Michael Geoghegan isn't satisfied as the chief executive of HSBC. He wants more out of life. He wants to be the chairman of HSBC. And he is threatening to walk away, to become a lonely man in the desert, for he's like the best of them now, a financial shaman, like me, a potential god, with fire in his eyes, and with teeth that bite into reality and hold on for dear eternal life. And that is far better, actually. A financial shaman and a potential money god beats a chief executive and a potential chairman of a bank. Yes, it does. Any day of the week, any week of the month, any month of the year, any year of the decade, any decade of the century, any century of the millennium, and so we ... go on ... into eternity. We never stop. Blood pumping up, I feel so alive this morning! And so does Mikey Geoghegan. He is pushing himself, on! Onwards, we go, sailing to death, and beyond, like the masters we are, covered in glory, smiling and happy, warriors of the astral nights, lovers of the astral days; wrapped in gold sheets that have been stained with the mystic blood of financiers who died before we were born. But they're still with us. They like to hang around for the drug of eternity.
Mikey Geoghegan and I haven't always seen eye to eye, but I believe we are becoming brothers, soul to soul, blood to blood, flesh to flesh, completely non-sexual. We are not benders, after all. However, we bend reality. Our will is everything. One man wants to become a chairman of HSBC. That’s marvellous. But one man must understand that he can become anything! HSBC will pass away, as all things pass. Our flesh, our bones, will pass away. We are not afraid. We expect it. This is our business. We are masters of reality. Absolute ecstasy of stars and blood-swirling fucks, is one way to look at it, our situation. Personally, I have more than one way. I like to catch stars in my mouth, as they fall from the sky. You can do this when you are as big as God, when you are one with God. He allows the oneness. He wants us to join him. Money gods are demigods. Still a part of the material world, really. The astral plane? Does anyone truly understand what it is? I'm not sure it's heaven, up top, with hell below, on the lower levels. It could just be a more subtle material reality, more subtle than earth, I mean, which is cold and hard and ugly. But I will settle for the plane. It's what I know. It's what I love. Mikey Geoghegan feels the same way. Can't you tell that he's leaving HSBC behind, just as he is leaving this wretched earth?
This is only the beginning. Mikey Geoghegan has awoken! And I was the one who threw the bucket of water over him, as he slept, almost a dead man, at HSBC. Oh, he rises from the stale pit of a bank, and he wipes his eyes. The sun is smashing through the windows of his head, and his brain is like a great cathedral. His chakras are whirling! His aura is shining! He is a new man! A sha sha shaman, ready for battle, ready for anything - this cold earth has to offer, which is nothing at all, so off to the astral desert, we ... in our subconsciousnesses nesses, we will go. Will Douglas Flint come in as chairman? Will Simon Robertson come in as chairman? And Stuart Gulliver? Will he slide into the position of chief executive, once Mikey has gone? Like a maggot in a graveyard, he'll be looking for a tasty meal. Let it happen! Let them come! What do we care? Mikey Geoghegan and I will be gone, faces in the sky, legends for all time, lords of the big money, monsters of consciousness expanded like red giants. Gods.
Mikey Geoghegan and I haven't always seen eye to eye, but I believe we are becoming brothers, soul to soul, blood to blood, flesh to flesh, completely non-sexual. We are not benders, after all. However, we bend reality. Our will is everything. One man wants to become a chairman of HSBC. That’s marvellous. But one man must understand that he can become anything! HSBC will pass away, as all things pass. Our flesh, our bones, will pass away. We are not afraid. We expect it. This is our business. We are masters of reality. Absolute ecstasy of stars and blood-swirling fucks, is one way to look at it, our situation. Personally, I have more than one way. I like to catch stars in my mouth, as they fall from the sky. You can do this when you are as big as God, when you are one with God. He allows the oneness. He wants us to join him. Money gods are demigods. Still a part of the material world, really. The astral plane? Does anyone truly understand what it is? I'm not sure it's heaven, up top, with hell below, on the lower levels. It could just be a more subtle material reality, more subtle than earth, I mean, which is cold and hard and ugly. But I will settle for the plane. It's what I know. It's what I love. Mikey Geoghegan feels the same way. Can't you tell that he's leaving HSBC behind, just as he is leaving this wretched earth?
This is only the beginning. Mikey Geoghegan has awoken! And I was the one who threw the bucket of water over him, as he slept, almost a dead man, at HSBC. Oh, he rises from the stale pit of a bank, and he wipes his eyes. The sun is smashing through the windows of his head, and his brain is like a great cathedral. His chakras are whirling! His aura is shining! He is a new man! A sha sha shaman, ready for battle, ready for anything - this cold earth has to offer, which is nothing at all, so off to the astral desert, we ... in our subconsciousnesses nesses, we will go. Will Douglas Flint come in as chairman? Will Simon Robertson come in as chairman? And Stuart Gulliver? Will he slide into the position of chief executive, once Mikey has gone? Like a maggot in a graveyard, he'll be looking for a tasty meal. Let it happen! Let them come! What do we care? Mikey Geoghegan and I will be gone, faces in the sky, legends for all time, lords of the big money, monsters of consciousness expanded like red giants. Gods.
