We were on a cross-country train nationally subsidized. We had just passed a mile long double stack container train, tracked by a constellation of satellites, likely express from Shenzen over ocean and mountain, meditated by computer analytics from Bentonville. We were surrounded by corn fields that stretch to horizon. Corn for ethanol, to make beef, to make the syrup that fuels teenage athletes and the immigrant labor that brings organic produce to table. They spoke so righteously of their independent self-reliance using this English language, our Roman alphabet and Arab numerals. You think you can unsubscribe? You think you can stop eating and sleeping too?