People that sit on the edge of the Grand Canyon keep falling in. They just can’t help it. As they stand up to leave the canyon starts moving and they intuit some special significance in it. They think they hear some name being called that they hadn’t known was theirs. But that shit ain’t real. Them fuckers just fall. Now, if you sit on the edge of America it’s much the same. The view is splendid, but don’t you stand your ass up to go — oh, no. Your depth perception will get all fucked up and before you know it you’ll be falling, too. But there’s nothing to fall into — no village of Supai with mules carrying down tribal Amazon orders for the US Mail. You just fall and you never stop, you just stay in that state of clarity knowing that that damn canyon was bigger and more silent than your brain thought, stupid headcheese always looking for a human quality to it all. America has no human quality, so you best not dangle your legs over the edge before you find out the hard way. Stay behind the railing, folks.