Merging With Thoughts You'd Never Dare To Dream.

This line from a Tubeway Army song of the late seventies summarises the state in which huge numbers of the people in this country live.
For example, I took a day off from spending money today, and so I didn't go out.
And my neighbour didn't go out either. As if he was afraid I'd get some privacy, something I thrive on but something which terrifies him.
He stayed in all day, and tried to 'relate' to any random noise coming from my flat, like some sort of leech or poison ivy, sucking the life out of a host which isn't actually there.
If only it was. Then he would have something to resent, something to energise his dead body into pretending that it was alive, a way of leaning up against something else like a poorly built shanty.

There are millions of creatures like this in Britain; they have no self, no mind, just a collection of gelatinous reactions like something bred in a Petrie Dish.
The reason why Howard Roark was so quiet was that he had never had sufficient privacy to allow himself to express.
Because a Human Being expresses things of value, things which are immediately attacked in the attempt to bury them under the weight of fraudulent assertion, the assertion that the expressions were for anybody's benefit but his own.

Well get this, altruists: they aren't for you!