my position as an Object of Curiosity. It would only provide a small measure of solace, of potential pleasure, for my lifelong (or life-ending) sentence here as a prisoner of rendition.
So, instead of actual solace and pleasure, I take what I can get from the bitter black subzeroness of my wintery surroundings:
Oh, The Powers-That-Be, The Powers-That-Are, The Powers-Who-Are-Powerful, they try to invent a few bright spots for the pacified populace:
Even if they have a few bulbs missing--so to speak in a metaphorical and figurative way:
But no. Even in the brightest of lights, even if the sun were shining and palm trees grew and flowers bloomed and velvet shade were a luxury, they could not hide the inherent darkness that encompasses this dastardly place:
Yes. Yes. Indeed. Indeed multiplied and squared and cast off into the great black infinity.
And what is the source of this dark insufferable and bleakness?
What makes this town, this island, this society but an excremental cesspool of mundane existence?
Is it nature?
Is it the great turning of the earth upon its axis and its access to the light of the sun?
No.
Not here upon Soybean Island.
It is only the controlling master--all too human in its inhumanity . . .
Yes, I speak (that is, write) of The Apparatus:
The above photo revealing what I can of (what I dare to, always in danger of being marched to Stalag Ranville) their secretive secreto, nauseatingly mysterieux, verschwiegen Geheimpolizei, tajny przym Headquarters.
But I welcome the cold. The frozen. The depressing days and intolerable nights. I welcome this frigid blanket of darkness because it is something real. It cannot be controlled or modified or deceived through propaganda.
This wholehearted misery is what best represents this island of the damned!
No more to report--Oneninefiveseven over and out.
Goodbye from Soybean Island
