The very fact that all actions in our lives are now predicated upon the possible euphoria some tasks may produce should be clearly recognized as indication of how pitifully we feel inside. Entertainment is a form of sedation, and experiencing it is the only goal we have. If it were not the ideal way to spend time, we wouldn’t associate boredom with depression - at least not so predominantly. There’s no room even for a voice that calls for the quieting of cheer. I haven’t read Noam Chomsky’s Manufacturing Consent, but I feel a point similar to this would have to be made in it; for a govnerment or wealth class to be able to manipulate people, they have to first at least establish a sense of decentralized power not emblematic of a democracy, and then they have to continuously project images and ideas fawning about the American dream and how good it is to be happy.

I have to say: if all our joys and hope and optimism and love for living were entirely constructed on our own, we wouldn’t be such a dissonant amalgamation of sufferers competing over paychecks and opportunities; we would be up in arms demanding peace and an understandable, practical regimen for living in America. One has to - absolutely must - take at least a gander at this fact. The disparity between our own lives and the commercials that inspire us, Christ, what the fuck. Is anyone still under the impression that all of that is even possible? We are being misled. A toll on our integrity and communal affection has been taken. Our passion hindered. Cowering in fear that our next may be our last breath, we don’t trust each other but we all believe we’re supporting the perfect lifestyle.