They walk around critical and self-righteous, inflated with a justice of their making and secure in the wisdom of being what they are rather than what they could have been and really wish to be. They make a virtue of abstention, of wishful constipation, of judgmental neutrality, this oxymoron, the favourite of the disabled. Topped by a thin layer of coagulated fat, a bubble of enraged and maddened envy is boiling underneath - from Murmansk to Athens and from Prague to Dresden. It is a force to reckon with. The tide of capitalism has lifted few yachts and no one else's boats.
People feel cheated.
They feel used and abused. They feel conned out of their dignity and their possessions and their future. They look around and see island castles surrounded by oceans of physical and moral filth. This is no decadence because it has no aesthetic values to ameliorate it. It is as ugly as the survival of the thiefest.