Originally money was simply a receipt;
if u brought two chickens to the temple
to sacrifice on the alter, the priest gave
u a slip of papyrus that said 'two
chickens' & u'd go to the baker & get a loaf
of bread & hand the baker the slip
worth two chickens, which is a lot
for a loaf of bread; so the next time
u bring a cow to the temple &
get a piece of paper that said a cow;
well, says the baker, moving up in the world
are ya? So u write 'my house'
on a piece of paper & trade it for a horse
& u just sold ur house for a horse;
so as long as u've got paper & ink
& collateral u have money;
now obviously where there's money
there's crime so someone with only
pen & ink can make receipts for things
they don't possess & pass them off as
wealth; think subprime morgages

I am planning for a future that doesn't yet exist
I have calculated salaries I don't have
morgages for homes I don't own
hospital bills I don't yet need
I'm not sure if I have ever existed in the moment
At least,
Not this moment and not the next
I wish I could stay in my bed all day
A small patter of rain, a moment of peace, without boredom
I fail, of course,
I always seem to continue with my other plan
I keep my head down low
I keep myself shrunk into a sliver, barely a slice of a shadow
And I wonder why I'm not happy
And I wonder why nothing ever happens
And I wonder why I feel guilty all the time