Friday, 10 September 2010

Barclays Capital needs a man like Helge Weiner-Trapness

And I am very happy to reveal [to report, to let it be known, although some already know] that BarCap has a man like Helge Weiner-Trapness. Even better than that, it actually has Helge Weiner-Trapness. Mr Weiner-Trapness isn't like Helge Weiner-Trapness. Not at all. He is him. And no one can ask for more than that. Let us be reasonable. [Please.]

At this moment in time, it is 1.45 in the morning. I'm going to spend approximately three hours working on this post. That is a decision I have made. It means I won't get to bed until five or so. Is this dedication, or passion? Or maybe an indication that all is not well in my life, in my head, in my soul? I don't want to sleep. That's the honest truth. I have been asleep for over forty years. Now it is time to wake up. I am awake, almost.

To make things easier, I am listening to the instrumental part of David Sylvian's album Gone to Earth. It would be better if I were listening to Brian Eno's Apollo. I am well aware of that, so please, no emails. Unfortunately, I haven't got around to ripping that album to my laptop. But Sylvian is all right. At least he's not singing. I could not cope with his pretentious moaning this late in the night or early in the morning. Running like a horse between the trees? No thank you.

Helge Weiner-Trapness is working in Hong Kong. Head of BarCap's financial institutions group. That's what he is. That's what he likes to believe. It's the old story. You give someone a position and - hold on, I just had a strange sensation in my ear. I hope this isn't the beginning of a ghost attack. Not while I'm working, lads. Have a heart. I'm committed to this post now, and I want to finish it. A couple of ghosts. They've gone. Still, it could have been worse. I once had a dream about vampires. I woke up, got out of bed, drew the curtains, and was shocked to see two vampires at the window. Then I woke up properly. I had dreamt that I had woken up, you see. It's pretty funny, looking back. Although I wasn't laughing at the time, I can tell you.

Mr Weiner-Trapness was at JP Morgan for more than six years. He left in 2008. I imagine he was on the dole for a couple of years. Nothing wrong with that. It's nothing to be ashamed of, as long as you don't get trapped in that lifestyle. I'm restarting Gone to Earth, from the beginning, vocals and all. Why not? There are a couple of good songs. Silver Moon is a great song. Do you know that Sylvian's real name is David Batt, and that he comes from Catford? You wouldn't think it to look at him. I'm not having a go. He's done all right. He could have been a car mechanic. It's funny how life turns out. I mean, look at Helge. Hang on - 'Running like a horse between the trees'. Whatever, Dave, mate. I'm sure you know what you're singing about.

I bought a guitar yesterday. I wonder if Mr Weiner-Trapness likes his music. I wonder what he listens to. Only a cheap guitar. £70 from Argos. It's not my first. I've had a few. Sold them all. I once saw one of John Lennon's guitars on sale for £600. Around 1988/89. I had the money as well. I should have bought it. It would be worth a lot more now. I had a saxophone as well. I could play Baker Street on it. Badly. But the piano was my instrument. I could play Life on Mars? as well as, well, not Rick Wakeman, but well enough. Dear reader, I hope you don't mind my waffling on like this, but I'm not in the mood for the usual sort of post. I'm sure Mr Weiner-Trapness doesn't mind; and if he's happy, why shouldn't you be?

It's raining. Nearly three. 'I love the rain. It washes memories off the sidewalk of life.' Woody Allen. I feel calm. Rare for me, this. Silver Moon. Maybe I should write my blog on the nightshift from now on. It would interfere with my astral wanderings though. 'Soon the guiding moonlight will be gone'. Nice line. Rain has stopped already. Cool breeze through the window. It's ten, Thursday night in New York. What is she doing?

I've nearly forgotten about Helge Weiner-Trapness. Silver Moon again. Then maybe some Cohen. The best song I ever wrote was called Ophelia [another married woman]. I was twenty years old, and it was better than any song Dylan or Lennon could write at that age. But I never kept it up. Got lost in despair for decades. But I'm not going to get depressed about it. Life goes on. Some bitch stole all Cohen's songs, the royalties, that is. But life goes on. Everything happens for a reason. The internet was invented for a reason. You've got to have faith. Got to believe in your destiny, whoever you are, or will be.

'First we take Manhattan, then we take Berlin'. Pause. For a while. I'm thinking. Time is passing. I will have something interesting to say in a minute or two. Pause. This could be a Harold Pinter play. Pinter was heavily influenced by Beckett, and Beckett had tons of pauses in his plays, which were written before Pinter's. So why is/was Pinter famous for his pauses? Maybe because there was little else in his writing. People don't examine stuff. They hear about the Pinter pause and then just accept that it belongs to him. But it should be the Beckett pause.

Close to a thousand words! It's gonna be a big one. It's certainly a strange one. A touch maudlin, perhaps. I can't help that. I have no control. I don't want any control. I'm at the mercy of my genius.

God knows what Helge Weiner-Trapness is making of all this. Are you reading it, mate? Don't worry about a thing. It'll soon be over. Next week I'll be writing about some other poor sod. [My laptop just freaked out and shut itself down. Either it doesn't like the Cohen album, or it doesn't like me. I will soldier on! So will Cohen.] Take This Waltz. 'With its very own breath of brandy and death'. Federico Garcia Lorca helped out. Good old Federico Garcia Lorca!

Various Positions. My eyes. My brain. This has been an experience. But this won't be a selected post. Too personal. Best let it disappear into the archive. You have to get personal every now and then. It's all about having no fear. No fear leads to glory.

Tired now. Haven't got the energy to edit this. Hope there aren't any mistakes. If there are, let them be a part of the work. [Edited a bit. Couldn't resist.]

Good night, ladies, good night, sweet ladies, good night, good night.