In Search for Lost TIme

     It seems like a cultural bias that you are suppose to cry when something bad happens, when you lose a loved one, when you get fired from your job, when you break up a relationship. If you don't cry then you don't let out grief and if you don't let out grief then obviously you aren't human right? I find that to be far too economic from the truth. There is another expression that is not delved in deeply enough and perhaps its because it is less expected or people feel that it is wrong, but nevertheless it is still one of the many means in which the feeling of despair is communicated through.
     If you've ever lost a loved one you can resonate there are deep delves of grief and crying is one medium in which it is shown through but I find a more common, less explored, and a great taboo to feel nothing. No tears, no swelling, no hurt stomach just a confusion of what to do, what to say, how to react. All that is shown is a distant hole in your heart that you know can never be mended, replaced, or changed, you could cover it up like putting a painting over a big, unerasable mark on the wall, all the while knowing that if you ever knocked it over, intentionally or accidentally the mark would always show as a constant reminder of what was lost.
     For a long time I would go to sleep very late, in the mingles before I would close my eyes for a second as if to denounce the compartment I was on but later rise up wide eyed and scarcely tired before remitting to the exact same cycle. And then while heading toward my bed I would set my intent on sleeping when only just taking a nap which when I would wake up again I would routinely off my already closed light, and put my book back on its already supposed shelf, and take my glasses off in its predetermined manner. And while I would finally mater long enough to sleep I would think about the stories I read and the facts I learned and see that my digesting would take an odd twist to pose myself as the head of the novel the trailed parent of an unnamed spouse, the neighbor to a rather rich, rather peculiar fellow, and of course the unformed sailor who sought revenge against a whale.
     It astonishes me to find myself in a delicate state of darkness in which I could restlessly apply myself in the inkling of dark before light where I would be participating in terribly abnormal ways. I feel that after the sudden rectitude in which I had gone through I had known a quench for something I couldn't put words to and as so I would perform in such erratic movements. And thus I would know that I was not in search for the moral disbelief I lead myself to think but rather in search of lost time.

The Broken Window Fallacy

     It was a quiet and unrequited day in rural England, the adults were off to work the birds were chirping and, the kids were out in the streets playing games. There was one game in particular that was garnering loads of interest between the town. A game of cricket between two twins, Ronnie and Donnie. Ronnie is up to bat against his brother and with all hope put on him he swings the bat so hard it almost leaps out if his hands. The ball sores over field and strikes through the window of a tailor's shop cementing a solid hole in the wall. The tailor was obviously extremely upset and a crowd gathers around the shattered glass, further lamenting his already dire problem.
     Ronnie, quick on his feet, defended himself saying,"This doesn't have to be bad! Because the window is broken, the tailor will have to buy a new one, which will give work to a glazier. Then they will have more money to spend elsewhere and as a product our economy will be able to be stimulated resulting to a good fortune for everyone in this town." And in time the crowd quickly agreed to this assertion and went own with their day happy to know that there economy would grow as a result of this incident which at first glance seemed to terrible to be reconciled with.
     But sadly the crowd wasn't aware of the whole truth. The tailor was saving up his money to dine in a fine restaurant with his wife on their anniversary, but now he would have to invest it into replacing the window. The economy was not one window worth's richer, but one dinner poorer. Because the window was broken, the economic activity that occurs is less effective at satisfying the wants of the people than it would have been had that not had happened.
How Disasters Help, Hurricane Sandy Helps the Economy, Reckonings: After the Horror.
     According the the articles above, the best way to aid our economies would be to blow up all our cities to ashes and leave the pick up to the government. Going back to the window metaphor, the kid has reduced the bakers disposable income meaning he can't invest in some other luxury. So maybe the broken window does turn out to help the glazier, but at the same time it robs certain industries, and reduce the amount spent on certain goods. Furthermore to debunk this myth the payment in this sort is for maintenance, which just give route to a lack of truly new goods which do induct production and in sort the economy instead of simply a service cost. All this simply goes to point out that destruction- as well as its costs- don't pay in such an economic sense.