Friday, 22 August 2008

Jack Pickles in my soul at midnight with blood and fire!

This is what it has come to! To have fallen so low that a rat like Jack can invade my soul at midnight with blood and fire and poison! Go away! O Satan, your clown will not drag me into the pit! I don't care how much money you have.

Bats, worms, spiders, blood, FTSE 100, maggots, blood, Dow Jones, blood! In a twisted nightmare world far from God and his holy angels I dive in this chaotic mood, this evil atmosphere without the sweet smile of any banker or trader who holds Big Herb in his heart like a little dove. Ganesh is crying. Real tears, man! The destruction of a vision? The end of a golden dream? Or is this just a dark night of the soul? In the morning, will I hear the birds singing in the trees? Will I see the sun again? Or will I be gone, dragged off to an infernal land where money is not respected? O Jesus, save me! Big Jesus H. Christ! I need your love. I am lost in the night! I am covered in blood! My money is all burnt to ashes. Ashes in my mouth!

The desert is calling me! The ghosts! I can hear them in the desert. But I can't make it. Jack is in my soul, and my head. Jack wants me dead. I am not you. I am not you. Do you hear me, Jack? I am not you. Get out of my head! Leave me alone!

A time will come.

Believe me now, mofos.

A time will come.

I am getting stronger. The dark side is getting stronger. LET IT TAKE ME! What do I care? I am beyond good and evil.

What am I saying? This can't be me. THIS IS NOT ME! I is an other. O Rimbaud, you were right. I is an other.

How I envy the simple bankers, the traders, the analysts, the financial journalists! I wish I could be like them. I wish I could lose my PAIN! I wish I could lose my WISDOM! I wish I could lose my SOUL!

Peace. Give me peace. Peace. And money. A few quid to buy myself a lobotomy. I don't want much out of life.