Love Potion Number Nine
I took my troubles down to Madame Ruth
You know that gypsy with the gold-capped tooth
She's got a pad down on Thirty-Fourth and Vine
Selling little bottles of love potion number nine
I told her that I was a flop with chics
I've been this way since 1956
She looked at my palm and she made a magic sign
She said "What you need is love potion number nine"
She bent down and turned around and gave me a wink
She said "I'm gonna make it up right here in the sink"
It smelled like turpentine, it looked like Indian ink
I held my nose, I closed my eyes, I took a drink
I didn't know if it was day or night
I started kissing everything in sight
But when I kissed a cop down on Thirty-Fourth and Vine
He broke my little bottle of Love Potion…
When all subsidized fiscal space, borrowing at capacity at reasonable rates and seigniorage has been consumed, and Easy Street ain’t no more, from what cliff will governments throw us out, from that of deep recession or from that of runaway inflation, or from both at the same time?
Notgelt – emergency money a timely British Museum exhibition in times of Covid-19
MMT’s High Priests assure us their intention is to issue money only to make sure that all unused resources are put to a productive use, but never so much as for inflation to take off. Hah! As if inflation is such a precise concept with equal consequences for all. Those who own shares and houses have clearly enjoyed the current “low” inflation much more than those who don’t.
