crenelations

I wanted

To write

A poem

About a toothless

Woman and

The crenellations of her

Mouth.  I suppose now.

I need to write

Another.

Found Three

Until the dealer Has More wit, It is crazy Until the dealer Has More wit. It is crazy. The Emperor is crazy. Does not use any drug, but drink too much, is impressive. Already tired of talking to him, I try to give advice, but it's not enough

Found Two

A wider range of yoghurts, would be if it was Marmalade. It's not because she didn't order. I didn't order it because it supposedly about a wider range of yoghurts wasn't interested. And if it were, it would not back his eyelids.

Zero Error

In
the afternoon. Too Much.
A large and soft
parade on the lawn.
A win:
I'm with my conditioning
almost restored. No conflict
between me and her. The way
it came, had a great
relationship. And, when returned,
zero error.

Water finds Its own level.

Some theories of the pyramids say that the Egyptian engineers built the foundations on this simple principle. Others know that it means water disappears. And appears when needed. It has a mind of its own.


And when, it falls from the sky, as a little drop, it doesn’t think. It is water. In spite of all the equations scientists have, it goes down. It falls from the sky and goes down until it can’t go down any more.


It hits the ground and still it wants to go down. Into or across the soil, it doesn’t care. If it mixes with the soil and takes some with it, the drop doesn’t care. It is but one drop.


But the drop has brothers, cousins. A motion, a look, a touch, they are all the same – each drop takes a grain of sand, a lump of soil. And it finds its own level; coursing alone yet cascading in consanguinity.


A rivulet forms. A gush. Eventually a torrent. Flows are those drops, each with their own name from distant lands. The soil relents – rock is carved.


The lovers stand at the edge of the canyon, and narrator knows that no matter how wide and deep the canyon, each drop only makes it deeper and wider still.

Pygmalion

Inch by
Inch and swing
By swing the hammer
Beats the chisel. The rock, veined
Like cheese but hard like cold you cannot
ignore. The rock yields: A face
and arms
And a longing glance
the artist thinks He frees from
its prison. He falls in love
with his
Creation, only
Ignorant that
He exists
Only because she
Created him.

Monemt in the Sun.

Einstein
is a nobody
without
Nineteen
Oh Five.

Mother

When I was younger
I thought I had the best Mommy ever.
That wasn't fair and couldn't be true.
But now I'm older and have context to compare;
I've seen a bunch, now I'm certain I do.

On "how markets fail"

Here's the thing... This is an interesting and good book, but the title mis-sells and mis-lables it. It is not in any way a specific look at market failure. If you want that, look here: This Time Is Different: Eight Centuries of Financial Folly

What it is is a history of financial markets through time, but focused on some of the intellectual ideas driving some policy. It suffers from recency bias and a short time frame. The history is shown through a left-leaning frame, and the great bogyman is an overwhelming adherence to Free-market Ideologies! They are scary, but it felt rather simplistic. It is a good starting point, but it lacks objectivity. The author didn't seem to even pretend towards objectivity. He was aware of his biases. I'm just afraid this is one of those books that is sold towards everyone but will sway no one.

To save you time, I will provide a summary here in a Q & A format.

Q: What causes market failure?

A: Neoliberalism

To define that term, look here: A Brief History of Neoliberalism.