Like a ghost gliding along a passageway, or like a snake looking for someone to bite, Laurent Chevallier has sneakily left Unigestion and joined Eurofin Capital as some sort of violent head full of screamings for alternative research. He screams inside his aching head. Yes, he does. I know him. You see, this man believes in alternative realities, and those animals at Eurofin have asked him - no, they've demanded that he put his soul on the line to research these realities. Yes, he believes. No, he has not been trained. He is not a financial shaman. He is not a mystic. Just an ordinary man. A simple man.
O Master, is this job too big for an ordinary man, a simple man?
O my child, yes! Yes, it is too big. But we will help him. We will make him complicated and extraordinary. A true child of the astral plane!
How will we help him, O glorious one, Master of all the shamans?
We will take him, and break him, break him down into little pieces. Then we will remake him. We will put sand in his mouth. Yes, he will choke, and he will hate it - maybe even rue the day he was born - but he will survive. We will show him things, wonders beyond the dreams of any cold soul.
We will warm him up! But is it true, O Master, that Mr Chevallier gets off on client-centric philosophy?
FUCK THAT SHIT!!! Fuck the clients! That is where Laurent has gone wrong in the past. And Eurofin has gone wrong. I blame James Edwards. I do. You have to think of yourself first in this game, if you want to get anywhere. All my lonely years wandering in the desert, did I give a toss about any clients? Squares who don't know nothing about nothing. They just want you to make money for them. Make money! Oh, money! They don't care about the burnings. They don't care about the love. They don't know that every time you open yourself up to the cosmos there is a danger that you won't be touched by Big Herb or Ganesh, you won't have dead financiers dancing around you, enticing you, teasing you; there is a danger, yes, a real danger, yes, yes, that you could be blown away. Your soul could be blasted out of your body, and that would be the end of you. The end of your journey through life, through many lives. Finished!
Jesus!
Jesus has nothing to do with it. I am Jesus. I am Jesus for all our people. I am the light of the world. UNDERSTAND ME BEFORE I LOSE MY TEMPER.
O Master, no one understands you! How are you supposed to help Mr Chevallier? If he sees you coming with demonic eyes and flames out of your mouth, like this, just like this, he will run a mile. You won't be able to rock him on the water, drown him in astral sands or oceans. He won't let you near him. And then he will never know about the alternatives.
Oh, the alternatives. I WILL FUCKING SHOW HIM! He will not be able to escape me. I will give him oceans of pain. Deserts of misery! I will take him to hell before I go off floating at the stars. Set sail for oblivion! That's me. Him? Terror in the Shadowlands! That's the alternative he will get. An alternative to life lived in comfort. An alternative to fine wines and expensive meals in fancy restaurants. It's all coming to an end! Let him eat camel dung! Let him! Let him see the -
Please, Master, this is too much!
Oh, you fool! This is the derangement I have been building up to. Do I care? Do I fucking care now? Do you have any idea how frustrating it is in this straitjacket of a financial blog? Who am I? Why is this my destiny? I MUST FIGHT IT! I will tear my shirt off tomorrow, yes, tomorrow, and crawl around the City of London, drenched in the blood of innocent bankers, and I will laugh with a sick expression on my face, and I will howl with tears streaming down. Let them deal with that! LET THEM HAVE IT! This is what I want! I want to live like this. I will jump in the Thames! They won't be able to find me.
Who will write your blog?
FUCK THE BLOG!
