Everyone's looking for something they'll never find.

Sometimes it feels like there's no point in being critical. At this point, everyone's a critic. Why even have opinions anymore? The opinion has already been thought. It's already been critiqued, and the critique has already been critiqued.

There's no such thing as privacy. Everyone is on display. Gone are novelty and discovery, all that remains is excess. Thus, life is turned upside down: one desires not a moment of intimacy or depravity, but merely a moment of peace, a moment of reservation. In a world of endless stimulation, the heart and mind grow tired and skeptical, and beneath our trivial desires invented by culture and business, we all yearn for simplicity. But naming it as such is sacrelige. Why even have opinions anymore?

The only solace we can take is in the hopes of a revolution that will never materialize. For even if we found the drive, who would we revolt against? The objects of our undoing are obfuscated, a tangled web of systems and designs, a completely decentralized tyranny. We can't storm the Red Square. We can't storm the Capitol. What good would it do? We would be characterized as spoiled children, meanwhile the greedy few continue to profit from our pain, making a mockery of us for the whole world to laugh at.

In spite of their alleged distaste for government, corporations and the rich use governments like a thief uses the night. Government's only function is to serve as a target for humanity's discontent, something to point the finger at while the wealthy rob everyone blind under cover of darkness. 

The disparity of wealth grows each day, each second. What happens when there is no more wealth left to siphon from us? When all the money in the world is held by a few? Are the rest of us doomed to be enslaved?

If hope is the last to die, then what follows the death of hope?