Tuesday, 30 June 2009

Looking into the future with Jeff Immelt

Jeff Immelt says: 'How are you going to feel in five years time, if it is the same as it is today, if it is exactly as it is today? Five years! Or a hundred years! We should embrace the current uncertainty. It's going to be the same, for ever! Uncertainty, that is. I'm certain. In the year 2525, if man is still alive, the government will still be living next door. In the year 4545, you ain't gonna need your teeth. Yes, I have that on good authority. You won't need them. How will you feel then? How will you eat? Pop pills? Smoke a bit of weed? Peyote? Oh, don't get me started. Mysticism, you see. Sure, mysticism is coming! It is the way. Just ask Mikey. He'll tell you. He'll tell you it is already here. It never really went away. But will it be the same, the same as today? Or will all this mystic stuff change, in tune with the cosmos, as it were? Only time will tell. And time will tell - you better believe it, baby! In the year 5555, your legs will have nothing to do. Probably a machine will take care of things for you. But to hell with it! We have got to embrace change, embrace uncertainty. Yes! Embrace the man or woman next to you, and go on to the astral plane - embrace spirits and ghosts or whatever! No one is going to judge you. No one is going to say: Man, that cat is crazy! He's gone in the head, boy! And even if they do, so what? You've got to be confident with yourself. To hell with it! I'm a man! You're a man, or maybe a woman - who knows? But be proud! To hell with it! Embrace yourself. Embrace the cosmos. In the year 9595, well, let's not go there, eh? I think we're getting ahead of ourselves, don't you? Will it be the same? Who knows? Who cares? Just embrace it.'

Yeah, thanks for that, Jeff.

Monday, 29 June 2009

Imara Asset Management: Zimbabwe Value fund!

It has just been brought to my attention by some nutjobs that there is some crazy firm called Imara Asset Management that has a fund called the Zimbabwe Value fund! Yes, it's true. These crazy cats are going to invest in Zimbabwe! You know, gold, diamonds, shit like that. Well, I admire them. I really do. These guys are living on the edge, man.

O Master, isn't it a bit risky?

O my child, as I said, they are living on the edge. You got a problem with that?

Well …

Jesus H. Christ! Let me tell you about risky, my child. Risky, man, risky is going on to the astral plane without a white sheet or shades. That's risky! I put my life on the line every day.

No one's asking you to do that though, are they?

Eh?

It was your choice, Master. Everyone told you it was dangerous. You knew that Jack Pickles would take advantage of the situation and try to attack you.

But he hasn't attacked me.

Not yet.

You worry too much, my child. That's your problem. Nietzsche said we should build our homes on the sides of volcanoes. Live dangerously!

And you live in West London, don't you?

So?

Well, how many fucking volcanoes have you got in West London? I know Maurice lives in Acton. There's a hill there. Acton Hill. I remember the Acton Hill cafe. That's gone now. But there is no fucking volcano!

Nietzsche wasn't speaking literally, you prick! And watch your attitude with me.

What do you mean?

You know what I mean. For fuck's sake! I was in a good mood this morning.

Thursday, 25 June 2009

£$

O …

O …

O …

O …

O …

O …

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO …

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO …

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO …

Note: I don't know what this post means. It came to me in a vision this morning. I guess I'm trying to go beyond words, and this is it - or maybe not. I don't know what the fuck is going on. I've been really confused and depressed this week. I'll try and be back on Monday with a normal service.

Tuesday, 23 June 2009

Emptiness is my gift to you …

Would you prefer cash? Or gold? Or a few words of advice?

I give you emptiness. Inside. Inner space.

Is there an ache, a longing, or nothing?

I keep talking, keep writing, keep posting, but where is the silence?

Listen!

O Master, I hear nothing.

O my child, what do you feel?

Nothing.

Perfect!

Astaire Securities fined!

Yes, Astaire Securities has been fined. But I wouldn't worry about it. Everyone has to be fined sometime. It's all a part of growing up. O Master, fined by whom? Oh, get you, my child, with the fucking whom. You ponce! All right, fined by who? The LSE. O Master, the London School of Economics! Is this a joke? Those commie bastards can't go around fining people. This is the thin end of the fucking wedge, this is! No, no, no, my child. The London Stock Exchange. Oh, thank God for that!

The London School of Economics! Don't make me laugh. Has anyone ever graduated from that joint and got a job in a bank or hedge fund?

Monday, 22 June 2009

Words is all I got, man

Sometimes I put a video on. Like those cool Easybeats. Sometimes a picture. Just like Bobby Diamond. But, man, all I really got is words. Just my words. And I live or die by those words, even though they make me sick sometimes.

But there must be a way to break through the words. I know there is something beautiful on the other side. I'm reaching, but I cannot touch. The pain is fucking with my head. I want to transcend this shit, man. I want to go beyond.

Thomson Reuters: the end of think

This is the end, beautiful friend. This is the end of think. I don't wanna think no more. We don't wanna think no more. We don't want the pain. But Reuters says this is the beginning of know. Well, I've got news for Reuters: I don't wanna know no more. We don't wanna know no more. We are sick of thinking, sick of knowing. Intellect makes us ill. Knowledge makes us ill. We are confused. Surely, we just want to burn now. Not thinking, and not knowing. Just fucking burning.

Markets are watching. That's what they say. Markets are watching. Well, fuck the markets, man! I HAVE HAD ENOUGH! There is more to life than the markets.

We need to find a way, beyond the pain of existence. I don't know about you, but I am tormented. Yeah, you're tormented too. Words, words, words - they give me the fucking nausea! Can't we just exist without words, without knowledge? Let us lie down in the desert sand, or rest our weary heads on the City pavement. Let us sleep. Drift away to an astral world. Experience something else. A different life. WHERE WE CAN BE FREE! Please tell me you want to be free. Jesus H. Christ, don't you want to be free? Do you just want to be a fucking slave forever? What the fuck is wrong with you? I AM GETTING ANGRY NOW. You still don't understand, do you? I'M TRYING TO SHOW YOU THE WAY OUT OF SLAVERY.

Friday, 19 June 2009

Lloyd Blankfein is on my case now

So, Mr Blankfein calls me late last night:

'Michael, we gotta talk. (Okay, Lloyd. What you want to talk about?) That friend of yours, this fucking punk, who's trying to muscle in on our operation. (You mean Bobby?) Yeah. Bobby. Bobby Diamond. (I straightened him out already. You didn't hear?) I hear a lot of things, Mikey. I heard you and Bobby are real close. Practically holding hands on the friggin' astral plane. It don't look good. (Don't worry about it, Lloyd.) Because you know, if you can't handle the situation, I'll have to send someone over. (Who?) Viniar. (Jesus, Lloyd. Viniar is a fucking animal. Don't you think you're overreacting a little bit?) Well, take care of the situation. (I have, Lloyd. I told Bobby he ain't got no business making BarCap the biggest investment bank in the world. And he listened. He's a good kid. He respects you, Lloyd.) He doesn't respect anyone. He's making me look bad in front of certain people. You tell him I don't care how colourful he thinks he is. He messes with us again, he'll be gone. (He understands that, Lloyd.) So, how are you, Mike? (I'm good.) Still doing the peyote? (No, I'm off that shit now, Lloyd.) I'm glad to hear it. We can't use you if you're all fucked up. (I know that, Lloyd.) Give my love to the ghosts.'

Well, it's all sorted, hopefully. And I gave his love to the ghosts.

Thursday, 18 June 2009

Bobby Diamond: taking over the motherf**king world!

Has Bobby Diamond got delusions of grandeur? He wants Barclays Capital to be the premier global investment bank. Bigger than Goldman Sachs! Bigger than JPMorgan!

Well, I said to Bobby: 'Bobby, man, you know I love you to death. I know you're trying, man. You're trying to be all mystical and shit. And I respect you for it. But you ain't gonna be bigger than Goldman Sachs. I won't allow it, for one thing. Goldman pays me a hell of a lot of money. Yeah, it's like a protection racket. And you think I'm gonna let a bum like you take over, eh? No disrespect. Yeah, we're friends. Yeah, I'm showing you the way of the shaman. But don't push it, Bobby. My loyalty is to the Goldman crew first. There's big money at stake. You understand big money, don't you, Bob? I can't let them down. God help me, if I have to choose, you or them - it's gonna be them. I will have to take you down. So don't put me in that position, Bobby. I'm begging you, Bob. Don't make me fuck you up. Because I will. I'll be totally ruthless.'

Anyway, I think Bob got the idea. In the end, he could see where I was coming from.

By the way, my chat with Bob has been heavily edited. I don't think it's right that I should tell you, dear reader, what Mr Diamond said to me. He was in tears, he was very emotional, and it's in no one's interest for him to be humiliated. I love that fucking kid.

Wednesday, 17 June 2009

Dave Prentis: 'feeding the hand that bites them'

Eh? - you're thinking. You're thinking 'Eh?' right? That's what the man says. Mr Prentis is the general secretary of Unison, and he says his members are tired of 'feeding the hand that bites them'. His exact words. Very interesting.

What are we to make of this? How do you feed a hand? And how does a hand bite you? Is Mr Prentis talking literally, or is this some kind of fucked-up metaphor?

I have been speaking to award-winning financial psychic Keith Busby. Someone has to. This is what he told me: 'Mikey, there is something very dark going on at Unison, something very sinister. I think Dave is referring to the Hand of Glory. (Yeah?) Oh yeah. Wherever that terrible light shall burn, vainly the sleeper may toss and turn; his leaden eyes shall he ne'r unclose, so long as that magical taper glows, life and treasure shall he command, who knoweth the charm of the glorious Hand. (And how do you feed it, then, Keith?) Eh? (How do you feed the fucking thing? How does it bite you?) I don't know, Mike. I was just - (You know, Keith, it's true what everyone says about you. You really are a wanker.) Come on, Mike, I -'

I put the phone down. If there is anyone sensible out there who knows how to feed a hand, please get in touch.

Tuesday, 16 June 2009

Andrew King, Michael McFall, Andrew Rimmington and the FSA (again!)

Yes, the Untouchables have been at it again, cleaning up the City! These characters are better than Batman and Robin. Now, I normally have harsh words for the FSA, because it seems to have a penchant for busting all my mates. Notably traders at Morgan Stanley. But today is different. Today, the Financial Services Authority went after known associates of the world's most demonic financier. Yes, Jack Pickles.

So, what have these guys been charged with? Well, Andrew King is/was Neutec Pharma plc's finance director. The FSA reckons he passed on information to lawyer Michael McFall. Mick then passed on information to Andrew Rimmington (another lawyer). Then they all bought some shares in Neutec Pharma. Or something like that. Insider trading! That's basically what we're talking about here. Or so the FSA claims. But the guys could be innocent. This all has to go to trial.

So, where does Jack Pickles come into the picture? Beats me! I was just jerking your chain. Jack doesn't fuck around with chump change. Admit it, dear reader, I had you fooled there for a moment.

Nicola Horlick and Bramdean Alternatives

I ain't been following this story too closely, so I don't really know what's going on. Don't really care, to be honest with you. The sun is shining today. Lovely weather. I don't want to be posting this shit, when I could be outside, walking in the park, stuffing a Cornetto in my face. A mint one, probably.

Top Deck shandy. Why in the name of Christ can't you buy Top Deck shandy any more? I remember holidays in Selsey when I was but a child. They couldn't keep me off the shandy. Cider and lemonade was my favourite. And Shandy Bass, of course. You can still buy that.

And what about Space Dust?! Oh man, I loved Space Dust. The way it would crackle in your mouth. Happy days!

Friday, 12 June 2009

Damon Buffini: searching for fresh deals

Yeah, and I don't blame him. Damon Buffini ain't gonna be no chairman of no Permira no more, man. You know, the private equity group. But don't get upset. He ain't leaving. Well, at least, not physically. He's not physically leaving. But his soul, man, his spirit, is going to be flying high in the friendly astral sky - we're basically talking about the desert here; and he's going to be searching for fresh deals. And that's the way it should be. Because every man has a breaking point. You and I have. Damon don't wanna be going into the office no more (though he may send his bodily form). He wants to soar like an eagle. He wants to find his freedom.

O Master, have you spoken with Damon?

Yeah.

And what did he say?

Check this shit, my child –

'Michael, man, I'm leaving for the desert. I gonna have me a wild time. Smoke a bit of weed. Drop some peyote. You dig me, baby? I know you dig, man. You're an animal for that shit. And I'll be looking for fresh deals. Some newspaper says I'm all committed to restoring my company's lost lustre. Well, those commie freaks ain't wrong. That's exactly what I plan to do. But in the desert! Out there, man! Alone, but not afraid. (You'll have a few ghosts for company, Damon.) You reckon, Mikey? (I'll fucking arrange it, mate. Don't worry about that.) I would appreciate that, man. It would be nice to have some company. It would be nice to hear some voices floating on the desert wind, you dig? (Oh yeah. I know all about voices.) How many voices you got on that blog of yours, Mike? (Too many. I don't know whether to use bold or italic or what kind of style for them.) Man, I wish I had your problems. I wish I had all those voices in my head. But I guess I will, soon. The mystical life! That's the life for me. By the way, how's your golden-haired angel? (It's early days yet.) You know, Mike, when a man loves a woman, he can't keep his mind on nothing else, and, nine times out of ten, he'll trade the world for the good thing he's found. (I'll bear that in mind, Damon.) Stay lucky, Mike.'

What a man!

Damn straight.

Thursday, 11 June 2009

Chakras are whirling

Chakras are whirling, they swirling, and this is how we make money. The ancients did it. We can do it. The fire is within us, and the light. That is all we need. You know, some days I don't even need a story, man. Some days I just let the light lift me up to a higher plane. And I find it there. We find it together. We live it. This shit ain't a fantasy for us. That's what the cold earth wanderers don't understand. They cannot dig our love.

Chakras are whirling, gone flying, beyond our bodies. The night sky! That will do it every time. We don't need much to get all excited. Money burns for us. And we burn for money. Yes, we do. Have you seen Satan in the mirror? Have you seen Jesus? Did you see my face all sheeted up and shaded? Was Jack Pickles hovering there with an evil grin? Reality is all too much, yeah? Don't you think? Reality eats us. Will there be anything left? Fuck it! Who cares?

Chakras are whirling, down to the City, down to the banks. It is time to smack the square ones until they bleed. Yes, they will bleed for us, like passionate animals, all over the City! All over the world! Wall Street will get the vibrations. We are giving it to everyone. It feels like poison. It is a real pain. But they have not been adjusted yet. We will change them. Paint them with astral colours. Stain them with the juice of ghosts. They will not escape our love.

Look at it! Feel it!

I see it coming, and I feel it. Look!

Our love is like a storm of fire.

Monday, 8 June 2009

Michael Fowke talks to Pierre Lagrange

Yes, he does. Michael Fowke talks to him. Who is he? Michael Fowke is the author of this blog. And Pierre? That crazy cat is GLG's senior managing director.

Pierre, mate, how are you doing?

Fine, Mikey. We felt we wanted to improve the balance sheet going into the next period.

That's great, Pierre. Only thing is, mate, I ain't interested in no fucking balance sheet. I want to know about the state of your soul.

Oh.

Come on, mate. I want to hear a bit more than 'Oh'.

Well, my soul is … er, is …

Pierre, do you have a soul?

We think we're probably going to be the first real hedge fund manager to bring something to that space.

That's more like it! What space, Pierre?

The space out there, man! Where a man can be a man and find his true self. There are mysteries for us. We must discover new ... new realms, man. Have ye ever been lost in money, Michael? Burned it out, and yet … and yet …

Keep going, Pierre. This is fucking brilliant!

They have largely been long-only equity players who have decided to move into absolute return.

No, no, no! For Christ's sake!

They moved into the desert, and …

Yes. Keep going.

They … they turned to equities because of low interest rates on cash.

Fucking hell! Just forget it, mate.

Friday, 5 June 2009

Is there any point in writing a novel?

I have no money, no resources, no hopes. I am the happiest man alive. A year ago, six months ago, I thought that I was an artist. I no longer think about it, I am. Everything that was literature has fallen from me. There are no more books to be written, thank God.

This then? This is not a book. This is libel, slander, defamation of character. This is not a book, in the ordinary sense of the word. No, this is a prolonged insult, a gob of spit in the face of Art, a kick in the pants to God, Man, Destiny, Time, Love, Beauty … what you will. I am going to sing for you, a little off key perhaps, but I will sing. I will sing while you croak, I will dance over your dirty corpse.

No, that is not me describing my blog and my situation in life. It is Henry Miller at the beginning of his 1934 novel Tropic of Cancer. But it makes me wonder …

Update: Yes, there is a point (I think). The internet is the future, but the future isn't here yet. But it may be here tomorrow. But tomorrow never knows.

Thursday, 4 June 2009

Hedge funds?

I have the light of God in me. So, no, I will not be writing about hedge funds today.

I was going to write about how Britain's biggest hedge funds are threatening to leave the country because they are sick and tired of the Euro-communist slags who want to wreck capitalism.

But I have the light of God in me, at the moment. It happens occasionally. This time, it is so intense. I cannot concentrate on financial matters. God has entered my life with a power that almost takes my breath away. He has shown me another way. A personal way for me, that may make me change my literary plans.

My mind is burning up. And Christ knows what's happening with my soul.

Wednesday, 3 June 2009

BBVA: take a five-year holiday!

This is brilliant! The Spanish bank BBVA is offering its employees the chance to take five years off work with 30 per cent pay for that whole time. So, they've got siestas and now this shit. Lucky bastards!

I have been speaking to Juan Ignacio Apoita (BBVA's top human resources dude), and he told me, 'Mike, I've just read your last post about God not being a vulgarian. Boy, are you in a world of shit now. (Why?) Big Herb is pissed at you. He thinks you're having a dig at him. (Don't you want to talk about your cost-cutting drive, the five-year holidays?) No, Michael, I want to talk about your relationship with Big Herb. (Hey, Juan, mate, Big Herb and I are cool. We've known each other for years. And I made my bones when you were going out with cheerleaders.) Eh?'

Dear reader, what happens in the desert, stays in the desert.

Absolutely nothing to do with money ...

But I have to post it:

GOD DOES NOT WANT YOU TO WORSHIP HIM. HE IS NOT A VULGARIAN. HE WANTS YOU TO RAISE YOUR CONSCIOUSNESS TO HIS LEVEL. THEN YOU WILL BE ONE WITH HIM.

Jesus H. Christ! How do I think of this shit?

Anyway, it's past midnight. I'm going to bed.

Tuesday, 2 June 2009

Morgan Stanley Smith Barney

Introducing, introducing, introducing …

Ladies and gentlemen, shamans and mystics, Morgan Stanley Smith Barney!

With this launch they are combining their global wealth management business with another respected franchise to create the industry's new leader! Shape-shifting! A human to a wolf, or a fox, or a bat, or …

Morgan Stanley is committed. Its staff are committed. The less said about that the better.

Many people are rethinking how they manage their wealth. Many people are taking it into the desert and burying it in the mystic sands of their dreams.

We've rethought the wealth management firm!

Who said that? Never mind. Voices again.

Thinking and resources to fit the times!

Oh, don't mind me! It's only my fucking blog!

Morgan Stanley Smith Barney helps open doors to a wider array of financial products, independent money managers and capital markets. And when these doors are cleansed -

Okay, thank you. That's enough.

Monday, 1 June 2009

Saker Nusseibeh

I am in a perverse fucking mood this morning, so I will not be telling you who Mr Saker Nusseibeh is.

Some of you may know who he is. Well, good luck to you.

But most of you won't have a clue.

He could be anyone. He could be a thought-form on the astral plane.

O Master, you mean he's not real?

I never said that.

Tobam

Eh? What's a tobam? You may well ask, dear reader.

But let's not get all screwed in the head. There is no need to worry. Tobam is the investment manager formed from the break up of Lehman Brothers Asset Management. Tobam is publishing the Maximum Diversification Index series based on its anti-benchmark equity portfolio construction methodology.

Jesus, no! No, no, no! Is there any way we can stop these crazy Tobam bastards?

O Master, are we all doomed?

O my child, I think we should worry now. But hark!

O Master, what is it?

Big Herb speaks!

O Master, what does he say?

JUST FUCKING LISTEN!