Life is but a terminal diseaseSo a pessimistic acquaintance of mine once proclaimed. I don't think we should contemplate our five senses nor our Freudian egos or ids (mistranslation of 'it') in this way. After all, everyone living in the developed world, bar, I grant you, those suffering from unbearably painful illnesses has something to live for, whether a can of Heineken, another measly cash handout from the welfare state, the light of day (literally: a serotonin booster) or the likelihood of happiness in the future. As little red haired Annie sings, Tomorrow, tomorrow, I love you tomorrow, you're only a day away…'
I believe in liberated capitalist markets but only insofar as they generate social well-being – ie. local employment; quality products and services that will improve the calibre of life for everyone. Supporting competition (anti-trust) laws and reasonably restrictive regulations proportional to the size and capability of their target enterprises, imposed with the objective of ensuring environmental sustainability, is indispensable for meeting our obligation towards future generations (inter-generational responsibility) especially when we are childless ourselves. I am furthermore skeptical of the notion of choice: simply increasing the availability of potential materialistic options does not translate as a broadening of choices since choice is necessarily a mental process. If choices are too numerous for the average human being to know their number and make comparisons logically the word then becomes a misnomer. At the opposite end of the spectrum, if cultural and social expectations cloud and narrow our paths too restrictively we become disillusioned by the illusion of incarceration. Education, or perhaps more specifically a heuristic society/ culture that promotes useful education, is also a quintessential instrument in the alleviation of poverty.
It would be shortsighted to focus on objective causes of unhappiness such as financial insolvency when so much depression is the nefarious prodigy of emtional/ hormonal activity, amorous departures and neurological disorders. Yet even if we remain ignorant of the available remedies and despair over the very fact that as intelligent beings our despondency is reasoned are therefore incontrovertible, in infinitely greater measure we are likely to remember that there is hope. If all else fails our self-preserving antediluvian instinct for survival, in whatever horrifically mutated form it currently resides (I'll continue smiling fallaciously at my loathsome boss because someone else is, betimes, likely to accept my offer of employment) shall, mercifully, save us.
Here's a war song to raise the spirits (before we drink them):
_Pack up your troubles in your old kit bag and smile, smile, smile.
While there's a lucifer to light your fag, smile boys that the style.
What's the use of worrying, it never was worth while, so
Pack up your troubles in your old kit bag and smile, smile, smile :-) _