The image I have in my mind as I sit here now is an opening scene in the old television show Kung Fu, in which the monastery has hundreds of candles burning and flickering. Metaphorically speaking, each one of those candles represented, for me, hope that this incredibly highly-valued market would actually turn lower in a meaningful way. Indeed, early in February, it seemed that the few candles that were allowed to remain suddenly starting shooting three-foot flames toward the ceiling.
Sadly, I think there’s about one birthday cake-sized candle left, and the market has already unzipped its pants and is standing over it. Virtually every major index, as I’ve written with increasing despair lately, seems poised to rocket higher on another meaningful upleg. Volatility, the very essence of the sort of fear that is my stock in in trade, has been smothered in its crib for the whole of 2018, as it approaches single digit levels.