Rabbi Milton Balkany has been found guilty of trying to rip off SAC Capital. He claimed he had knowledge of insider trading at the firm, and he wanted $4 million to keep quiet about it. Now he is facing up to twenty years in prison. But it’s Jack Pickles who should be doing time and eating porridge. I can't prove a thing (you never can with Jack); however, I just know he was involved in this. There's no way a rabbi would try to extort money from a hedge fund without a demonic force behind him - or even inside him. That's Jack. He is that force. The man is evil. How many times do I have to tell you, dear reader(s), before you understand? A lot of you like to pretend he doesn't exist. I know, I know. It helps you sleep at night, doesn't it? Well, when the hell are you people going to wake up?! You're asleep all day long too. Enough's enough!
I feel so alone sometimes. Fighting Jack, it's like I'm fighting my own shadow. It was so cold last night. Did I imagine his icy fingers around my neck at three in the morning? You tell me. I don't know what's real and what's a fantasy any more. What is a fantasy? Am I a fantasy? Did I imagine myself? Did Jack imagine me? Maybe Jack exists, and I don't exist. That would be even worse, if it were true. There would be no light in the financial world. For I am the light. I am the way. I am a candle in the wind. Satan is the wind. Jack is a mild breeze. I should be able to beat him.
I am the light. I am the way. I truly believe that. Jack is a puppet. Forget him! Satan is everywhere.
I am the light. My head of fire will show you. It's so cold today.
My fingers, my icy fingers, want to kill me.
I am alone, with voices that are not people.
Should I link to a vulgar financial blog in New York? Could I escape my despair by finding refuge in blandness and mediocrity? No, I will leave that to the others. The philistines, the morons. Let's not forget the phoneys!
This is weakness. These words, these thoughts. There must be some strength within me somewhere. I shouldn't write when I'm in such a state. Silence is the best policy when you feel all broken up inside. But I will continue. I will go on. And on and on and on. It all goes on. It never stops. This will not be deleted, not even edited. I have no shame. This is my weakness. Live with it. I have to live with it. This is not a game. It's not a bit of fun. This is the blog unto death.
I feel so alone sometimes. Fighting Jack, it's like I'm fighting my own shadow. It was so cold last night. Did I imagine his icy fingers around my neck at three in the morning? You tell me. I don't know what's real and what's a fantasy any more. What is a fantasy? Am I a fantasy? Did I imagine myself? Did Jack imagine me? Maybe Jack exists, and I don't exist. That would be even worse, if it were true. There would be no light in the financial world. For I am the light. I am the way. I am a candle in the wind. Satan is the wind. Jack is a mild breeze. I should be able to beat him.
I am the light. I am the way. I truly believe that. Jack is a puppet. Forget him! Satan is everywhere.
I am the light. My head of fire will show you. It's so cold today.
My fingers, my icy fingers, want to kill me.
I am alone, with voices that are not people.
Should I link to a vulgar financial blog in New York? Could I escape my despair by finding refuge in blandness and mediocrity? No, I will leave that to the others. The philistines, the morons. Let's not forget the phoneys!
This is weakness. These words, these thoughts. There must be some strength within me somewhere. I shouldn't write when I'm in such a state. Silence is the best policy when you feel all broken up inside. But I will continue. I will go on. And on and on and on. It all goes on. It never stops. This will not be deleted, not even edited. I have no shame. This is my weakness. Live with it. I have to live with it. This is not a game. It's not a bit of fun. This is the blog unto death.
