Yet, there it was, on the far northeast side of Cornana: Cracked Rib Park:
As you, Dear Mythical Non-Reader, can see by my insightful photos, there are a number of simulated and synthesized opened-up ribs on display in Cracked Ribs Park. I'm putting this down to the fact that this site was no doubt where the early Soybean Island invader/colonizer/settlers came to feast upon the roasted ribs of the many native (and now extinct) goats that once roamed freely upon this currently-unfree island.
Yes.
But, as always, there is more to discover, no matter how oblique and bland that discovery may be:
Along with depictions of extinct edible animal ribs, this park also seems obsessed with defunct transportation as well.
All stylized and immobile and half-sunk and in disrepair: lovely!
It is always enjoyable to see 3D depictions of things that no longer work and are mired into the fertile soil of a prisoner island.
Indeed.
What else?
This else:
I am afraid that I have no snappy or pertinent observations for the above photograph. I can only assume that these brightly painted objects are some form of information-gathering spy machines run by The Apparatus. My guess is that there are not only 24hr cameras at work here, but also devices that record ones weight and height and body temperature should you sit upon these childlike things, these gaudy items that would certainly attract not just children but certainly the adults of Soybean Island--like mini-casinos without the bells and whistles and mirrors and bars and manufactured-psuedo-sophistication and WayneNewtonish/Cirqueish-du-Soleilish/CelineDionish entertainers and clanging false-jackpots and loss of great wads of money. Like that, sort of.
I kept a wide berth.
And this:
Plastic rocks . . .
Plastic rocks with the ever-popular and ubiquitous metal bars.
Why?
I do not know. And, really, yet I do.
Also, some murdered-tree logs. Just for good measure.
And lest we forget, more of the cracked-open ribs motif:
Nice!
But as I said, it is a large park. So let us wander and mosey and un-gallavant over to another side of this greenspace among the wastedspace that is Soybean Island:
Not just a bridge to nowhere, but a bridge from nowhere, and, as unlikely as it seems (not) above nowhere. Or from, to and above nothing--your preference.
Here we have yet another young tree being tied and punished and shamed.
There are many versions of Puritan-like stocks and military-like stockades for trees here on the island. For trees and, quite unfortunately, for humans such as myself.
And here are odd, alien, ancient-astronaut, slash-and-burn-farming type markings in the soil:
Or perhaps disturbed-earth, quick-burial plots for, again, people like me: the Prisoner Class?
And, in the vein of multi-use facilities, of course there are mysterious and potentially nefarious buildings within Cracked Rib Park:
Hmmm . . . I would not want to see these in the middle of the night.
No.
Nor did I really care to see these:
Yes, these great malefic tub-like structures holding who knows what? The bones of goats or cattle, or of humans? Of the Ancient Eye-Nye-Habs or Prisoners-Who-Do-Not-Obey, Who-Do-Not-Succumb to the will of their overlords? Or perhaps the husks of corn and soybeans, the rotten cores of rutabagas? Or maybe they store the great filth and trash of wealthy nations who want to outsource their filth and trash and excrement to such a place as Soybean Island, just as they outsource their unwanted citizens and non-citizens, their poor and mentally ill and politically-opposed, and are willing to pay the itinerant Corporate Masters, the Corporate Slumlords who control this secret island in the middle of a secret sea?
?
I know not.
Do you, Dear Mythical Non-Reader?
Oneninefiveseven, over and out:
Until next time if there is a next time:
Goodbye from Soybean Island
