There are a thousand reasons to despair, but one really to rejoice: we are alive. And many of the former reasons, as true as they are, or seem, by express intent or secret design, ignore our life-in-brief as the source of all epiphany or agony, reason or refutation, injustice or revolt. The comedy writ large need not ignore anything real, be it tragedy, romance, madness or poverty, all is included and acknowledged, but when one or more of these reasons would cast a permanent shadow over our elemental gratitude the wheel turns against any solution. Futility itself may not only be the font but aim of these — reasons — and it’s up to us when they seem to arrive without an owner (from Unreason?), or by false prophets of woe, or from the “invisible hand” of the Market, State or God, to resist, to rebel. We are not looking for a morality if we breathe the ethos of gratitude but a fertile solitude and a comrade to lift us when we fall. Let the sophist’s who cavil to degrade concoct futilities for their grave. To affirm joy is the solidarity of the unafraid — to become heroes of the everyday.