I am a communist. The American flag is the American rag. There is nothing about capitalism that welds an economic system from the chicken scratch that is America to the landscape it anthologizes. As a culture, you are about greed. You are about racism and hatred. Your flag is wrung, drenched in blood. American life is the accoutrement. You make stuff. You consume stuff. You cram stuff into your homes and mouths. America is indifferent. Go to any American suburban two-car-garage, and open the door. Your America is stuff. Your America is a city on top of a garbage dump. Your flag symbolizes stuff. It goes to your core. The animal in you fixates on a paroxysm of bitterness, apoplexy and the hemorrhagic, septicaemic derangement of a loyalty that in truth, is a treasonous fetish of repugnant enmity. Your sacred flag is the excess of self-indulgence. How is it that we are compelled to salute a piece of cloth. Give up our lives for a piece of cloth. Wipe our feet with a piece of cloth. Your flag is a debauchery of unrestraint. Your supercilious history is one of imperious pretension. Rotary club, be gone. Your flag embodies conceit, hubris, inequality, the ritual of pomposity. Finally, you reduce your own flag to stuff. In the end, it’s still all about the stuff.  You pledge allegiance to the free market that is all your stuff. Your flag is the stuff of human extinction. I disdain the systems you make. Homo sapiens are the species that deserve the scorn they so richly wallow in.