Stockholm

My, my, my, Dear Reader. Where have I been?

In many ways, even I do not know. It is a blank, a white page, a bottle of White Out that I drank over a year ago, supplied by The Apparatus.

All things are very fuzzy!





And rather black





or gray, white, nourish. Bleak.

I can say that I was removed from my position as An Object of Curiosity and hauled off to the dreaded Stalag Ranville.

After that there is only the patternless pattern of the daily existence of incarceration.




Routine and Re-Education.





I can only say that Stockholm Syndrome leaves a poor taste in one's mouth. Yes, I have attained a Post Doctorate in Re-Education while studying at the University of The Apparatus (not the University of Soybean Island with its lovely Snailtown).





I am now, no longer, An Object of Curiosity but rather an object to be used. I am now the Director of Directions and have an office in downtown Cornana and am required—quite parole like—to check in daily (nay, hourly at times) with my nameless Overlords.

At times they even let me dine near them:




Dine on the bones of slaughtered goats, or some mammal, and drink the leftovers of Overlord drinks.

But, I have found a way to once again communicate with the outside world. The Free World!

I think.

Unless this too is going out to blind deaf dumb and uncaring soulless souls . . . Alas, it could be so.

Yet, there is hope.

I do not like to use the word hope, yet there it is: Hope. I am now working for The Apparatus to undermine the Descendants of the Eye-Nye-Habs. The radicals and revolutionaries who hope (there's that word again) to rid their little mysterious island of The Apparatus. But, in turn, the Eye-Nye-Hab descendants believe that I am working for them, keeping tabs upon The Apparatus. Especially now that I am Director of Directions!

So, let these new games begin.


Oneninefiveseven, over and out.

Goodbye from Soybean Island