Longnarrow Park

I have found yet another new park to visit. New to me, at least. And now visited:

Longnarrow Park is located in Soybean Island City, west and a jog north of downtown.

I'd like to report that it is a park named after H. Wadsworth Longnarrow, a literary figure from this island. But, alas, that is impossible. There are no literary figures from this place. There are Elite Elders and Businessmen and Corporate Heads who are much revered within this cloistered society, but you will never know their names. Certainly not publicly. No. Here on Soybean Island, names are not used to name. There is no history here. Only secrecy.

But, the park . . .

Really, not much to see here:

Grass. Pavement. Trees. Boredom.

But of course, my intrepid eye finds the things that need to be found.

Found and documented and reported upon.

Such as this:

And this:

And thus:

Well, perhaps those are not the best examples . . .

But here. Look. What park on this forsaken isle would be complete without some blaring-orange plastic fencing? Some object of capture and control?

And not just that, but to have a bench placed so that one can view--up close and personal--the fencing.

A front row seat!

I remain amazed.


But, for me, I would rather investigate the trees:

Though certainly you can see for yourself without comment what I see nonetheless I will comment anyway.

Yes.

The violence visited upon these arboreal subjects is obvious. Some are recent scars, most scars are of long ago, no doubt inflicted upon them when they were young and innocent.

How sad.

Perhaps I had better show you a couple of images that are not quite so disturbing, to take the sour stinging taste out of your silent mouths:

There. That's better? Is it? Huh?

Does it suit you to a:

?



But of course, on Soybean Island, even in a seemingly innocuous place like Longnarrow Park, one is always reminded what is really going on:

Industry

and Poverty.

No doubt within the thin walls of the factory slave laborers toil for slavish consumer products.

And no doubt within the decrepit walls of the termite-ridden house, the cadaverous bodies of the workers huddle together in fitful fists of hungry sleep between the long shifts at the factory.

No doubt.

It should make me be a smidgen grateful for my position as An Object of Curiosity. It should bring a mouthful of shame to my very being that at least I get to wander with a modicum of freedom and self-determination upon this prisoner isle. Yes, it should.

But it doesn't.


Longnarrow Park--no more to report.

Oneninefiveseven over and out and Goodbye from Soybean Island