Yes, I hope you have an Astral Christmas. I'll be back on Monday 4th January.
Sunday, 20 December 2009
Thursday, 17 December 2009
First of all, I want to apologize for yesterday's post. What the fuck was that all about? Never mind. I just wish I could control my writing. If you, dear reader, never know what's coming next, how do you think I feel? It's terrifying! But I won't delete the post. I quite like the Celine quote.
Anyway, let's try and be a bit more positive today, eh? Let's take a look at Vinayak Gowrish, Adnan Zaman, Pascal Vaghar, and Sameer Khoury. What have these poor guys been charged with? Well, the SEC reckons Vin and Addy stole confidential information from their firms (TPG Capital and Lazard Freres and Co.) and then passed it to their mates Pascal and Sam; who then went on to trade stock and options and make a killing - around $500,000 in illicit profits! That's what the SEC says. ILLICIT PROFITS!!!
Oh, I can't get too worked up about it. I remember Jack Pickles once said to me: 'Mikey, money is money. It doesn't matter how you get it. JUST GET IT!' And I was shocked at the time. We went our separate ways soon after. I became the world's foremost financial shaman. Jack became the world's most demonic financier. But who chose the right path? Sure, I have the respect and the love of the business community, but Jack is the billionaire, the one with the homes in London, New York, and the Cayman Islands (his main residence). He's the one with all the hot birds, the Ferraris, the art collection, the … while I spend most of my time listening to disembodied voices and socializing with the ghosts of financiers, up to my neck in fucking ectoplasm. I'm getting depressed again.
O Master, Jack is owned by Satan, man. Get a grip!
Yeah, I suppose so.
And you'll be a god one day. That's real power!
Thank you, my child. Yeah, I've got to stay focused.
Everyone loves you in the world of spirit. Keep the faith.
Oh, I will.
Posted by Michael Fowke at 12:22
Tuesday, 15 December 2009
Yeah, man. Robert Kelly ain't gonna be no Bank of America chief executive, man. He's staying at BNY Mellon as chief executive. He's gonna burn there for many years yet. That's what he wants to do. And that's what I want him to do. Big Herb and Ganesh the elephant god are completely supportive. Even the ghosts of the dead financiers approve. We all want Mr Kelly to stay at BNY Mellon. Mr Kelly wants to stay! You fucking understand that, BofA?! HE WANTS TO STAY! He ain't going nowhere.
Well, I have been speaking to Bobby about those goddamn BofA motherfuckers trying to tear him away from his spiritual home, and this is what the crazy cat told me: 'Mikey, don't these dumb fucks ever take no for an answer, eh? And didn't they want you to be their global wealth chief last year? (Yeah, Bobby. They're a bunch of fucking nutjobs. I told them to piss off. Bunch of fucking freaks.) Yeah. It's not as if the loons know anything about mystical capitalism anyway. What they got, three or four shamans, tops? If they've got five I'll be amazed. And they want me to work for them? Get the fuck outta here! Am I right? (How many financial shamans you got at BNY Mellon?) I'll be honest with you, Mike, not as many as we would like. We're starting small, man. Slowly building our mystical operation. But when the New Depression is over - BAM! We'll be there, burning it up like you won't believe. (Where, Bobby?) Come on, Mike. (Where, Bobby? Please. You know I love it when chief execs talk shit.) Mikey, we'll be THERE! On the astral plane! 24/7! Burning, burning, burning, with Bobby Diamond. The other Bobby. Bobby Hashemi as well. You dig me, baby?'
Stupid question. Of course I dig.
Posted by Michael Fowke at 18:35
Monday, 14 December 2009
When I was alive before the creation of the universe, possible future time tragedies were played out in the cell of my soul with darkness. There were no fires. Cash did not flow. Love did not trickle down. The skulls of capitalists were scattered over the City like so many stars on the rag of the night sky.
Yes. Yes. Yes. Bankers, the communists want your EVERYTHING. They want the shirts off your backs. Is any more proof needed that Western civilization is almost at an end? You are being treated like criminals. What have you done to deserve this? Brown and Darling - oh, such desiccated half-men who have no shame! Why do they think they can steal the money you have toiled so long and hard for?
Bankers, you are not wankers. You are the children of the City, the children of the desert, mystical children, astral warriors! What you do is destiny. You did not choose this life. You were selected by higher powers to perform a sacred duty. So, may a terrible disaster befall any man or woman who interferes with your work! All the money in our reality belongs to you. The evil-doers - capable of nothing but evil - will be punished for their supertax. Superpain will come upon the superfools!
You must become the agents of the money gods. Forward, bankers, forward! You shall not retreat to the safety of your penthouse apartments. You will be in the wild desert wind, the storm of burning consciousness, and the horror, that will destroy the hearts of the superthieves. It is time to drink champagne. It is time to devour caviar. The season has arrived in which to make money and to spend it - uncontrollably and beyond reason! You will teach the cold earth wanderers a lesson they will never forget. Your real bonus will be the tears of your enemies, their wailing, and the gnashing of their teeth.
Let's sound the trumpets of death! They will signal the end, but not for you, dear ones. For them! Tragedies I have seen, oh yes. But we can turn my visions to your advantage. What is possible we will make impossible. What is written we will erase. You make your own luck in this shithole of a world.
O Master, it is a shithole, where only money makes sense - at least, to those refined enough to appreciate it.
O my child, welcome to the judgement. Where have you been?
Just lurking, Master. Waiting for the optimum moment to strike.
And what do you want to do now?
I want to burn them!
Certainly the communists! And not the burning we experience, but -
The burning that ends in ashes, my child.
Yes! The burning that ends in ashes! They have had it their own way for too long.
And now they must pay for their self-righteousness! Their unbearable smugness!
And the envy that taints their souls!
O my child, burning, burning, burning …
O my Master, burning, burning, burning …
Burning we are coming, destroying old scenes, creating new ones, with flames shooting from our fucking mouths!
They cannot hold us back. They cannot stop us. We are crashing through their sick, psychological barricades. They cannot kill us! They cannot kill our love!
But the love we have for money is killing them!
It burns them!
It burns them!
It burns them!
Oh, it burns them! Fuck!
Yes! Yes! Yes!
Yes! Yes! Yes!
Yes. Yes. Yes.
Friday, 11 December 2009
Culross Global Management has launched the LT Alpha fund. It is going to invest in illiquid hedge funds. Credit assets. I don't know.
O Big Herb, I am not sure I can take much more of this. Is this my destiny? Why was I chosen for this work? Nigel Blanshard reckons there are a huge number of illiquid instruments out there. Out where? Is he referring to the cosmos? What does Nigel know about the cosmos? This is so fucking crazy.
O Michael, you must keep the faith.
O Big Herb, I feel lost. This is worse than shaman's sickness.
O Michael, the way is long. No one knows where it will end. You must be strong. Think of T.E. Lawrence in the desert. Think of Jim Morrison. Think of Charles Manson. War. Music. Revolution. Now money. This is the money way. Think of the mystical children. They would do anything for you. You cannot let them down.
Posted by Michael Fowke at 12:37
Wednesday, 9 December 2009
Yeah, spiritually exhausted. Mentally exhausted. Whatever. Even physically exhausted. Astrally exhausted. My chakras are a mess. I'm really struggling to get to the end of this blogging year. Sure, I'll be taking two weeks off at Christmas, as usual. But …
Bloody hell. I was going to write about the tax on bankers' bonuses today. I haven't got the energy.
Funnily enough, I'm toying with the idea of becoming a full-time blogger next year. How would I cope with that? And what would I write about?
The internet puts insane pressure on you. I've written over 200,000 words on this blog. But is it enough? What would be enough? A billion words?
Have you read The Devils by Dostoyevsky? I'm a fan of his, yeah, but I could only read the first 200 pages or so. It was a load of waffle. Apparently, the end - according to Colin Wilson - is pretty good. Murders galore!
Have you read The Castle by Kafka? One of my favourites. But he didn't finish it. A stroke of genius, as far as I'm concerned - whether intentional or not. If you are searching for something, how will you ever find it? I'm not talking about your car keys. I mean God or perfection. Or just some fucking happiness, for Christ's sake!
It would have to be beautiful and hard as steel and make people ashamed of their existence.
Are you ashamed yet? I know I am.
Posted by Michael Fowke at 12:27
Tuesday, 8 December 2009
O my children, my brothers, my sisters, what did Brad Morrice see when he watched the storm?
Did he see subprime demons spewing fire? Did he see the terrible face of Satan? Were angry clouds chasing him through an astral sky? Was this an inner storm, a subconscious storm?
And did he tell Patti Dodge? Did he tell David Kenneally? Or did he keep the awful visions to himself?
O Master, he recorded his visions in the "Storm Watch"!
Yes, my child, of course - he kept a record. I would love to peruse this mystical document. O Brad, will you send me a copy? The internal reports of New Century, bound in the skin of the innocent!
O Master, is anyone really innocent, in this filthy, corrupt world?
O my child …
Posted by Michael Fowke at 12:12
Monday, 7 December 2009
They have 'really super people' at Janus Capital Group. Tim Armour says so. But what makes them so super?
They are visionary mystics and shamans like myself. Tim doesn't want to admit that. He doesn't want to tell the world the truth. So they are 'super'. They are 'very talented'. And that's fine. That's great. But we know they are covered in the ectoplasm of desert ghosts. We know of the burning that takes them so high in the astral sky. To us, this is natural. There is nothing to be ashamed of.
O Master, what can we do with Tim, to give him more confidence?
O my child, we can burn him with our love. So far, he has only been slightly warmed. Maybe he thinks that's enough.
But there ain't no such things as halfway crooks!
That's true. We will make him a gangsta of our love. We will take him all the way. He'll be one of our lil' homies.
Thursday, 3 December 2009
Warning: this has nothing to do with money.
God is not human.
God cannot be found in scripture.
God cannot be found in a building.
God cannot be found by the human intellect.
God cannot be found by the human imagination.
You cannot find God.
But lose your ego, lose yourself, lose your ludicrous humanity, and God will find you.
Posted by Michael Fowke at 22:54
Tuesday, 1 December 2009
The wild eyes of panthers in the skins of men! – Arthur Rimbaud
Oh my God! What the fuck is this shit?! No one told me about this. No one asked my permission. These FSA motherfuckers are out of control! They can't just let astral panthers - I presume we're talking astral panthers here, in the skins of 'established' business folk - go prowling around the City, biting lumps out of people. Because that's what will happen. You mark my words. I've written in this blog about astral tygers burning bright, but the panthers are just as bad. For fuck's sake!
Anyway, who are these panther slags? Well, we've got: Dominic Cadbury, Sarah Hogg, Colin Marshall, Brian Pitman and David Scholey.
Oh my God! I can't believe this. Someone wake me up and tell me it's a fucking nightmare.
Posted by Michael Fowke at 09:38
Friday, 27 November 2009
I can't follow the news all the time. Not when I'm confused. Not when my soul is aching. Not when. Not when I'm lost, neither floating (thank you) on the astral plane nor walking on this cold earth.
I wish I could write. I feel I'm letting you all down. I hardly have the energy to move my fingers over my laptop keyboard. I have lost my will. My ego has evaporated. This happens a lot. I cannot even hear the voices of the mystical children. Are they saying anything that needs to be
one of the mystical children? Speak to me, and I will try to hear. SPEAK TO ME!!!
Posted by Michael Fowke at 13:24
Thursday, 26 November 2009
And we could leave it there, hanging in the space of your head. Words from the London Stock Exchange, as good as any words that I could find anywhere else. But there is poetry in money, in shares. You know this.
What is in that 'all'? What is in that 'order'? Mysteries!
O Master, please do not ask strange questions. You are looking for mysteries where none exist.
O my child, you are wrong. There is a mystery in every word. In every letter. What is in that 'all'? There is an 'a'. There is an 'l' and another 'l'. But what is the 'all'? Is it all of the world? All of money? All of us, our souls?
O Master, you are not ready for this. Your readers are certainly not ready.
Coward! Traitor! It is you who are not ready! My readers will follow where I travel. If I dive into the words that are being used in our reality, and if I can drag out deeper meanings, my readers will thank me.
O Master, you are right. Please forgive me. Continue you with your investigation.
What is the 'order'? Are we being ordered to storm the LSE? Is it a message? Does this stock exchange want to surrender to the revolution? And be swept away in our love?
O Master, be careful!
What is being 'driven'?
The securities? Order-driven?
No! We are being driven. They are pushing us!
Who are? Those squares at the LSE?!
Xavier ain't no square. Not with his corkscrew hair.
SILENCE! It remains! Can you feel it?
'S' is the silence. Feel it. It remains. A presence. It is very old, but it remains. And the 'in'. And the 'an'. Not important. Red herrings.
But the 'auction'?
We are being sold something. I …
There is a call. We can hear it. From astral desert to City: Surrender!
And the 'period'?
This is the period. The season. The time.
O Master, none of this makes any sense.
O my child, I promised you mysteries, not sense. You will learn. Everyone will learn.
Posted by Michael Fowke at 13:39
Wednesday, 25 November 2009
A guest post by a mystic child.
Yes, I'm afraid the Master is all fucked in the head after last night's debacle. This is what it means to be a shaman. Not really a career option for the faint of heart, is it?
Anyway, it's down to me to hold the fort yet again. Do you know that Lloyds has launched a £13.5 billion rights issue? Current investors will be able to get shares at only 37p each. That's a big discount. Close to 40 per cent!
Now, how does this work? Am I expected to wax lyrical about cheap burning shares floating in the astral sky of our subconscious? Well, I can do that. It's not a problem.
Oh, there are burning shares in the astral sky of our subconscious! Lloyds will dilute our love and spread it thin over our faces. But there is a discount. So why should anyone worry? It's the communists we must watch. They still own 43 per cent of the bank. Oh, when will we shake them off, these monsters? Let's burn them! The kind of burning that ends in ashes! One day we will settle their hash(es?).
That'll do. It's not as if I'm getting paid for this shit.
Posted by Michael Fowke at 15:01
There they are! Pat Kiley and Trevor Cook, their money frozen, assets, frozen, money, frozen by the SEC. Such lonely money that will never burn, assets that no one will touch. I see them. Gold. Cold. And I see the money. Their faces etched with pain. We will all know this pain at some point in our lives. They must experience it now. Destiny. Look!
Sold unregistered investments through shell companies. The SEC alleges. UBS Diversified Growth LLC, Universal Brokerage FX Management LLC, Oxford Global Advisors LLC, and Oxford Global Partners LLC. Who followed the money? Oh, many investors, driven by a false fire. Or maybe there was no fire there. No fire, ha! I don't know. It was their money. $42.8 million. $190 million. Whatever. They followed it. Now it is cold, lifeless cash. Sad.
[But I have something more important to tell you. Yes, there are things in this world more important than con men, and investors and their cash. The wind is rattling my windows. It is one in the morning. I want my words to rattle you. I said I heard a voice, a wind, a rattle, a ghost in my room. It will take me away. Automatic. I cannot control. I will lose it. This feeling. This moment. I cannot pretend. You know, you know, you know, you know, you know, you know what it is like when you cannot stop. I cannot stop this. One day, I'm sure the voices will go. I am convinced my characters will fade. Shadows in dreams we had years ago. Colour will drain. No voices. Children gone. Fire out, out, out. Just this. This should not be posted. But it will be. It is not relevant. It is not for you. But I cannot stop myself. I cannot control this. I have no control. Not tonight. I hope you understand. This will not appear in my greatest hits. The sooner this disappears into the archive, the better, eh? Like a death we want to forget.]
This is one of those posts the Master would like to delete. I suppose he thinks he can limit the damage by putting brackets around the most absurd part.
Posted by Michael Fowke at 01:23
Tuesday, 24 November 2009
O my children, my brothers, my sisters, have you seen him? Have you seen Gabriel Azedo? Maybe one night he loved you in your dreams. Maybe one night he took you by surprise in a terrible nightmare. But have you seen him? O children, have you seen Gabriel Azedo?
O Master, who the fuck is Gabriel Azedo?
O children of the desert, mystic warriors of the City, of Wall Street, have you ever lost yourselves in the eyes of a man who knew no limits, who never turned away when money was aflame before him? O my children, my brothers, my sisters, have you seen Gabriel Azedo?
O Master, who the fuck is Gabriel Azedo?
O crazy ones, followers wrapped in gold, searchers beyond all common sense - at least, what the herd consider common sense - did you feel a movement in your blood then? Yes, just then! A stirring of a storm? Could it be Gabriel? Could it really be him? Who knows? O children, have you seen Gabriel Azedo?
O Master, who the fuck is Gabriel Azedo?
This is what it is like with us. We need to know the truth. We want answers! We are not content to sleep for years, the way the others sleep. We are curious, always curious, about the mysteries. So where is Gabriel Azedo? Where is he? Please tell me, where is he? Come on, children, search for him, stretch your souls. Have you seen Gabriel Azedo?
O Master, who the fuck is Gabriel Azedo?
Posted by Michael Fowke at 10:30
Monday, 23 November 2009
Yeah, I decided to get rid of the old blue thing. Too square, man! I need something that reflects my status as the number one hipster in the world of banking and finance - and this is it!
But what does it all mean?
My blue face: This picture shows me at my most hopeless and depressed. It looks like something painted by Picasso in his Blue Period. O my children, my brothers, my sisters, there are times when the mystic fire of cash does not burn for me, when nothing flows, when words die in my mind - never reaching my blog or my mouth.
My yellow face: This is me when I'm full of love and burning it up in the astral desert of our dreams. It represents me at my very best. This is the way I would like to be remembered. In fact, this is the way full stop. It is the way.
My red face: Yes, unfortunately, there is a demonic side to my nature. I must try harder to get it under control. This is me at my very worst. I almost become like Jack Pickles when I am in this state. And yet it can be strangely exhilarating. Not good though.
Posted by Michael Fowke at 13:04
Friday, 20 November 2009
Shit! I think I may be in big trouble. I haven't registered my blog with Felix Salmon. Shit! I hope he approves.
Who died and made Felix God? Certainly not Big Herb.
Posted by Michael Fowke at 13:26
Yes, I posted a list back in January of a couple of hundred new Goldman MDs, but I think most of those characters got 'made' at the end of 2008. Here is the latest list.
May the mystic fire of cash burn within them. May the lords of the astral plane watch over them and keep them safe.
Congratulations to: Benny Adler, George Dramitinos, Anita K. Kerr, Stephen J. Nundy, Andrew Tilton, Osama A. AlAyoub, Orla Dunne, Scott Kerrigan, Michael Ogrinz, Frank T. Tota, Bruce A. Albert, Karey D. Dye, Michael Kirch, Jernej Omahen, Gautam Trivedi, Umit Alptuna, Sarel Eldor, Marie Louise Kirk, Daniel S. Oneglia, Hiroshi Ueki, Jesper R. Andersen, Sanja Erceg, Caroline V. Kitidis, Andrew J. Orekar, Umida Umarbekova, Matthew T. Arnold, Alexander, E. Evis, Katharina Koenig, Anna Ostrovsky, Naohide Une, Yusuke Asai, Robert A. Falzon, Maxim Kolodkin, Marco Pagliara, Fernando P. Vallada, Divyata Ashiya, Simon J. Fennell, Matthew E. Korenberg, Uberto Palomba, Samuel Villegas, Taraneh Azad, Danielle Ferreira, Tatiana A. Kotchoubey, Gena Palumbo, Brian C. Vincent, Jeffrey M. Bacidore, John Kelly Flynn, Anshul Krishan, Thomas J. Pearce, Christian von Schimmelmann, Jeffrey Bahl, Una I. Fogarty, Dennis M. Lafferty, David Perez, Peadar Ward, Jeremy C. Baker, Brian Foran, Raymond Lam, Jonathan E. Perry, Hideharu Watanabe, Vishal Bakshi, Allan W. Forrest, Gregor A. Lanz, Gerald J. Peterson, Scott C. Watson, Doron N. Barness, Mark Freeman, John V. Lanza, Julien D. Petit, Martin Weber, Tom Bauwens, Boris Funke, Solenn Le Floch, Charlotte L. Pissaridou, Gregory F. Werd, David C. Bear, Udhay Furtado, Craig A. Lee, David S. Plutzer, Ronnie A. Wexler, Deborah Beckmann, Jian Mei Gan, Rose S. Lee, Ian E. Pollington, David A. Whitehead, Gary K. Beggerow, Simon F. Gee, Jose Pedro Leite da Costa, Karen D. Pontious, David Whitmore, Andrea Berni, Tanvir S. Ghani, Allison R. Liff, Alexander E. Potter, Petter V. Wiberg, Roop Bhullar, Mark E. Giancola, Luca M. Lombardi, Jonathan A. Prather, Mark Wienkes, Christopher W. Bischoff, Jeremy Glick, Joseph W. Long, Melvyn Pun, David Williams, Andrew G.P. Bishop, Cyril J. Goddeeris, Todd D. Lopez, Mohan Rajasooria, Julian Wills, John D. Blondel, Robert A. Gold, Galia V. Loya, Alberto Ramos, Troy D. Wilson, Jeffrey J. Blumberg, Brian S. Goldman, Michaela J. Ludbrook, Marko J. Ratesic, William Wong, Jill A. Borst, Stephen Goldman, August Lund, Sunder K. Reddy, Michael Woo, Peter Bradley, Jennifer E. Gordon, R. Thornton Lurie, Joanna Redgrave, Marius Wuergler, James W. Briggs, Koji Gotoda, Peter R. Lyneham, Horacio M. Robredo, Nick Yim, Heather L. Brownlie, Adam C. Graves, Gregory P. Lyons, Ryan E. Roderick, Koji Yoshikawa, Richard M. Buckingham, David Greely, Paget R. MacColl, Steven D. Rosenblum, Albert E. Youssef, Robert Buff, Benedict L. Green, Lisa S. Mantil, Anthony J. Russell, Alexei Zabudkin, Maxwell S. Bulk, Benjamin R. Green, Clifton C. Marriott, Matthew A. Salem, Filippo Zorzoli, Paul J. Burgess, Lars A. Gronning, Nicholas Marsh, Philip J. Salem, Adam J. Zotkow, Jonathan P. Bury, Heramb R. Hajarnavis, Daniel G. Martin, Gleb Sandmann, Kevin G. Byrne, Carey Baker Halio, Elizabeth G. Martin, Jason M. Savarese, Tracy A. Caliendo, Thomas V. Hansen, Nazar I. Massouh, Joshua S. Schiffrin, Thomas J. Carella, Christoph H. Hansmeyer, Courtney R. Mather, Adam Schlesinger, Jinsong Chen, Alexandre Harfouche, Jason L. Mathews, Rick Schonberg, Winston Cheng, Sandor M. Hau, Masaaki Matsuzawa, Johan F. Schulten, Doris Cheung, Michael J. Hayes, Alexander M. Mayer, Matthew W. Seager, Alina Chiew, Scott P. Hegstrom, John P. McLaughlin, Nancy Seah, Getty Chin, Edouard Hervey, Jean-Pascal Meyre, Oliver R.C. Sedgwick, Paul Christensen, David J. Hess, Claus Mikkelsen, Ned D. Segal, Andrew Chung, Susanna F. Hill, Arthur M. Miller, Rajat Sethi, Robert C. Cignarella, Timothy S. Hill, Tom Milligan, Margaret A. Shaughnessy, Alberto Cirillo, Taiichi Hoshino, Heather K. Miner, David Sismey, Nigel C. Cobb, Nigel E. How, Gregory P. Minson, Bryan Slotkin, Giorgio Cocini, Joseph B. Hudepohl, Shea B. Morenz, Timothy A. Smith, Nicola Colavito, Jeffrey J. Huffman, Hironobu Moriyama, Warren E. Smith, Shaun A. Collins, Till C. Hufnagel, Edward G. Morse, Thomas E. Speight, Martin A. Cosgrove, Hiroyuki Ito, Teodoro Moscoso, Russell W. Stern, Patricia A. Coughlin, Corey M. Jassem, Khalid M. Murgian, Joseph Stivaletti, Jason E. Cox, Ian A. Jensen-Humphreys, Caroline B. Mutter, Thomas Stolper, John R. Cubitt, Baoshan Jin, Mana Nabeshima, Chandra K. Sunkara, Patrick C. Cunningham, Aynesh L. Johnson, Robert T. Naccarella, Kengo Taguchi, Canute H. Dalmasse, Eri Kakuta, Olga A. Naumovich, Boon-Kee Tan, Stephen J. DeAngelis, Takayuki Kasama, Brett J. Nelson, Kristi A. Tange, Rituraj Deb Nath, John D. Kast, Roger Ng, Jonathan E.A. ten Oever, Michele della Vigna, Michael C. Keats, Victor K. Ng, Hana Thalova, Amol Devani, Kevin G. Kelly, Matthew D. Nichols, David S. Thomas, Brian R. Doyle, Jane M. Kelsey, Jonathan J. Novak, Jonathan S. Thomas.
Thursday, 19 November 2009
Er - this must be a joke, right? Guy de Blonay is going to work with Philip Gibbs on the Financial Opportunities fund at Jupiter Asset Management. Tell me someone is having a laugh. Those two characters won't be able to work together. It will be like Tom and Jerry. It won't be like Morecambe and Wise. It will be like Tom and Jerry. They won't get on.
I have been speaking to award-winning financial psychic Keith Busby. Keith is a personal friend of both Guy and Phil. This is what he told me: 'Mikey, I love these fucking guys to death - especially Guy; but this will be a disaster. I have never known two men who were so dissimilar. Guy is the sort of guy who is out in the astral desert every night of the week, burning wildly like a hollow man with a real hunger for something that cannot be put into words. (Well, Keith, a man after our own hearts, yeah?) Definitely, Mike. You've met him. You know how fanatical he is. You only have to give him a glimpse of aura, maybe a quick peek at a whirling chakra, and he's off beyond the world of the cold earth wanderers. And that's where we come to Philip Gibbs. Now, I've known Phil a number of years, and I can tell you that he has always been the coldest of cold earth wanderers. That's a fact! There is not one flame in his heart. There is not even a spark. (Jesus, Keith. Why are you friends with this guy?) Phil? (Yeah, Phil.) Well, I see him as a challenge, you know? (You want to turn him?) Fuckin' A! I know Phil has potential. I've seen something in his eyes. (Seen what?) The yearning. (Oh, the yearning.) He wants to believe. I know he does. (What he needs, Keith, is someone - maybe you yourself, you know him best - to put that first spark into his heart, you dig? Take him into the desert, Keith. Make him a burning man.) He won't go, Mike. I've asked him. I've pleaded with him. (He probably wants to go. It's just fear holding him back. Tell him that if he wants to have a decent working relationship with Guy he will have to go.) I'll tell him. (Because Guy won't be happy working with some square. Maybe he'll tolerate the situation for a few months, but he'll flip eventually.) Mike, worst comes to the worst, we'll drag Phil out there, the two of us. (He'll thank us for it.) Of course he will.'
Phil, mate, we'll be in touch. Watch out for a couple of mystic flames flickering in the night sky. That will be Keith and me coming to get you.
Wednesday, 18 November 2009
That's how Antony Jenkins would say it. Yes, Antony Jenkins - the new head of global retail banking at Barclays. DON'T MESS WITH US. He means: Don't fuck with us. Don't even think about fucking with us. That's what he really wants to say. And he hasn't even said: Don't mess with us yet. But he will. He's building up to it. Then he'll really lose his temper, and say: Don't fuck with us. Virgin, Tesco, don't even think about fucking with us. We will tear you a new one, and it will be painful.
Yes. Mr Jenkins is concerned about all the Johnny-come-latelies who are getting into banking. Virgin, Tesco, Poundstretcher. And he is right to be concerned. What do any of these firms know about the business?
Let's be frank with each other, dear reader: they don't know shit. Would you really trust some goatee-bearded, jumpered-up, grinning, toothy goon with your hard-earned cash? I think we all know who I'm talking about here. He should stick to his fucking balloons!
And … and I ain't got nothing mystical to say. That's a surprise, eh? Well, I've just had a skinful down the pub. That's not conducive to getting in touch with the other side and being all nutty about chakras and auras and shit. You'll just have to wait until tomorrow, won't you?
Posted by Michael Fowke at 16:54
Tuesday, 17 November 2009
But he only wanted a bonus! That's why he did it. Yes, Alexei Krilov-Harrison was a stockbroker at Pacific Continental Securities UK Ltd. He encouraged his clients to buy shares in Provexis. And now the FSA has fined him £24,000! So unfair. At least the FSA gave him a 20 per cent discount.
O Master, is there something you're not telling us? Wasn't Mr Krilov-Harrison using inside information?
O my child, there are many things I do not speak of. I have to have some secrets.
It's not exactly a secret. We all know where the FSA website is.
O my child, I could tell you things. Mysteries!
O Master, go on!
No. Someone from the MSM may rip me off.
Posted by Michael Fowke at 12:07
Friday, 13 November 2009
Yes, he has pleaded guilty. Chen Ching-hsiao was a vice president at HSBC. He took a $60,000 bribe from one of his clients. But was it such a terrible crime?
I believe that Chen is basically a good man. I hope the judge in Hong Kong goes easy on him when he faces sentencing at the end of the month.
Why do I feel like this? Well, the following is an excerpt from an email Chen sent me earlier in the year:
The Way is like an empty wallet
That yet may be drawn from
Without ever needing to be filled.
See what I mean?
Posted by Michael Fowke at 14:57
Thursday, 12 November 2009
Is BlueCrest Capital moving from London to Geneva? Well, just a little bit. Fifty staff will be doing a runner, to get away from higher taxes, and new European Union hedge fund regulations, and Christ knows what other outrageous commie nonsense that these brave men and women are supposed to put up with. But they won't! They won't put up with it!
Personally, I think the whole operation should be moved to the astral plane. Fuck London! London is as dead as a dodo now. It's like North Korea or something. How can proud, ambitious, money-hungry capitalists be expected to work in such an environment? And Geneva? Geneva ain't bad, financially speaking, but the place is packed to the rafters with cuckoo clock motherfuckers. No, it's got to be the astral plane. Mike Platt should grow a pair and say: That's it! We're going to the astral plane. We're off to see the wizard. Well, not the fucking wizard as such, but we're off to see Michael Fowke, the world's foremost financial shaman. We're going to burn now, with peyote, and flowers in our hair. We will touch the sky! This is going to be just like Haight-Ashbury in the Sixties, man. But with more money! Not that the Beatles and the Stones ever went short. It's all well and good this peace, love and understanding lark, but all anyone ever really wants is money, man! You go back in time to ancient Egypt or you go forward in time to the empires of, er, the future times, yeah? All you will find is people chasing after money. It's the way it's always been. Way it will always be. Ain't nobody changing human nature, man. I don't care how many Guardian readers come out of the fucking woodwork. Anyway, we've got our own love, our new love. The love that Mr Fowke has taught us. And peace! And understanding! In fact, this crazy cat has peace that passeth all understanding. I don't know what the fuck he's going on about half the time. All I know is, Mr Fowke leaves me feeling peaceful, so mellow, after laying his holy shit on me. And who could ask for more? We shouldn't expect too much of him. Asking him to make sense at a time like this, a time of terrible crunching when hardly anything makes sense, would be an imposition. Yes, nothing less than an imposition! So let's leave him be, living his dreams beyond the reach of reason. We love him. He loves us. What else is needed?
THAT'S WHAT MR PLATT SHOULD SAY! If only he had the gumption.
THAT'S WHAT MR PLATT SHOULD SAY! If only he had the gumption.
Posted by Michael Fowke at 15:30
Wednesday, 11 November 2009
I'll give you a war you won't believe - Arthur Rimbaud
I am not a civilized man. Your world means nothing to me. It doesn't even exist in my mind. Do you think this is a fucking joke? THIS IS MY LIFE. There is nothing else.
[O my children, my brothers, my sisters, turn your eyes away. This is not for you. You know you are loved.]
I have not crawled through shit to leave my soul behind now. I have not typed words with bloody fingers only to watch my visions fade into the dullness of your consciousness. This suffering is not for your entertainment. And it is not something to be watered down, imitated or repackaged. I am like Icarus, motherfucker. I am prepared to go to the limits of literature. If I am destroyed, so be it. SO BE IT. Will you follow?
You do not have the balls to follow. And even if you did, your controllers would not allow you to follow. You do not even know where I started from. So how can you know where I am heading? Do you think I sprang from nothingness? That one day, I decided to embark upon this journey because I had nothing better to do? No. I spent twenty years preparing for this! Tens of thousands of words have been written and been thrown away! NOW I AM READY. Are you ready?
I am forty years old. I spent most of my twenties and thirties fighting off a suicidal depression. Only recently have I defeated it. I found the way I was looking for. A way that belongs to me. IT WAS CREATED BY ME. What will you create?
Poke me with a stick, if you must. But I will not slink away into the shadows. I found my way into the light. I AM STAYING IN THE LIGHT. Try and put the light out. I am willing to fight to survive, willing to kill. What are you willing to do?
Posted by Michael Fowke at 12:34
Tuesday, 10 November 2009
O Master, let me guess. I'm in heaven when you smile?
No, my child, he doesn't say that. But he would be well within his rights. No, Alan Brown, Schroders' chief investment officer, says that there is easy money being pumped in that may lead to the creation of bubbles.
Yeah, bubbles. Just like that Vishnu cat breathing out universes.
Vishnu, my child. He breathed out these little bubbles into water. Then he breathed in and the bubbles went back inside him. They became universes. Somehow, they ended up all around him in a sort of foam.
Oh, he breathed out again, no doubt. But what's that got to do with Mr Brown?
Alan is saying that easy money is being pumped into his mouth by a ghost of some description. Obviously, it is one of the dead financiers at work. What Alan fears is the possibility of the money turning into bubbles, then small universes, in his body. Of course, I have no idea why he fears this fate. Yes, fate. I think the guy has got it made, myself. It's like a winning lottery ticket. I suppose it is just the classic fear of the unknown. Maybe he is worried that the universes will expand and split him open. But all he really has to do is follow Vishnu's example. Exhale these tiny universes and watch them grow into new realms of pure cash!
That certainly seems the best solution.
It is the only solution. Alan Brown has to do this. The man has been chosen. No harm will come to him if he plays it by the book. Lord knows how many finance types out there are absolutely eaten up with jealousy right now. Alan is a very lucky man. He will be the progenitor of universes devoted to money!
O Master, don't forget about the ghost. He/she is playing their part.
O my child, it's a team effort. And either Big Herb or Ganesh instructed the ghost to impregnate Mr Brown. There is a lot that goes on behind the scenes that we don't know about. If God moves in mysterious ways - and He does - how do you think the money gods move? They are basically made of the same stuff. Cut from the same cloth, as it were.
So there's nothing to worry about, is there?
There shouldn't be. Alan has got to steel himself. And just go through the whole process, one step at a time. I'm sure he'll be fine.
Posted by Michael Fowke at 12:46
Monday, 9 November 2009
O Master, what are you writing about today?
Can't you fucking read? I'm writing about Christian Szylar joining Kinetic Partners. He's the boss of Kinetic's 'newly launched risk and valuation services'. Not that it matters. Not that it matters what I write about. I'm still going to finish my day drenched in blood, up to my neck in dead souls, glowering like a fucking lunatic, in the desert, with red sand pouring out of my mouth. This is my life. Nothing changes.
O Master, try to be more positive. Tell us about Christian.
My child, there is nothing to say about Christian. He is a blank slate. I will scribble my opaque insanities upon his forehead and make him a man. No, more than a man. I will make Christian more than a man.
A shaman? A god?
I don't know, my child. Maybe. Sometimes I just get these urges, you see. I want to pull these people out of the darkness, the confusion, of their lives. They are ignorant. They are weak. And if money burns within them, the flames rarely last more than a day. I want to give them an eternal burning. I want to give them my passion. I want them to feel it.
O Master, you want to save them!
Fuckin' A! I want to save them! I want them to walk in astral fields of rainbow flowers. I want the colours of the universal spirit to stain their faces. I want light to swirl in their acid eyes. That's why I'm here. I am here for a reason.
HERE! Here in your spastic head, you little fuck! UNDERSTAND ME. In your peyote visions. Swimming in the blood of your body. In the desert of the burning. On the astral plane. Riding an eagle in the astral sky!
O Master, it can only be a matter of time before you become a living god. Big Herb had to die to become the lord of our love. But you -
O my child, I shall be different. Now, back to Mr Szylar. I want to know where he finds the risk. And I want to know what he values.
I imagine he finds the risk on the lower levels of the astral plane.
But he doesn't! He hasn’t even been there! So let us speak of where he should find risk. Of what he should value.
O Master, the risk!
My child, there is a terrible risk on the lower levels. Where Satan lives in his empire of evil! Where Jack Pickles sucks the ashes of his despair through the holes in the skulls of his victims! Burnt money is the despair of this sick financier! That is the greatest risk of all. What if Jack were to spread his demonic ashes over the entire world? What if all the bankers and the traders were covered in that fucking filth? It would eat their skin away! It would work all the way through to their souls. And then they would belong to Jack. Ultimately, they would belong to Satan. Satan would devour them! We cannot let it happen. No! No! No!
O Master, what should Mr Szylar value?
O my child, tiresome fool, don't you know? He should value the burning! The eternal burning of the holy cash! Money that burns forever and that is never reduced to ashes. Never, never, never, will the fire go out. Never will the love fade.
The love you have for all your followers?
Not just me. Big Herb loves everyone who burns with money. Ganesh loves. The ghosts of the dead financiers love. THE COSMOS LOVES!
Does the cosmos really love us?
O my child, can't you feel trillions of stars and planets vibrating in your head, shaking your teeth to fuck?
O Master, yes! I can feel the love that the cosmos has for us!
Yes! Yes! Yes! This is what we value. CAN YOU FEEL IT SHAKING YOUR TEETH TO FUCK?!
Yes, Master! Yes, Master! Yes, Master! This is better than sex! Better than the hardest drugs! Better than … than … than -
O my child, you have lost yourself in the climax of the cosmos!
Yes. Yes. Yes.
Yes. Yes. Yes.
Posted by Michael Fowke at 14:52
Friday, 6 November 2009
Right. There is some terrible fucking confusion at the SEC. It has charged Zvi Goffer with insider trading. It's all to do with the Galleon affair. 'Well, that's fair. That's fair enough' - you might say, dear reader. What alarms me though, is that they are calling this man "the Octopussy". Apparently because he had his arms in so many sources of inside information.
But, Master, wouldn't it have been better if the SEC had said that he had had his fingers in many different pies? Then they could have called him "the Finger-Pie Man" or something like that. Too late now, I suppose.
But that's the confusion!
O Master, what confusion?
My child, they don't realize that Zvi is actually a male incarnation of the Hindu goddess Durga.
What the fuck?! Are you having a laugh?
No, I am not. Durga has eight arms, yeah? Well, according to the SEC, Zvi Goffer also has eight arms. And -
And that's why they didn't call him "the Finger-Pie Man".
Well, yeah, but listen, not being as clued-up as I am - I've spoken with Ganesh, by the way - the SEC just presumed that he was some sort of a freaky octopus of a man, put on earth to rip off money from all and sundry. But no, he is a god. A living god! And he deserves our respect. The SEC should drop the charge immediately. Whatever he has done, I'm sure there was a higher purpose.
You mean something we're not privy to?
Fuckin' A! Something super-mystical is going down. Something beyond the understanding of mere mortals. The Securities and Exchange Commission would be mad to interfere.
Thursday, 5 November 2009
Earn success every day. Earn it. Work hard for it. Follow the example of Bobby Diamond. See him fly eight miles high in the friendly astral sky! BarCap is focused. Focused on your success. Focussed on you. Yes. This investment bank watches you. You are not alone. You may live in a cave in the desert. You may live in a hut in the woods. You may spend most of your time burning it up on the astral plane - who knows, or cares? But Barclays Capital is with you at all times. Bobby has made sure of this. He wants you to succeed.
O Bobby, speak to us, man!
O Mikey, everything you say is true. I am watching them. I want them to succeed. We earn success every day. And I want them to earn it, every day! They are not alone. We love them.
Thank you, Bobby.
Posted by Michael Fowke at 12:31
Wednesday, 4 November 2009
Who is Charles LeCroy? Who is Douglas MacFaddin? Well, according to the SEC, they are ex-managing directors of J.P. Morgan Securities. The SEC says they 'made more than $8 million in undisclosed payments to close friends of certain Jefferson County commissioners'. You can read the full shit here.
But I have been speaking to Nicky Pickles - brother of the world's most demonic financier, Jack Pickles. This is what Nicky told me: 'Michael, there is no Charlie LeCroy, and no Douglas MacFaddin. Well, I mean, there are no such human beings. They are thought-forms! Yes, my deranged, evil brother created them on the lower levels of the astral plane. For a short time, they were employed by J.P. Morgan, but now they roam the night sky (astral, that is) looking for the ashes of burnt cash (money on the wind!) that will sustain them. Oh, the SEC has charged them. How wonderful! But they will never face justice, not while Jack is pulling their strings and controlling their fate. Jack looks after his own. And Satan looks after Jack!'
Sadly, it's all true.
Posted by Michael Fowke at 18:53
Yes, Mark Kary, the CEO of Polar Capital, is leaving at the end of the year. He has resigned. Tim Woolley is taking over as CEO right now! Yes, now! But Mr Kary is hanging around for a while to make sure everything runs smoothly.
I have been speaking to Mark about his resignation. This is what he told me: 'Yeah, Mikey, I'm going away. Going to find a burning in the desert. (Jesus, Mark. So many CEOs and hedge fund managers are running away to find a burning, and themselves, in the desert of our love these days.) Well, man, it's this fucking blog of yours. Ever since I started reading it, I haven't been able to think of anything but the burning, you dig? I want to feel the way you feel when flames swirl around in your cosmic head. I want to suck on a wad of hot banknotes. I want it all! (That's admirable, Mark. Really admirable. Guys like you bring tears to my eyes when you talk shit like this. It makes it all worthwhile. I know I'm not wasting my time when I get this sort of feedback from men and women who - only a few years ago - were sad, grey characters shuffling through the streets of London, not exactly like Ralph McTell, but yeah, shuffling around with not one vision or tinge of ecstasy in their whole bodies.) Well, we have you to thank for that, Mike. (What will you be doing at Polar in your last few weeks?) Just helping Tim adjust to the reality of his new position. I don't think he quite understands that as the boss of Polar Capital he will be hearing the voices of dead financiers on a regular basis. It's gonna come as a bit of a shock to him, especially if one of the ghosts of the dead financiers actually appears before him. (Has that ever happened to you?) It's happened a couple of times, Mike. It's not something for the faint-hearted, as you know. (But you were okay, yeah?) Of course. And that's one of the things I'm looking forward to in the desert. Hopefully, I'll see more of these ghosts. (Oh man, the dead financiers will be all over you like a cheap suit.) Really? (In the desert? Are you fucking kidding me? You'll have to fight them off with a bat. Honestly.) Great!'
That's Mark Kary! What a man! Good luck, Mark.
Monday, 2 November 2009
Do we smile like broken skulls when money slips from our hands, when it goes away? Do we welcome DEATH when we have no money? Or do we pray to gods on the astral plane? Do we find love in hell? Let me tell you, my children: There is a time for blood. A time for death. A time to make money, and to lose it. But the important thing is to remain STRONG!
O my children, my brothers, my sisters, a melancholic weakness often comes upon me, like a sick fucking disease, a plague of darkness. I lose my grip on words. I lose my grip on money. My will disappears. I fall into despair. Oh, if only I could control my moods! This is the way of someone who will never become a god. BUT I MUST BECOME A GOD! I must change! And, my children, you must help me. When I lose my way, when I am weak, you must guide me, and even carry me. On the waves of your love I know I could conquer anything. I could conquer reality! You must love me. YOU WILL LOVE ME!
Children, are you not familiar with the ways of my strength? Surely you know that when I am strong, nothing can touch me. And I help you in those moments, those spasms of power. I am your Master. I guide you. I lead you. I take you to the burning money in your subconscious. That is my duty! And a small part of my destiny. But what is your destiny? To be simpering fools? Mindless slaves? NO! You must grow! You must follow me to become like me, as I follow Big Herb to become like him. THAT IS THE WAY! We shall become gods, one at a time. We are wanderers to eternity! We shall become capitalist Masters of the cosmos! Rulers of the astral plane! It may take a thousand years, but it will happen if we believe. WE BELIEVE!
Big Herb was a man. He lived on this cold earth. I am a man. You are men and women. It will take a massive burning for us to pass over, but pass over we will. Big Herb passed over. He joined Ganesh the elephant god. Now his voice calls us! From the desert, from the astral sky, from the City! A voice that comes from everywhere and that can be heard everywhere. A voice like thunder cracking us into a million pieces! WE BREAK UP! Yes, we tumble into that mystic voice and we lose ourselves. FRAGMENTS! But it is a voice that wants us to be strong. It demands strength. If we could hear it and hold ourselves together, then we would be strong enough for the passing over, the journey.
O my children, my brothers, my sisters, are you afraid? Are you afraid of the loneliness that the great ones must live with? Would you rather drink with your friends in a City bar than vibrate on a burning plane of gods and shamans? Do you fear the gap between poor, cold humanity and the rich, exploding godhead of flames that I am offering you? O my children, this is why we must be strong. WE NEED WILLS OF IRON! We must bathe in blood and not get upset about it. We must see tragedies everywhere and be prepared to laugh. Only then will the truth be revealed to us, the ultimate reality! EVERYTHING IS THE SAME! Do you understand? A bank is the same as a dog. A rat is the same as a Rolex watch. A mouthful of banknotes is as good as a kick in the balls. THERE IS NO DIFFERENCE! You must learn that all reality can be boiled down to nothingness! You could put the ashes of the entire universe in your arsehole and nobody would be any the wiser!
WE ARE SURROUNDED BY ENEMIES! Yes. We must admit the truth. The ones who want us to be slaves! They want us to give our money away! Are they insane? Sadly, yes. They are lost in a confusing world of human emotions. We should pity them. Obviously, we should not trust them. If one of these creatures approaches you, you must wave a wad of banknotes above your head. Yes, they can be driven back by vulgar displays of wealth. It is not in our nature to behave in such a manner, but we must do it in order to survive. WE MUST PRESERVE OUR CULTURE! Yes, we will not stop burning and become socialistic blocks of ice! What sort of life would that be?
One day, love will take us higher. Money will burn like it has never burned. Dreams will be our realities when we are awake, not just while we are asleep. We will go beyond death. We will not suffer. We will taste the good life. Our souls will be stretched out across the cosmos, within and without. We will be happy.
Posted by Michael Fowke at 19:06
Friday, 30 October 2009
I haven't written much about Gillian Tett lately. To tell you the truth, she hasn't really been on my mind.
But it is past midnight now and I am listening to Charlie Parker with Strings, and - surprisingly - there are no voices, no spirits, no mystical children, to bother me, and so I turn my mind to earthly matters. I think of Gillian. Visualize her. I am in the mood. Where is she in this lonely night?
I guess I spend too much of my time on other realities. It is not healthy. It is good to be normal, for a change.
Posted by Michael Fowke at 01:30
Tuesday, 27 October 2009
THEY HAVE GONE HOME!!! Hooray! Back to Cadogan Management LLC! This is brilliant. You see, Stu, Paul, Mick, Rich and Joel, they left a few weeks ago. But they're back already! I can hardly believe it.
This is what Stuart Leaf told me: 'Mikey, yeah, there has been a management buyout. We ain't got nothing to do with Fortis no more. But that's not why we're back. We came home for the mystic burning. We missed it. (The mystic burning? Explain yourself, Stu.) Ah, come on, Mikey. I ain't gotta explain myself to no financial shaman, some mystic lord. You know what I'm talking about, man. (Yeah, Stu, I do know, but I just love to hear top execs talking shit. Come on, baby. Lay it on me.) All right, man, hold on to your hat. We're a hedge fund of funds firm with $3.6 billion that we invest, give or take a few cents, you dig? (Oh, I dig!) Yeah, well, it ain't all about the money with us. I mean, we love money, but it's the mystic burning of cash we really love. And I will tell you straight, I ain't ever experienced burning like you get at Cadogan. You can talk to me about Goldman. You can talk to me about BarCap. And maybe you would be right. I don't know. I'm just talking about my experiences, man. My truth. You dig that? (Stu, the burning is different for everyone. It comes in many ways. Goldman, BarCap, Desert, astral or physical, City of London or Wall Street. It don't matter.) I've learnt that, Mikey, and I've found my way. And you ask all the guys. Ask Mick Waldron about the time he was sitting at his desk and a flame came right out of his mouth, in front of some journalist who was interviewing him at the time. (Oh man, that's crazy!) Damn straight. You speak to Rich. He hears voices in his head in the office, but never anywhere else. And he says he can see the voices as flames! Not just hear them. See them! As flames! How do you explain that? (The voices of dead financiers?) I wouldn't be surprised, Mike. That's why we're back. We are back and we will burn now. Ain't nobody gonna stop us. We have the money. We have the fire. We have the passion.'
Jesus! These guys are serious characters!
Posted by Michael Fowke at 10:54
Monday, 26 October 2009
Yes, now he is. There. With fire in his mouth. I see him. Look! You can see him. This is something holy and pure. If Cheyne Capital vibrates in a lonely cosmos - and we all know it does - then there is nothing to fear. What will Max distribute?
I have been feeling ill all afternoon. And I started off so well, so full of joy at finding Pablo! Not physically ill. Not mentally ill. Spiritually ill! My soul wants to be sick!
O Master, you should not write, not in your condition.
O my child, I am not pregnant. Unless - pregnant with visions!
O Master, will your soul give birth to a new reality?
My soul is ready to burst!
And now I am hearing the words of Max. They come to me. I see the fire of Max. Burning …
Does it all burn? Yes.
Will I feel better? Who can say?
THIS IS NOT SATISFYING! There has to be more than words. There has to be more than visions. Maybe Max has the answer, but not words, not visions. Maybe Cheyne Capital has the answer. Maybe Reuters has the answer. Maybe you, dear reader, have the answer, or maybe some medicine. Something. There must be something else, or something more, or something different.
MAX. MAX. MAX. MAX. MAX. MAX. MAX. MAX. MAX. MAX.
Max. M a x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x!
O heavenly powers, restore him!
Posted by Michael Fowke at 15:31
Pablo Triana, some crazy cat, has written today that 'CDOs killed us'. That's collateralized debt obligations, for those who don't know and may not even care. They killed us! They killed us?
O Master, CDOs did not kill us. We are still alive.
Pablo also speaks of the gates of hell.
The gates of hell?! O Master, he is in danger.
Yes, he is. Poor Pablo has obviously travelled too far in his mind, and he has lost his way.
O Master, he is wandering in endless night, a child lost in the stars!
Yes. Yes. Yes. O Pablo, come back to us! We are here waiting for you. We love you.
We love you, Pablo!
CDOs did not kill us. O Pablo, you can return safely to our reality. There is nothing to be afraid of. We are still alive. We still breathe. We still burn. WE STILL LOVE. Feel the vibrations! We will send our love to you. Come back to us.
O Pablo, come home!
Our love will bring you back. It will guide you through your consciousness. Stay away from the gates! Satan is lurking.
O Master, Satan will cover him with the demonic ashes of burnt cash.
Look out, Pablo!
O Master, where is he? Does Satan have him?
No. There he is! Up there!
O Master, he is flying high in the friendly astral sky!
Yes. Yes. Yes. HERE HE COMES NOW!
Here he comes! Here he comes! Here he comes!
Hello, Pablo! Welcome back!
O Master, thank you for saving me. I thought I was gone, beyond the reach of any mind.
Don't mention it, Pablo.
We love you, Pablo. Never leave us again.
Posted by Michael Fowke at 12:06
Thursday, 22 October 2009
Lies that are truer than the literal truth. Visions of money more real than the cash in our wallets. Dreams of bankers, dreamy bankers with flesh unreal but more than real! Imagined voices, saying things our voices would never say. A fantasy of blood on the walls! A sea of false tears in our eyes!
Speak to me. Let me hear. Show me. Let me see.
Posted by Michael Fowke at 18:10
Yeah, I get all the exclusives, me. I must be blessed.
This is what Roomy Khan told me: 'O Mikey, I had to inform on Raj Rajaratnam. It was the only way. I had to escape the clutches of Mr Pickles. You understand, don't you? I have always been a follower of Big Herb. He is my mystic lord. But the evil Mr Pickles came to me in the night, the way he comes to all traders who wander in darkness, the way he came to Raj. Yes, he came for me and I could not resist his charms. I fell into his clutches. Yes, I traded on the dark side. Then one day, at my lowest point, I heard a voice - the golden voice of Big Herb. Like thunder in a dream, he spake unto me: Roomy, my child, you are a sinner. You have destroyed the beautiful flower of righteous money in your heart, and you have tasted the demonic ashes of Jack's cash. The taste of sick money in your mouth! But you can repent. You can turn back towards the light. Go to the FBI. Tell the Feds everything you know, and you shall be saved. O Master, tell me I did the right thing.'
Well, if Big Herb spoke to her, that's good enough for me. I hope the authorities let her go free.
Posted by Michael Fowke at 10:46
Wednesday, 21 October 2009
The uncensored version:
Dear Galleon Employees, Clients and Friends,
I have decided that it is now in the best interest of our investors, employees and mystic lords to conduct an orderly wind down of Galleon's funds while we explore the cosmos within and without. At this important time, I want to reassure investors of the burning power of our funds and assure Galleon employees that we are seeking the way, the only way, to keep together what I believe is our love. The love we share.
As many of you know, we have built our business on a fundamental belief in Big Herb combined with an intense loathing of Jack Pickles and Satan and all their works. We have encouraged and invited our investors to attend our daily chakra morning workshops. Many of you have done so and got a first-hand look at our chakras as they whirled around. This process is the core of our investment and trading strategy.
The privilege of managing investors' capital is a responsibility that I have always taken very seriously. I want to reiterate that I am innocent of all charges and will defend myself against these accusations with the same intensity and focus I have brought to managing our investors' capital. I have never had any dealings with Jack Pickles. He's no friend of mine.
For those who have been my partners and supporters over the last seventeen years, I sincerely thank you. I also want to thank you for the innumerable expressions of support I have received from you over the past few days. I love you all.
Posted by Michael Fowke at 15:14
Tuesday, 20 October 2009
What? No, not really. But we can dream.
So can the investors who put their money into HomePals Investment Club. The SEC has charged Ronnie Eugene Bass Jr, Abner Alabre, and Brian J. Taglieri with conducting a Ponzi scheme. The people who invested were Haitian-Americans, so we can expect some voodoo reprisals. The SEC says: 'Bass presented himself as a master trader of stock options and commodities, when in reality he was a master of deceit.'
O Master, a master of deceit!
Yes, my child, a master of deceit. Not a master of reality, like me.
No, not a master of reality, like you.
I have mastered reality. I am the lord of reality. I am the money king. I can do anything.
Posted by Michael Fowke at 11:37
Monday, 19 October 2009
Imagine spending your whole life on Trick's rooftop.
That could have happened to Jim Morrison. He could have spent his whole life up there. But he didn't. He formed The Doors, and the rest is history.
He didn't work in a bank either. He went from Trick's rooftop to pop stardom. He spent some time in the desert, of course.
What is a shaman?
Tell us, Jim!
Jim: 'He's the medicine man of the Indians. He gets into a peyote trance, and he gets deeper and deeper and has a vision, and the whole tribe is healed. All cultures have a version of it. The Greeks had theatre and gods. The Indians say the first shaman invented sex. They call him: "The one who makes you crazy".'
And what did Nietzsche say, Jim?
Jim: 'Nietzsche said, "All great things must first wear terrifying and monstrous masks in order to inscribe themselves on the hearts of humanity".'
O Master, you took your mask/sheet off a long time ago.
Yeah. Now I just wear my face.
Posted by Michael Fowke at 16:20
Friday, 16 October 2009
Right, this is pretty complicated, but let's see if I can make some sense out of it.
Various characters have been accused of insider trading, and the Feds are going around arresting everyone. Raj Rajaratnam, founder of the Galleon hedge fund and long-time associate of Jack Pickles, had phone conversations with Danielle Chiesi (New Castle Partners) who is friends with Mark Kurland. They had a meeting on the astral plane with Robert Moffat (IBM). And that was when all the trouble started, because Moffat was working for Ganesh the elephant god - the only clean one in this affair. Ganesh tipped off the Feds, telling them how Jack was making millions of dollars by getting his hands on inside information at Akamai and AMD, not to mention IBM and Sun Microsystems. There was a lot of trading going on. Satan was involved, in his capacity as Jack's boss and spiritual mentor. A lot of people from Bear Stearns Asset Management were involved. CW-I and CW-II were also involved. Yeah. Stool pigeons. I don't think they have much of a future. Sadly, Jack Pickles does have a future. The Feds won't be able to catch him.
O Master, I think Wittgenstein was right.
Note: Ganesh did what he considered the right thing. We should not get all Kid Creole on him. But CW-I and CW-II were screwing around trying to trap people and all sorts.
Posted by Michael Fowke at 21:22
According to Dan Roberts - the man who manages the Gartmore UK Equity Income Fund - the recent market rally has allowed investors to take advantage of cheap blue chips. And his fund is betting on these blue chips now. But that's not what interests me. What interests me is what he told Reuters: 'Normally, I get my yield from lower-quality companies with the standard kind of risk-return trade off.' You can read the full shit here.
Dan, mate, WE DON'T CARE WHERE YOU GET YOUR YIELD FROM!!!
We want to know where you get your fire from. Have ye ever been burnt in the flaming eyes of Big Herb in a peyote trance in the astral desert of our dreams, and our love? Have ye -
O Master, cut it out with the 'ye'. Jesus!
O Dan, have you ever flown high in the friendly astral sky, eight miles high? We want to know where you get your visions from. Do you even have visions? What kind of fund manager are you? Don't you understand the old ways are over? THE OLD WAYS HAVE BEEN CRUNCHED. We are living in a new world.
O Master, are we?
O my child, we almost are. Almost.
O Master, almost is not enough for men like Dan. They need -
THEY NEED TO BE BURNT IN THE DESERT!!! That's what men like Dan need. I'm tired of all this fucking around. LET'S TAKE THEM!!!
O Master, this is what I'm talking about! Some action! Revolution, man!
There is only one language these people understand. FIRE!!!
Posted by Michael Fowke at 10:32
Thursday, 15 October 2009
Crashing into our minds, a wall of cash will smash us, a burning wall of money!
O my children, my brothers, my sisters, my consciousness is on fire! Be my babies. I'll make you happy, my babies, just wait and see. For every kiss you give me, I'll give you three. A kiss of money! A mouthful of cash! O Kurt Bjorklund, say it, say it, man! 'There is a wall of cash coming towards our investors over the next few years.' Yes! Yes! Yes! We will put a bullet of cash into the mouth of every investor. Yes! Yes! Yes! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bullets as well! And the wall - let it burn them! A burning wall, sweeping over them, over us!
Posted by Michael Fowke at 10:20
Wednesday, 14 October 2009
I think we can safely say that Nick Levene is a man who has lived the dream, but where the fuck is he? Apparently, this City financier (derivatives trader) and vice chairman of Leyton Orient FC has done a runner, owing his mates/business associates £70 million or so. For reasons best known to themselves, they call him "Beano". Well, I suppose it could be worse. They could call him the Gangster of Love.
Or the Space Cowboy.
Yes, they could call him the Space Cowboy. Thankfully, they don't.
But maybe they should.
Yes, maybe they should. Because, dear reader - THIS IS A WORLD EXCLUSIVE - I can reveal that Nick is floating around in his own inner space and touching our astral plane in the most wondrous of ways.
O Master, does this mean we can hear him speak?
YES, IT DOES!
Take it away, Nick: 'O Master, can I call you "Master"? You can call me "Beano". I don't mind. Yes, yes, yes, you are right, Master. I am off floating, touching the plane, touching all the believers inside, but hidden from the cold ones of the world who would chase after me for mere money if only they knew where to look. We are men of wisdom. Men ahead of our time. You understand me, don't you, Master? Why should I worry about Richard Caring, or Raymond O’Rourke, or Brian Souter, or Ann Gloag, or … I could go on, but I won't. They are not real to me. What is real to me? Let me tell you: Big Herb is real. Ganesh the elephant god is real. The ghosts of the dead financiers are real. And do they frown upon my activities? Do they look down on me? No! They love me! They welcome me with open arms, in the astral desert of our dreams, in the astral sky of our dreams, and in the astral sea of our dreams - with dolphins! Not sharks! Dolphins! Truly, I am a man who has lived the dream. I'm still living it, man!'
Yeah. Whatever you want to say about Nick, you have to admit that he is living the dream.
Posted by Michael Fowke at 12:16
Tuesday, 13 October 2009
Yeah. Goldman Sachs' third-quarter earnings are released later this week, and Meredith Whitney - you know, that top analyst bird - has downgraded the bank's shares from buy to neutral. This is an outrage!
O Master, it's always an outrage with you, isn't it?
What does Pablo Picasso have to say about the matter?
The big bouquet of horrors and frights is already waving farewell. And the mussel shells are clacking their teeth, scared to death under the icy ears of boredom.
O Master, I'm sick of this shit! When are you going to stop with all these random quotes which are not germane to the subject in hand?
O my child, the goddamn Germans got nothing to do with it!
Ah yes. The old Buford T. Justice joke. Very amusing. Can we get back to Meredith now?
Meredith. Meredith. Meredith. Where was I?
Oh yes. I am speaking to Meredith. I am listening to her. She explains herself. This is what she speaks unto me: 'Michael, there is a season for everything. You've read Rimbaud. You know all about the seasons of the soul. And you've read Ecclesiastes. And you've listened to the Byrds, no doubt. Well, it's the same for banks. The same for Goldman. There is a time to buy, a time to downgrade to neutral, and a time to sell. Eight miles high, and when you touch down, you dig? Sure, that's a different song, but you dig, yeah? Tell me you dig, Mikey, for Christ's sake!'
O sexy Meredith, of course I dig, girl. But dig this shit -
'The heart of the wise is in the house of mourning; but the heart of fools is in the house of mirth.'
O Master, that sounds like some heavy King Solomon shit! Am I right?
O my child, you are not wrong. King James version, as well.
King James version! You're spoiling us today. Fuck!
But is it germane to the subject? Who cares?! My consciousness will go wherever it wishes.
Posted by Michael Fowke at 13:17
Riccardo Banchetti ($26,040,000), Georges Assi ($18,637,921), David Bizer ($21,361,794), Giancarlo Saronne ($12,883,007) …
… Harsh Shah (he wants more than $10m), and Kieran Higgins (God knows how much he wants).
Yeah. That's the money these guys want, and I reckon they should get it.
All of them worked at Lehman Brothers. To them, these sums represent lost pay and bonuses.
But what else did they lose?
In the dark, lonely nights following the collapse of Lehman, didn't they also lose the burning inside, the voices of ghosts, and the love of Big Herb? How on earth could they ever be compensated for such losses?
THEY SHOULD BE GIVEN THE MONEY THEY ARE CLAIMING.
It may go some way to assuaging their grief.
Posted by Michael Fowke at 10:00