Our responsibility as citizens of a country at war, is nothing more, importantly, than funneling our wartime dollars, into this weeping economy: faithfully, into this fallible dot-com revolution. With capitalist safety shot down like a clay-pigeon searching for its origin. My duty as a citizen, says them, is to go on cultivating my garden. Going on, day to day, with chin held high. While striped Western heroes go marching into the Garden of Eden on GW’s specious crusade to crush the opposition–to extinguish terror in this primal showdown of Good and Evil (so clearly and readily defined, of nation and religious orientation, dramatically and inevitably set to stage, McDonald’s versus Muhammad, in a fight for all ages). My duty as a student then, acutely interested in a global-identity, is to read into Islam, intently, and draw the line between Christianity and McVeigh. In fear of taking freedom for granted… Responsibility roughly equates to temporarily filling every last void with the red white and blue.
Completely, blowing the top off of nationalism; dispelling any doubt in the House. Visual Viagra for a nation that gets its kicks from 7 p.m., prime time reality. Flags wave, duty calls… And who-ha! Here’s to Duty, If we pretend generously, then we can fly along, graciously in the wake, of a two-hundred-and-fifty-ton death wish, wrapped snug and sound, package and bow, equipped to blow, our Eastern friends, right out of their caves, and on into infinity. Whose duty is it then, to pick up their pieces?
