When the IQ of a crowd reaches 38, I usually sell.
In financial terms, this is called a mental stop-loss.
What Comes After the Great Unwinding? (Reuters)
I would sell my life to avoid
the pain that begins in the crib
with its bars or perhaps
with your first breath
when the planets drill
your future into you.
Poem by Anne Sexton, The Big Boots of Pain
These I assume were words so deeply meant
They cut themselves in stone for permanent
Like trouble in the brow above the eyes:
TAKE CARE TO SELL YOUR HORSE BEFORE HE DIES
THE ART OF LIFE IS PASSING LOSSES ON.
Poem by Robert Frost, The Ingenuities of Debt
P.S. All bleeding eventually ends.
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