Redundant Patterns on a Repeated Theme

I got out of Soybean Island City for the day and found myself on the edge of Academic Economic Zone Two, for some strange reason . . . But of course, all reasoning is strange here on Soybean Island. Or shall I say, we--they--are all strangers to reasoning? . . . What-have-you, I was there just south of the University of Soybean Island in the economic zone that is not to be confused with Academic Economic Zone One--aka Snailtown.

And what did I see?

I saw this:

And this:

Also, one could say, this:

What lovely images. They depict all that Soybean Island has to offer: Control, electronics, surveillance, fences, poles, little plastic flags on sticks, poles within fences, colorless landscapes!

Yes . . .

Yet, this is not the point of my post.

No.

This is:

And what is that, you may ask, if you even existed to ask such things, which you do not. And I wondered the same thing.

A mound for the dead? That is, a burial mound for the Ancient Eye-Nye-Habs that used to populate the island? Or an ancient trash heap where the Ancients tossed their oyster shells and animal hides and fast-food containers? . . . Hmmm. I do not know.

Here's a blurred view so that we can get a better look:

And another blurry:

Helpful?

I thought not.

And then there was also this:

Yow!

Look again:

And again:

Once more:

How strange and odd and differently perplexing in a flummoxed way . . .

It quite reminds me of a landmark on the Australian Continent: Uluru.

Yes, Uluru (or Ayers Rock, if you prefer, though most who prefer that name have surnames such as Ayers).

What a sudden departure to the eye this eyesore is, rising up out of the bland land like, well, like Uluru, though not quite as colorful or large or remotely as interesting. In the last photo you can spy a small cage in the foreground. That is a classic Soybean Island touch. But, what is this and why is this and how? When is this? (Never mind.)

It is a rather quixotic thing to see, what with its eroded sides and dark boring shaded soil. Of course the jutting poles and listening devices and watching devices upon those poles are a common sight to behold here, still I, personally, was quite astounded to see this. Well, sort of.

I'm glad I could share this with you. It is something I will try to forget, especially if I ever escape from this devil's island.


Goodbye from Soybean Island

Back Into The

Yes. I returned to Woods Woods Park to see the woods once again and stand woodenly alone among the non-clustered leafless trees that constitute Woods Woods Park.

I also saw a stick:

And more sticks:

The remains of a murdered tree:

And I saw this:

This could be an item of control or possibly an escape hatch for trees to elude the tree murderers or enslavers, a hatch which would lead to some tunnel and network of arbor-ablers who would spirit the endangered trees (or bushes or other plant life) to safety and freedom. An underground railroad of sorts for maligned plants--those poor creatures of the earth much misunderstood and abused all over the world.


Anyway, back to the Woods Woods Park:

I also saw some drainage:

Nice!

Who on Soybean Island doesn't like a good drainage photo?

Very few, I would say. Yes, very few . . .



Now here is an interesting tree:

If I were a tree, that would be me.

It looks like the tree is in the process of escaping, perhaps slowly slowly over many years creeping its way to the escape hatch and the tunnel and the underground railway which will lead to a happier and fuller and freer life.

I much envy the tree . . .


Oneninefiveseven over and outta here--Goodbye from Soybean Island

Small City, Big Boredom

As my brain slowly settles back into a sane position, I found myself in downtown Soybean Island City yet again.

I was quite bored, which means I fit right in with the localized humans.

I'm not sure what else to say except that I wandered about in my ragged clothes carrying my ragged items stuffed into my rickety shopping cart taking paranoid/paranormal pictures with my little camera. As usual.

And with my crazed yet autistic/artistic eye, I see what others refuse to see:

How true.

But what they do not know is that I am documenting.

Though I may look as though I have escaped from the world, the world does not escape me:

And it is all here for any and all to view and decipher and divulge, lo all these years of my captivity.

Here in SIC upon SI itself.

I have photographed it and filed it and placed it where it can but fall into the hands of a free people. Or person. Or bot.

Nonetheless or even less than that, I remain undaunted.

I know my mission and know what I must reveal and how such revelation must be accomplished.

Like this:

Oh The Apparatus, your days--much like mine--are numbered.


Oneninefiveseven over and out and . . .

Goodbye from Soybean Island

Non-Mythical Creatures of Destruction

So, I was out and about walking as the wonders of a deep hard frozen grey-white winter abandon the land in favor of green and flowers and troublesome warm weather and what did I see?

Yes, I saw that and you can make of that what you wish to.

I also saw this:

Which appears to be an abandoned concrete corral where once the brilly brush was controlled and now, evidently, needs to be controlled again because everything here upon this isle apparently needs to be controlled.


But then, as I walked on with The Apparatus minding my own business, I saw this:

And I saw this, or saw these:

And what were they? Were they mythical monsters ripping the earth apart or were they machines ripping the earth apart and, really, when hasn't man or some extension of man, ripped the earth apart?

Yes. They were ripping the earth apart, these non-mythical mechanical creatures of destruction.

I wish I could say there was a good reason for it, though my guess is that the ultimate reason to rip the earth apart was to make money. To put paper bills into the hands or accounts of someone somewhere somehow. And perhaps not even paper bills but only an electronic number as proof that money has indeed been made and not even been made but electronic numbers that represent paper bills that represent a shiny metal (that comes from earth that has been ripped apart) that those electronic numbers that represent money have been shifted from one place to another which constitutes money-making in our day and age even here on Soybean Island . . .

Yes.

And then you end up with a view such as this:

Oily dirty boring money-making puddles.


Goodbye from Soybean Island

Signs

Are there signs of Spring here on this forbidding and forbidden-to-leave isle?

You be the judge . . .

There is still snow:

Iced-over (pretend) "lakes":

And need for control:

But there are signs of green:

Even if it is but evergreen . . . However, these are not the signs I wish to discuss or show or write about or post about or go on and on about.

No.

I want to look at signs like these:

Yes . . . let's take a closer look:

Wow! This is a typical sign on Soybean Island. It tells you nothing. It only warns you of, yes, DANGER !!!!!!!! . . .  I think it's rather implicitly explicit that the danger would be to post anything upon the blank space. It is only by blundering accident that some Rorschach-test-like shape has formed on the dangerous blank slate that is reminiscent of the mindset of Soybean Islanders.

DANGER. Do Not Write Here. Post No Images. Think No Thoughts. Work. Eat. Sleep. Fornicate in Silence. Defecate in Prescribed Defecation Areas Only. Obey Obey Obey. Yes, Obey All Blank Spaces.

Or some such . . .

Here is a sign we can all understand, unless you are an actual fish:

I do not know why this fish is out of the water, except that they do like to depict dead things here upon the island--even snails.

Yet . . . Yes, yet . . . Yet there are some signs that do not adhere to the authoritarian correctness:

I do not know what this says. I believe it to be ancient symbols from the ancient Hab language from the ancient Habs--or that is, the descendants of the ancient Habs, the original rulers of this island. What a strange and odd symbol . . . Hmmm . . . as if they were only saying: "Hi". Hmmm.

Now here are more troubling signs:

Trouble for The Apparatus, one hopes.

And I--one also hopes--hope that these are protest signs, or, signs of protest, and not just some graffiti-blather from deranged and misguided teens . . .

But wait! There's more!:

What do we have here?

Scribblings on a white wall of a secure building with secure barbed wire fencing securely in place?

Yes!

Perhaps these scribblings are also the ancient Hab language (known, I believe as Lie-Nie-Habese--I will have to study this factoid further). Yes, these markings are quite different and more seditious than the previous ones . . . Ah. If only revolution were indeed in the air. Spring is almost here. Summer is coming. Winter is not a good time for revolution, but spring summer are and the Fall. Fall. The perfect word for the success of a revolution is the fall of the old regime!

But, I'm losing my mind . . . Excuse my digression.

Here are my final signs. These I post for myself--and for you--to fully express my predicament upon this bastardly isle. These signs express for me what I want to expressly express to you, to all, to the world, to the great dust mite who is god out in the dusty universe:

HELP!


Goodbye from Soybean Island