Robert Khuzami, director of the SEC's division of enforcement, said, to no one in particular: 'Hopkins and Flannery misled State Street's investors about the risks and credit quality of a fund concentrated in subprime bonds and other subprime investments.'
Well, worse things happen at sea. Just imagine Hopkins and Flannery on a little boat in the astral sea! Even better, imagine that Hopkins and Flannery are a little boat, pissed out of its head.
Lighter than cork, they revolve upon waves, Hopkins and Flannery, rolling with the dead forever in the deep, credit crunch days, beyond the blinking eyes of land! Lulled by storms, they drift seaward from sleep. Sweeter than the Limited Duration Bond fund to an investor, green water fills their cockle shell of pine. Anchor and rudder drifting away, washed in vomit and stained with blue wine. Now they drift through this blog post of the astral sea; this gruel of stars mirrors the milky sky, devours green azures; ecstatic flotsam, drowned investors, pale and thoughtful, sometimes drift by. Staining the sudden blueness, the slow sounds, enhanced cash, deliriums that streak the glowing sky, stronger than drink and the songs they sing, it is burning, bitter, red; it is love! Hopkins and Flannery watch lightning tear the sky apart, watch waterspouts, and streaming undertow, subprime residential mortgage-backed securities and derivatives, and dawn like dove-people rising on wings - they see what SEC employees only dream they see! They see the sun with mystic horrors darken and shimmer through a violet haze; with a shiver of shutters the waves fall like actors in ancient, forgotten plays! They dream of green nights and glittering snow, slow kisses rising in the eyes of the sea, unknown liquids flowing, largely illiquid holdings, the blue and yellow stirring of phosphorescent melody! Oh, the surge of the sea, hysterical herds attacking the reefs; they never imagined the bright feet of Mary could muzzle up the heavy-breathing waves! They jostle - you know? - unbelievable Floridas, and see among the flowers the wild eyes of panthers in the skins of regulators! Rainbows bridling blind flocks beneath the horizons! In stinking swamps they see great hulks: a leviathan that rots in the reeds! Water crumbling in the midst of calm, and distances that shatter into foam. Glaciers, silver suns, waves of pearl, fiery skies, giant serpents stranded where lice consume them, falling in the depths of dark gulfs, from twisted trees, bathed in black perfume! Hopkins and Flannery want to show children these fishes shining in the blue wave, the golden fish that sing - a froth of flowers cradles their wandering and delicate winds toss them on their wings. The sea rocks them softly in sighing air, and brings them shadow-flowers with yellow stems - they remain like women, kneeling. Hopkins and Flannery, their dung, their screams! They drift on through fragile tangled lines, drowned investors, still staring up, sink down to sleep. Now they, a little lost boat, pissed out of its head, in swirling debris, tossed by the storm into the birdless upper air - all their friends at State Street cannot fish up their bodies drunk with the sea; free and soaring, trailing a purple haze, like Jimi, shot through the sky, a reddening wall, lichens of sun, and snots of dull grey sky; lost branch spinning in a herd of hippocamps, covered over with electric animals, an everlasting October battering the cloudy sky; shaking at the sound of monsters roaring, rutting behemoths in thick whirlpools, eternal weaver of unmoving blues, they think of State Street! Hopkins and Flannery see archipelagos in the stars, feverish skies where they are free to roam! Are these bottomless nights your exiled nests, swarm of golden birds, O strength to come? True, they cry too much; heartsick. The moon is bitter and the sun is sour … money burns them; they are swollen and slow. Let their keel break! Oh, let them sink in the sea!
Well, worse things happen at sea. Just imagine Hopkins and Flannery on a little boat in the astral sea! Even better, imagine that Hopkins and Flannery are a little boat, pissed out of its head.
_________________________
Lighter than cork, they revolve upon waves, Hopkins and Flannery, rolling with the dead forever in the deep, credit crunch days, beyond the blinking eyes of land! Lulled by storms, they drift seaward from sleep. Sweeter than the Limited Duration Bond fund to an investor, green water fills their cockle shell of pine. Anchor and rudder drifting away, washed in vomit and stained with blue wine. Now they drift through this blog post of the astral sea; this gruel of stars mirrors the milky sky, devours green azures; ecstatic flotsam, drowned investors, pale and thoughtful, sometimes drift by. Staining the sudden blueness, the slow sounds, enhanced cash, deliriums that streak the glowing sky, stronger than drink and the songs they sing, it is burning, bitter, red; it is love! Hopkins and Flannery watch lightning tear the sky apart, watch waterspouts, and streaming undertow, subprime residential mortgage-backed securities and derivatives, and dawn like dove-people rising on wings - they see what SEC employees only dream they see! They see the sun with mystic horrors darken and shimmer through a violet haze; with a shiver of shutters the waves fall like actors in ancient, forgotten plays! They dream of green nights and glittering snow, slow kisses rising in the eyes of the sea, unknown liquids flowing, largely illiquid holdings, the blue and yellow stirring of phosphorescent melody! Oh, the surge of the sea, hysterical herds attacking the reefs; they never imagined the bright feet of Mary could muzzle up the heavy-breathing waves! They jostle - you know? - unbelievable Floridas, and see among the flowers the wild eyes of panthers in the skins of regulators! Rainbows bridling blind flocks beneath the horizons! In stinking swamps they see great hulks: a leviathan that rots in the reeds! Water crumbling in the midst of calm, and distances that shatter into foam. Glaciers, silver suns, waves of pearl, fiery skies, giant serpents stranded where lice consume them, falling in the depths of dark gulfs, from twisted trees, bathed in black perfume! Hopkins and Flannery want to show children these fishes shining in the blue wave, the golden fish that sing - a froth of flowers cradles their wandering and delicate winds toss them on their wings. The sea rocks them softly in sighing air, and brings them shadow-flowers with yellow stems - they remain like women, kneeling. Hopkins and Flannery, their dung, their screams! They drift on through fragile tangled lines, drowned investors, still staring up, sink down to sleep. Now they, a little lost boat, pissed out of its head, in swirling debris, tossed by the storm into the birdless upper air - all their friends at State Street cannot fish up their bodies drunk with the sea; free and soaring, trailing a purple haze, like Jimi, shot through the sky, a reddening wall, lichens of sun, and snots of dull grey sky; lost branch spinning in a herd of hippocamps, covered over with electric animals, an everlasting October battering the cloudy sky; shaking at the sound of monsters roaring, rutting behemoths in thick whirlpools, eternal weaver of unmoving blues, they think of State Street! Hopkins and Flannery see archipelagos in the stars, feverish skies where they are free to roam! Are these bottomless nights your exiled nests, swarm of golden birds, O strength to come? True, they cry too much; heartsick. The moon is bitter and the sun is sour … money burns them; they are swollen and slow. Let their keel break! Oh, let them sink in the sea!
