My name is Robert and I am addicted to everything. Addicts have to pay for what they get. I am addicted to everything that can be taken from me, like oxygen. Nothing is free. So here in this breathing I find capital. I am addicted to everything that allows me to remain myself, and for that one needs capital. If I do not pay my bill, the supply is cut off.

Suffering is loss; to lose something is to suffer. Everything in time is lost. To gain is pleasure; to lose is pain. This continuous finding and losing seems endless as experience, but there is this knowledge, this foreknowledge of an end. An end to beginnings and endings? But if there is no end then what is death? Is it capitalists all the way down?

What really is the use of complaining about the details. To whom is one complaining? The message of the post-modern human may be that no one is listening. " Life is not a problem to be solved, but an experience of reality."