Was happiness the virtual videoscreen shining in the vulgar amusement arcade? Was it all along just collections of shiny technology and the worship of the plastic Barbie doll icon? Wow! Maybe happiness was my shiny comicbooks! Don't tell me it was my testosterone levels coupled with thoughts of Pamela Anderson sillicone? Was happiness my cable TV? Was happiness always to be distracted by bright and vivid technologies? Next you'll be telling me happiness was to marry the honourable wife and dutifully impregnate her in order to bring more poor souls into the world. Is happiness disseminated and discussed on the internet? Is happiness the MTV soundbite or the perfect grin of the politician? Happiness is silken shirts and mascaras, happiness is wonderbras and modems! Happiness the bright and florid fashions promoted by arrogant, vain, greedy little models! Is happiness the postmodern ironic joke in the glossy magazine? Maybe happiness is an ideal homes exhibition or a corporate skyscraper, maybe it's a stiff upper lip or a slice of apple pie. Maybe happiness is the police nightstick battering you into oblivion, or the handcuff that keeps you from straying. Happiness is perhaps the vain projections of love you have for some girlie, or the unproven idea that somebody loves you. This is all just clutter, just objects, just what'll turn up on the scrapheap someday as so much rubble and crap, as the money'll wear away and the corporations'll destroy themselves and your love'll die and you'll grow to hate the object of your desires and it'll be disintegrated away gradually, till you find that once again you're back at square one, alone, cold, you'll find that you haven't advanced one inch.