He will report to Juerg Zeltner in October, and he will continue to report as the head of wealth management in Europe. This is Jakob Stott, obviously. But what did he dream of, as lost as he was at JP Morgan?
A dark angel with aching wings, could he be? Juerg Zeltner would not know. And we could not tell him. Jakob Stott is a mystery. His dreams are mysteries. Why was he chosen? That is a mystery. The grave he comes from, the light he flies towards, the force that drives him, the miracle of his life. Standing alone, his head wrapped in a sheet. This is the head we should worry about. It will not roll in desert sands. It has a body attached. It has arms, legs. Oh, the old streets of Germany, Great Britain, France, Monaco, Italy, Spain, Austria, Luxembourg, Belgium and the Netherlands! We shall hear his feet at night with the owl.
The sheet is off! Blood runs from his mouth. I am seeing the teeth of that mouth. I am feeling the heat from that face. But cold eyes! There are no tears to come from ice cubes. Did we suffer in the desert for this? So men like Jakob Stott can work at JP Morgan while dreaming of UBS? Our lives are not trivial. We have experienced burnings. Oh, the joy of burning! But we have suffered terrible privations as well. Our love is not for spending. Does Jakob understand this? And if he understands, does he care?
We are not dead. We are very much alive. Hearts throb in our ears, ears hissing like the boiling oceans we have seen. If we were being honest with ourselves, we would deny the existence of Jakob Stott. The truth is, we enjoy our little fantasies. How sad are we, that we cannot live without our monsters, our rolling heads, our nightmarish visions? Teeth scattered on a European street with a blood-stained white sheet and a drumming coming for us and throbbing gums. Skeleton hands reaching for the door, up the stairs, it enters. A killer of all our dreams. Jakob Stott has no dreams. A thought-form does not dream.
And now my mind turns away from Jakob. I wonder where Gillian is. This is pleasant. This is satisfying. Visions of Gillian! There are no horrors in this reality! I wish I could sleep for a thousand years.
A dark angel with aching wings, could he be? Juerg Zeltner would not know. And we could not tell him. Jakob Stott is a mystery. His dreams are mysteries. Why was he chosen? That is a mystery. The grave he comes from, the light he flies towards, the force that drives him, the miracle of his life. Standing alone, his head wrapped in a sheet. This is the head we should worry about. It will not roll in desert sands. It has a body attached. It has arms, legs. Oh, the old streets of Germany, Great Britain, France, Monaco, Italy, Spain, Austria, Luxembourg, Belgium and the Netherlands! We shall hear his feet at night with the owl.
The sheet is off! Blood runs from his mouth. I am seeing the teeth of that mouth. I am feeling the heat from that face. But cold eyes! There are no tears to come from ice cubes. Did we suffer in the desert for this? So men like Jakob Stott can work at JP Morgan while dreaming of UBS? Our lives are not trivial. We have experienced burnings. Oh, the joy of burning! But we have suffered terrible privations as well. Our love is not for spending. Does Jakob understand this? And if he understands, does he care?
We are not dead. We are very much alive. Hearts throb in our ears, ears hissing like the boiling oceans we have seen. If we were being honest with ourselves, we would deny the existence of Jakob Stott. The truth is, we enjoy our little fantasies. How sad are we, that we cannot live without our monsters, our rolling heads, our nightmarish visions? Teeth scattered on a European street with a blood-stained white sheet and a drumming coming for us and throbbing gums. Skeleton hands reaching for the door, up the stairs, it enters. A killer of all our dreams. Jakob Stott has no dreams. A thought-form does not dream.
And now my mind turns away from Jakob. I wonder where Gillian is. This is pleasant. This is satisfying. Visions of Gillian! There are no horrors in this reality! I wish I could sleep for a thousand years.
