We've all been infected with rage

It didn't come from a lab or involve monkeys, but we've all been infected with rage.

You can't turn on the news with hearing about some nutter in a van mowing down tourists, blood-thirsty groups mercilessly murdering their own, kids shooting their classmates or a crazed lover seeking revenge.

Stories shocking in their extremity, as well as their frequency. Some blame death metal, others blame video games and fingers get pointed at the internet, but surely these are just holding up mirrors to our broken society.

You could argue that our police system means these crimes are reported and the media means we're exposed to them, that the infection has always been there, we just didn't know about it. But what about the rage doesn't break the law or warrant a news piece.

This rage, bubbling beneath the surface of every human face; in a rolled eye, a pursed lip and a huffed sigh. It thrives in passive aggressive notes, heated exchanges with strangers and angry social media post.

We are at breaking point. Modernity has only increased and prolonged a feckless agony.

It was easy in the old days when all we needed to do was farm a field and hunt for food. Our needs were being met. Then came civilization (as they laughably call it) when you were either a slave, destined to live hauling huge stones to the top of a mountain to build a temple or you were a king. The only people conducting a smash and grab for money and power was - and still is - the elite few.

In those days, workers had no option. They didn't know any different; opportunity was only fortuned to the privileged. They all knew their place and the only worry was putting food on the table. They didn't even need to worry about finding a mate, as it was all circumstantial.

Now, we're promised the moon on a stick. Each and every one of us can achieve whatever our heart desires. Seven billion of us can all become Premier League footballers, critically acclaimed writers or protagonists in our own fairytale romance.

We've been sold a lie. Many of us don't know what we want or what it's all for. Our daily existential crisis starts with a train, bus or car ride where we're forced into the paths of other people.

These people are barriers to our lives. They stop us sitting down, travelling comfortably, being punctual, airing opinions on impersonal digital platforms, efficiently getting things done and breaking free from Victorian social convention.

That's just the physical. The metaphysical frustrations are suffocating in their demands. Social media bullies us into inadequacy, pressurises us into an idealised self and increases the anxiety of our public behaviour. Depression is on the increase due to being discontented with our jobs, financial situations, infrastructure, and relationships. We're starving our souls and hearts, while our minds endure a feeding frenzy of information.

The societal perfect storm exists in every tut at recalcitrant cyclists, every hand gesture at dithering drivers, every expletive at the ergonomically sub-optimal office kitchenette. It resides in the vexation at the fifth delayed morning train that week. It lingers in the silent screams of inner anguish. And it feasts on the rage we feel at the simple fact we will never claw our way up through Maslow's four layers of sedimentary bullshit to breathe the glorious air of self-actualisation.

We're infected with rage. It's turned us into zombies. But its banality doesn't make it worthy of a Hollywood blockbuster.