February's Final Report

I doubt I will have the opportunity to post anything again in February. I realize that this disappoints exactly no one. Nonetheless, consider yourself notified.

February--despite some frosty temps (yet none of my beloved sub-zero temps)--has returned to its boring coldish cold and semi-sunshiney ways. This of course, makes my a tad angry:





And, of course, the island, the city (and I use this term--city--very loosely here) goes about its non-madcap way:









Yes.


And yet the people--the ones who consider this island their home and heritage, who do not question why they cannot connect to the outside world or where that world would be or why it exists or how it could exist if it even exists, do not question anything other than what they are told to, lest they end up in one of the many secret and transportable prisons or, worse, end up in Stalag Ranville--those people--have kept their happy faces:

Visit Soybean Island

How?

Ask them, not me.

I continue to hang on in this precipitously absurd world I find myself in. An abstract existence in a cosmos of institutionalized complacency where deception and triviality are encouraged, the result of which is a melange of petrification and surreality:







A place where Good Drainage Makes Good Neighbors. Where up is up yet down is also up and sideways is a way of life. A place--this place--may I never say, "My place"--whose worship of mollusky gastropods--cornu aspersum--is summed up in this oft-quoted island motto:

And the Snails Shall Inherit the Shopping Mall:





Thusly, for all impractical purposes, this is my Final February Report.


#1957 over and out

Goodbye from Soybean Island