markets (3rd draft)

months went by
she would not answer his phone calls. she would not return his letters
and so The Artist turned squarely to face the market

this was not a calm, spare-time walk through the park. this was not weekend fund-swapping on etrade. confused, hurt, and broken, The Artist ran screaming through the halls of international finance, shooting bullets into the ceiling. dylan klebold. tyler durden. a brutal, stockholm, kidnap and armed robbery of the exchanges
of time and money and material

forbes remembers this time as a financial ‘un chien andalou'. many shirts were lost. sectors folded like origami. The Artist rode the rapids on the front of the canoe, standing up, chest puffed massively. ripping money from the mouths of others, manipulating two basic indicators:

1. the youth and beauty of women
2. the derivation of stories

these are the only market forces really. these are the rocks upon which all else is built.

traditional economics assumes that we will behave rationally. that we will act in our own best interest. traditional economics has never been to a bar before. never been to a party. never seen the men at 2am, ready to do anything

this is the only thing we live for, the reason we write songs & build highways. the reason we have cars and boats and jewelry. the skin on your neck, your hair as you dance

my god your hair as you dance. the way that your arms move

there's only one catch though: this value is finite and diminishing always. the iron is white-hot, but only for a moment. already your body is less sexy. your skin is less taut. by age 55 women are invisible ghosts. please step aside, your husband would like to see something else now

our economy is built on an endless supply of youngness
of lithe

contract theory, reversal derivatives, old debt
utility function, risk-neutrality, adverse selection
please please please let her show me
please give me just one taste just the smallest taste i'll do anything
i'll build a whole society, i'll work until my eyes bleed

fold this into Oliver Hart's moral hazard models and very quickly you see a pattern:
our money is a floor-mounted mirror
this is all just to look up your skirt

but wasn't there a second thing?

the idea that there are stories
the idea that it isn't just meaningless noise
the idea that your actions matter, that one thing happens and then the next. that we are rewarded for behavior
the idea that it is snowing in chicago because of barometric pressure and dew points and relative humidity instead of God hates us

people think they can measure things and with this you can fool them, they're ready to swallow anything
buy my company my product my market share
it means this because of this

armed with this, violent and fearless
The Artist scooped up the whole earth

if i own everything then she cannot ignore me