What's going on in Dubai?

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!!!

Are you

All order-driven securities remain in an auction call period

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.

Corkscrew hair!

SILENCE! It remains! Can you feel it?

Eh? 'Remain'?

'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 …

The 'call'?

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.

Lloyds shares 37p each!

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.

Pat Kiley and Trevor Cook with frozen assets, money, assets that will never burn!

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.

Where is Gabriel Azedo?

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?

An explanation of my redesigned blog header

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.

Does Felix Salmon own the internet?

Shit! I think I may be in big trouble. I haven't registered my blog with Felix Salmon. Shit! I hope he approves.

He attacks Zero Hedge. He attacks Henry Blodget.

Who died and made Felix God? Certainly not Big Herb.

More new Goldman Sachs managing directors - 2009!

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.

Guy de Blonay to work with Philip Gibbs?!?

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.

Antony Jenkins: don't mess with us

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?

Alexei Krilov-Harrison: fined by the FSA!

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.

Chen Ching-hsiao: guilty as sin!

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?

BlueCrest moving to Geneva?

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.

Be under no illusions

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?

Schroders' Alan Brown says …

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.

Bubbles?

Yeah, bubbles. Just like that Vishnu cat breathing out universes.

Eh?

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.

Christian Szylar has joined Kinetic Partners

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.

Where?

HERE! Here in your 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.

Zvi "the Octopussy" Goffer

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.

Jesus!

No. Durga.

Barclays Capital: EARN SUCCESS EVERY DAY

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.

Who are Charles LeCroy and Douglas MacFaddin?

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.

Interesting.

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.

Mark Kary is leaving Polar Capital!

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.

Slavery is not our destiny

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.