Some people choose to substantiate their existence with capital gain, social standing and a career descent that gives us mere 9-5er‘s severe social vertigo.
21st century Britain is still a mere infant, growing up without its predecessor’s religious coherence, choosing to substitute family values for gang culture, drug abuse and promiscuity. Dangerous propaganda masquerades as rap and pop music encouraging teenage girls to jiggle like a dashboard Hawaiian dolly; seemingly begging for sex like a ravenous wolf blowing at the piglet’s door.
Dog-shit-ripe with social anxiety it’s no wonder we have evolved into a spiritually concave and emotionally vulnerable nation (and moreover generation) that is in more denial than charity workers who claim to ‘do it for others and never their own personal satisfaction’. No place is the void more prevalent than London; the capital and therefore the recalcitrant zit for concentrated perniciousness on Britain’s increasingly directionless face.
My boyfriend’s face is like a gnarled Etch-a-Sketch image: each new premature line and negative expression tells of a life that London has drawn upon him; he has become unknowingly subservient to its needless decay.
Reaching for the tangible ‘I’ve made it’ rather than the non-corporeal spirituality which tells us ‘we don‘t have to make it‘, it’s becoming as easy to undermine the structural unity of our personal existence as it is to topple a block of flats based on a foundation of Haribo and birthday wishes. How are we to remain centred when we are grounding ourselves around unstable concepts such as property, relationships and careers?
In the 21st century ‘purpose drought’ we are all clawing for a reason to exist. Any good psychotherapist will tell you that people need purpose in order to live happily. If you know that you must pray to the East twelve times a day or roll naked in crucifixes once a month whilst eating only bibles then you have a purpose, a religious destiny.
But if, like me, you regard religion as the original weapon of mass destruction (or at least a highly effective catalyst) and have as much enthusiasm for climbing ‘the ladder’ as City boys have for cocaine abstinence, then how do you repair the indelible holes in your purpose pockets? You can endeavour to stitch these holes via superficial means (drink, drugs, sex, money in the bank, two bedrooms overlooking the Thames) but you will have more long-term success selling rationality to the Taliban.
When moving to London, the capital city, the express till of dreams, one assumes that a greatly fulfilling destiny is as keen to mount us as a crack-addicted prostitute climbing into a chauffer-driven Bentley. Void of any semblance of direction we have created the worst religious following of all – hyper-capitalism as a reason to exist. This is not sustainable, not healthy and most of all not worthy of our great potential as human beings. Please, I beg of you, take stock and re-order your ‘list of importance’. In this period of financial concern, what better time to find real self worth.