Have an Astral Christmas!

Yes, I hope you have an Astral Christmas. Just like the one you had last year. I'll be back on Tuesday 4th January.

In case you're wondering, I’m not going to be lazing around, stuffing my face with mince pies for two weeks. I'm going to be putting a lot of work into that post I told you about. It'll be no longer than three or four thousand words, but it'll be very polished and concentrated.

Laters.

Morgan Sze wants billions of dollars for his new Azentus Capital hedge fund thing

Well, that's what Reuters reckons. It seems reasonable to me. If I were a Goldman Sachs trader and global head of whatever, running away to start my own hedge fund, I would also want billions of dollars to make a big splash with in the astral sea. It's a sea of love!

He only wants a billion.

Only a billion? That can be arranged, no problem. This is all going to work out beautifully. I only wish I had the enthusiasm to continue writing about Morgan Sze and his hedge fund. Unfortunately, I'm a bit distracted at the moment.

You're looking forward to Christmas, ain't ya?

No, not particularly. I'm just excited about the special post I'm working on. I mentioned it yesterday. I'm putting everything into it. My heart, my soul, my, er, everything. It's going to be a masterpiece.

We'll see.

By the way, dear reader, Reuters will tell you more about Morgan Sze. I apologize for being so unhelpful, so ...

So uninformative! O Master, you would never make it as a journalist.

Yeah. What a fucking tragedy. I'm all broken up about that.

Oh, you're a sarcastic ****, you are. But you make me laugh.

Thank you, my child.

FSA fines and bans William James Coppin and Perry John Bliss

"Gentlemen, this script does not exist."

Reader(s), this post does not exist. This FSA post or page (or whatever it is) does not exist. What an exciting world we live in! I was immediately attracted to the story of stockbrokers William and Perry and their adventures with Provexis as soon as the words "Gentlemen, this script does not exist" entered my consciousness.

'Over the next two days, Coppin and Bliss made a series of calls to clients in which they disclosed that Provexis plc was going to announce a major contract shortly which would make its share price increase substantially. Using this inside information, they encouraged some of their clients to buy Provexis plc shares.'

The script did not exist, but still they went ahead. No fear! Can you believe this?

William and Perry should be given medals for their bravery. Why has the FSA fined and banned them?

Robert "Lone" Wolf at UBS is a lone wolf

With a name like that/this, Robert "Lone" Wolf was always going to be a lone wolf. And that's why he's not the chief executive of UBS. Into each life some rain must fall. I doubt he has sleepless nights though. He is the chief executive of something. UBS Group Americas. That must be a comfort.

O Master, not for long.

I know how it feels to be a lone wolf. I am one. That's how I know. Even more isolated than Bobby "Lone" Wolf. I am the chief executive of nothing.

O Master, "Lone" will be the chief executive of nothing soon. Into each life ...

So? Wolf is not afraid of nothingness.

Who on earth is Caspar Rock? And why?

There's a rumour going around that Caspar Rock is going to become the chief investment officer at Architas, which is some sort of multi-manager nonsense. Voices familiar with the situation say that Caspar is already the deputy, has been for a while. The sheriff, Richard Philbin, is leaving at the end of the month, so the position is/will be free. Are we supposed to believe any of this?

I think we can believe most of it. Are you shocked? I think we can believe that there is some Architas multi-manager nonsense in this peculiar world of ours. Apparently, AXA is all mixed up in it. And I think we can believe in the existence of Richard Philban. I have actually seen a picture of the man and he appears quite human. Please don't take that as a recommendation. Being 'human' is overrated if you ask me. We need more dolphins. We need them working in finance.

Who on earth is Caspar Rock? That's the question. And why? That's not the question. I think we can do without the 'why?' I have a book Why Beckett. Awfully pretentious. Why would you call a book that? And why would you leave out the question mark? Read the book. You'll find there is no reference to 'why' at all. Pietro Citati's Kafka is much better anyway. A masterful piece of work!

Who on earth is Caspar Rock? That's the question we should be asking. I always knew that Kafka was important. I do have a mind of my own, you know. However, Citati made me realize just how important. Particularly impressive is the section where Citati describes how Kafka turned away from being the new Dostoyevsky to find his own difficult, narrow path of darkness. Every great writer needs to turn away from something, from the easy life. You think this is easy?

Who on earth is Caspar Rock? Oh, it's a good question, and it deserves an answer. I only wish I had an answer. I wish I could satisfy you, dear reader(s). I cannot satisfy you. I cannot tell you who any man or woman is, let alone the mysterious Caspar Rock.

I wish I were a dolphin. In the astral sea. Free from human thoughts. I would think like a dolphin. I had an evil dream last night. No dolphin would dream such a dream. I awoke, confused and upset.

You have to pretend no one will read, that no one will ever read. That's the hard part.

Nicolaas Marais is on "desert leave" from BlackRock

But he will join Schroders in March next year! He'll be running the multi-asset business. Well, someone has to. It won't run itself, not with John McLaughlin skiving off. Bastard. No, that's unfair. [Why do I say these things?] John is going to be concentrating on Schroders' liability-driven investment business. I mean, someone has to. It won't -

O Master, I can see a pattern developing here. Maybe you should deal with Nicolaas Marais' LinkedIn profile.

Ah yes. Nic's LinkedIn profile. Nic reckons he is 'currently on "garden leave" from BlackRock.' That's bullshit. Why do they do this, Nic and finance types like him? Are they ashamed? Do they think people will laugh at them just because they're taking some time out in the desert of our love, wandering (or floating, astral sands) through a sandy wilderness, looking for Big Herb, looking for dead financiers, looking for me - because I am nearly always there, ready and waiting, willing and ready, waiting for the sun to shine, and it always shines, so there's no need to wait for it, in truth?

Who would want to spend time in a cold English garden anyway? You ain't gonna get no burning love, just frostbite. Who needs it?

Well, the cold ones need it. They love it. But Nicolaas Marais ain't one of the cold earth wanderers. This isn't a man who can be happy face down with his face full of dirty snow. Ice in his eyes?! It would never happen. No, he's gonna be gone burning for three months. And I mean totally gone in his head as well as his body. We're talking about the experience of a lifetime. For some people it can be the experience of a deathtime too.

But that's very advanced stuff.

Of course it is, my child. There is no question of Mr Marais, Nic, (Nic to his friends and perfect strangers, and I am perfect, and I am a stranger in a strange land, so I think I qualify, Nic!) having the experience of a deathtime. He ain't no shaman. He's a neophyte. We can't have him dying for a short while, just to get the taste, then coming back, regaling everyone with bizarre stories that he won't even understand himself because he ain't got the training. I got the training. I got the T-shirt.

O Master, is that the T-shirt with the skull on it?

Don't be so bloody stupid! I wasn't talking literally. Why would I have a T-shirt with a skull on it? Sounds incredibly vulgar. Credit me with some style. Christ!

Sorry, boss.

I've lost my train of thought now. Thinking of skulls now. Lots of them now. They just fill my mind. My mind in a skull, filled with skulls. This is not something you want on a Monday morning. I was hoping to get off to a positive start. I don't want to be bogged down with skulls. You're to blame, you little cretin!

Oh come on, Master. I only mentioned one skull on a T-shirt. I can't be held responsible for all the things that stream through your consciousness. If you want to take that one harmless skull and blow it up into a mad fantasy of piles of skulls, a charnel house of skulls, well, it's got nothing to do with me and I wash my hands of the whole affair.

You haven't got any hands! You're just a voice.

So you keep telling me. I don't need enemies with friends like you, do I?

We're not friends. Don't forget your place.

I won't forget, boss.

Now, clear off. I've got to edit this post, then post it, and then have my lunch while reading the Sun.

A thoughtful moment concerning Marcel Duchamp and myself

The FSA is writing to 49,387 people to warn them that their names are on a 'master list' that boiler room fraudsters may have been using to contact them out of the blue and offer worthless shares. Well, the fraudsters most probably have been using it. So the victims will know by now. Why do they need a letter from the FSA telling them what terrible fools they've been? It's rubbing salt in the wound.

O Master, that's not what concerns me. I want to know why they have called it the 'master list'. What's going on, boss?

Obviously, they are trying to put the blame on me. They know I didn't have anything to do with the list. It's outrageous.

Why don't you sue them?

Life's too short. I'm above all this. I will not let them drag me down to their level. I have my mind on higher things.

Yeah. The astral desert. Ghost chatter. The burning money. All that stuff. Mystic shit.

Marcel Duchamp.

Eh?

It occurred to me this morning, after my tea and toast but before my shave and the washing of my hair, a thoughtful moment, that Marcel Duchamp had been staring at an open goal, just as I am now. It was so obvious. So simple. Back then. Still is. With another art.

Yeah.

John Cryan is leaving UBS (to pursue other interests outside of normal reality)

I think we all know what that means, don't we, dear reader(s)? Mr Cryan, chief financial officer extraordinaire, is heading for the physical/astral desert of our love. Where the money always burns, and the moons always shine - if you have your astral eyes in. Where you can touch the sky! You can get as high as an eagle. So it's gonna be astral more than physical. It's gonna be crazy rather than thoroughly sane and dull. And Mr Cryan will be multicoloured, oh, not the usual grey. Because he's had enough! He's nearly fifty and he ain't lived yet. Who can blame him for yearning after the delights of the desert? No doubt he has heard stories (my stories!) about the trunk of Ganesh, and he wants a taste of it, the good life, the wild life, a life that is so close to death (we are nearly there) that we tremble with anticipation. But we don't want to die! We are not insane. We want to live forever. And we will. Believe me, my mystic lovers, all above board, you will live forever - especially if you are one of the fortunate ones mentioned within these bloggy pages (are they pages? no, I refuse to live in the past). I know what I'm doing. I'm taking you all with me. It's gonna be a gas. Like Jim Jones. No, that was a drink. I get confused. It's the peyote, (wo)man, whatever you are. Don't touch that dial! You're not going away, leaving me all lonesome in a wilderness of my own making. We're gonna have a party for John. He won't be leaving for months. Oh God, what's the delay?! Why do they always do this, these executives? 'I'm leaving, leaving on a midnight wave of ecstasy to the desert.' Then what? We have to wait. Three months! Six months! A year! These bankers must think we have the patience of saints. No! We want Johnny here, and we want him NOW! Come on, Johnny, take massive action. Be decisive! Be a man! You can remember what it feels like to be a man, a free man, can't ya? Before the corporate world broke your spirit, dragged you through the dirt of mundane life, a little crying child in rags, well, a suit, let's not tell lies, you already have everyone's sympathy, I'm sure, but, oh, you could be anything in our reality. We will dress you up. No expense will be spared, as long as you're paying. What's your credit card number? Never mind. That can come later.

What did HSBC know about Bernard Madoff?

Oh, there's some talk, some 'news' - if you can believe that, that, that HSBC knew all about Bernard Madoff and his diabolical [so evil as to recall the DEVIL] Ponzi scheme, way back, back in 2001, when the world was young. Ah, the apple trees, blossoms in the breeze.

HSBC subsidiaries fed money into the Ponzi nightmare, or so various nutjobs claim. I don't know what to believe. Do any of us know what to believe any more? And if HSBC knew, so what? You have to make hay while the sun shines, don't ya?

Personally, I would like to know what HSBC knew about Jack Pickles. He was Madoff's boss. He was the one pulling the strings.

Who is Jack Pickles? I suppose I know more than most. After all, we were best friends. Like brothers, we were. Almost the same person. Yes, that close. But he turned to the dark side, of course, while I stayed pure and righteous and whiter than white. They say that rape and murder are just a shot away. (Well, Keith Richards does.) And that's true with Jack. And kidnap, and extortion, and Ponzi schemes. We shouldn't overlook the Ponzi schemes. Although the media does. Why has no one investigated Jack Pickles? Why is everyone so afraid of him? Even the Feds won't arrest him.

They are always pestering me though, the Feds. They seem to think I am the only one who can deal with Jack. They think I know him better than I know myself. One agent actually said that to me. 'You know him better than you know yourself. You don't even know yourself. Repent. We won't arrest you. We can't. But you must repent. Take Jesus into your heart.' Ha! Can you believe that nonsense? He later fell down an elevator shaft. Tragic. But it was nonsense. I don't know what he was suggesting to me. People say all kinds of strange things to me. And not just people. Disembodied voices. However, I will not be taking Jesus into my heart. My heart is full. Big Herb. Ganesh the elephant god. The ghosts of the dead financiers. There ain't no room for Jesus. Same old story. Some things never change.

There is no insider trading at Janus Capital Group

Well, that's a relief. I'm glad that Janus Capital Group didn't get itself mixed up with the hedge fund Wall Street nonsense probes and shenanigans. Or the Wall Street insider hedge fund scenario [‘scenario’ ain’t right, but I’m leaving it in] with the Feds getting up to all sorts, raids and that. Yes, I'm afraid I haven't got the energy this morning to make sense out of the news. I save all my fire for the astral plane. I mean, I need to. You know how exhausting it is. You've been there, haven't you?

You may not believe this but Janus provides growth and risk-managed investment strategies and manages equity, fixed income, money market, as well as balanced mutual funds. Well, on second thoughts, you may believe it. But: Janus goes beyond research-driven investment strategies by providing advisers with soul-building programs and dream-world insights through the astral desert. Within and without, basically. Can you believe that?

You probably can! The nutters I attract! Jesus! But I'm not complaining. I love all my readers. You are my children. I love you all! And I know you love me. One day, you will show me your love. You will show the whole world! I will give the order and the revolution will begin in earnest.

Bill Gross of Pimco fame says that the West is losing its grip on the global growth pie

There is a big pie out there which is getting smaller. Too many Brazilians and Indians and Chinese are sticking their fingers in the pie, while the West goes without. In America and in Europe, the global growth pie is becoming a thing of the past. Bill Gross is trying to tell us that we cannot compete with emerging markets. We should listen to him. Why? Because he is the manager of the world's biggest bond fund. We have to respect that.

O Master, couldn't we just fly away?

We could ignore Bill Gross. Yes, we could ignore him. Maybe we should. And listen to the voices instead. We could fly away. Let's leave this wretched earth to those who are dumb enough to want it. What did Henry Miller say? 'I want to annihilate the whole earth. I am not part of it. It's mad from start to finish. The whole shooting match. It's a huge piece of stale cheese with maggots festering inside it. Fuck it! Blow it to hell!' So, you see? It's not a pie at all. It is a piece of cheese.

O Master, pie or cheese, we must leave!

I suppose we could abandon our physical bodies and head off to the astral desert, and stay there, forever! But I'm not sure we're ready for that. It's all right for the mystical child, that voice, he never had a body. O my child, you have nothing to lose.

Wake up, Master! No one has anything to lose. Westerners are facing a crisis of endless proportions. Unless you want to go live in China, do ya?

The ultimate demon is a lack of global demand. There's nothing we can do. How do you tackle the ultimate demon?

Is this a real demon?

Real enough, I suppose. But there are others. And they are real. On the lower levels. We better not go there. Imagine if we left the frying pan only to end up in the fire.

It doesn't bear thinking about. What's the solution?

We'll have to pretend Bill Gross doesn't exist. If he doesn't exist, he can't talk about global growth pies, and -

What fantastical nonsense is this?!

I've done it before. With Maurice Marble III. Does he exist?

O Master, who is Maurice Marble III?

Exactly!

Who is Gabriel Azedo?

Don't start all that again.

Gartmore's John Bennett isn't going down without a fight

This is what I like to see. Some fighting spirit! John Bennett at Gartmore took over a lot of Roger Guy's stuff, pan-European equities, or something like that. Or maybe I've got that wrong. What do I know? Anyway, you would think that he would be hitting the whisky, drowning his sorrows. Not a bit of it! This man is a warrior! Like me, he went to the University of Life and the University of Death. I feel an incredible bond with this man. Mystical, it is. Oh, he's quite a man. But don't just take my word for it, take his. Let Mr Bennett explain himself to those with open minds and open hearts (yes, the best of my readers) -

I am John Bennett. I am a fund manager. I own over 3 per cent of Gartmore. What's that worth? Who cares? It may be worth nothing. But what is a man worth, lost in this cold world, or happy and burning on the astral plane with financiers who died long ago? Those financiers! I have seen them alive, and seen them dead. Life and death, it's all the same to me. Flesh into shadows, and shadows into flesh. I don't ask questions. It is not my job to investigate the mysteries. In fact, I laugh at the mysteries. That's why I do not get upset when evil people tell me that the good times at Gartmore are coming to an end. My mind is not disturbed. What did Krishna say to Arjuna? You must fight! And Krishna was right. And then there was Napoleon at Waterloo. The Prussians could have been on the moon for all he cared. So let's not worry about victory or defeat. Let's concern ourselves with honour. An old-fashioned concept, sure, but honour is important. Julius Caesar! Why did Caesar's army fight for him at Pharsalos? To defend his honour. No other reason. And after such great deeds, he would have been condemned had he not sought the help of his army. What was he to do, hand himself over to a bunch of nonentities in Rome? His men understood. Oh, we must always fight the darkness of lower beings. That's why Mr Fowke continues with his blog. Imagine the glee of his enemies if he were ever to stop. And that's why I continue with my work at Gartmore. You won't catch me climbing out of a window, slinking off in disgrace. No, I am staying at my desk. They won't take me alive! Death before dishonour!

Thank you, John. Good luck!

I find it interesting that Mr Bennett mentioned Julius Caesar. Even more than Napoleon, Caesar should be an inspiration to all men of ambition. Let me quote from Christian Meier's biography of the great man: 'The only certainty was that Caesar had found his own path, the path he had always sought. Since the contemporary oppositions afforded the outsider nothing that would have induced him to take up a firm, objective position, he had to find his point of reference, his criteria, within himself. With no cause to take up, he had to develop his personality freely and without ties. He wanted to demonstrate his virtus - the manliness so admired by the Romans - through deeds. His pride, his awareness of his own superiority and the self-confidence that grew with every new success made him certain of achieving the goals he had set himself. Having distanced himself from everyone else and deliberately set himself apart from his peers, he could begin to show his true greatness, knowing that he was free to realize all his rich talents without too much consideration for others, and convinced that he possessed incomparably more strength, skill and insight than all of them.'

The SEC alleges that Arnold McClellan and his wife Annabel ...

... were up to no good. Up to no good with their crazy relatives over the water, James and Miranda Sanders. More insider shenanigans! But let's be honest, everyone is up to no good! It's the way of the world. We are all inside something. This world, this cosmos. Everyone is being charged! There is no escape.

'The McClellans might have thought that they could conceal their illegal scheme by having close relatives make illegal trades offshore. They were wrong,' said Robert Khuzami, Director of the SEC's Division of Enforcement. 'In this day and age, whether it's across oceans or across markets, the SEC and its domestic and foreign law enforcement partners are committed to identifying and prosecuting illegal insider trading.' More here.

Oh, they were wrong, still are. And Mr Khuzami is wrong. We are all wrong. Even the hermit in his cave is wrong, so what chance the regulator, the cop, or the journalist? We are human beings. We are all sinners. We ain't never been right. This is something I know. A little fragment of our reality, and I could reveal more. But who will read this? Who will learn? Who will follow? Won't everyone just smile, and say, 'Wonderful entertainment! Now, I wonder what the others have posted'? It is so very depressing. The loneliness of the supersane. A heaven that burns like hell. Who will understand?

O Master, the heart of the wise is in the house of mourning; but the heart of fools is in the house of mirth. It is better to hear the rebuke of the wise, than for a man to hear the song of fools. For as the crackling of thorns under a pot, so is the laughter of the fool.

Yes, my child. The best of my readers will certainly understand that. Hopefully, they will keep away from those other voices, foolish voices, those other sites, that offer only emptiness, though they make noises like they offer wisdom. There is no end to their writings. All day and all night they witter on. None of it is permanent. None of it burns with the fire of essential speech. Their works are holes in the soil of mankind’s achievements. However, it is not so with me. I am building a palace on their posts. And they know it, and they hate me for it. My words cut through their brains like a knife, leaving them envious and sad, and angry and frustrated, writhing on the cold ground of the internet like snakes, while I fly over them on my way to immortality. An eagle blessed by God.