Life of the Bourgeoisie

It's a damn good life.
Life of masturbation,
Life of indulgence of the mind.
I wouldn't wish any other life for myself.

The ultimate pleasure in life is having the time to contemplate the nature of pleasure.
The ultimate pleasure in life is having time!
Having time to make choices.
Having choices!
To be!

But let's not forget that we are really in the "ruling class,"
That we ought not forget how the vast majority of fellow brothers live,
We must not become all self-servingly consumed,
Turning to our pains and sufferings are mere vanities.

We have to care truly for the poor,
To feel their misery,
To conjecture their misery,
To offer assistance,
To forbear interference.

But no Man can witness the dying innocent without the deepest existential anger,
Except those who are zealously fanatical; for they truly are not Men.
Isn't it human nature to empathize?
Isn't it human nature to do?
Isn't it human nature to feel compulsion?

But let's not stand on the pulpit called "nature,"
How many mistakes have Men made in the name of "essence"?
Gather like the tenacious squirrel,
Spread thy nuts in many holes,
But do this without seeking requital.

The bourgeois wise man is a contradictory man,
Self-limiting yet with imperial desires for everything.

Spreading likens man to "nature,"
Containment likens man to "god."
For god is stoicism practiced as nature.

Self-limiting-walking-sensing-conscious-thinking-matter,
A bourgeoisie's life.

As for humanity, must we always have the foie gras?
(For have we duties to those who are not dutiful?)