The market is doing this little wiggle, ever so poetically, that completely mesmerizes me. I gaze at these charts and my hyper-critical eye sees little-to-no flaw whatsoever. Everything’s tight, and right. It’s like a greatest hits album out there.
But I have to control myself, temper my impulses to buy, because there’s a joker on the horizon. Tomorrow isn’t promised. After all this is May and there are waters to sail and garden parties to plan. So I sit and wait and hear about jobs. But not the farming jobs, we couldn’t care less about farm jobs. Those are for robots and migrants.
People overestimate their importance, forgetting how the horse was replaced by the auto. Now what work is given to horses? They are mostly novelty—commissioned to compete as entertainment. I digress.
Don’t be a hero tomorrow. Let the big guys slug it out for the first hour or so, then as the dust settles start looking for your spots.
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