Thursday, 29 July 2010

Stephen Couttie is staying positive

RAB Capital may have made a loss, but its chief executive, Stephen Couttie, is staying positive. And we should celebrate his resilience. This is the attitude that attracts money, like flies to the body of that sour financial journalist we left behind, torn, dismembered, scattered, bleeding, in our nightmare, which was actually a glorious dream. Or a nightmare, for him. How do you view the whole episode, in retrospect? It is quite clear to me that he died for our entertainment. The sweetness of his blood in our mouths, the trickles down our chins, ha! Ha ha ha! Oh, I see you. We laugh because we know it was the right thing to do. And we were the right people, at the right time, in the right place, right here. Here we are! Yes, we are still here, dancing on a cold earth, lonely in space, waiting for great wealth to grow from the seeds we planted in the City. But no journalists were harmed in the making of this insanity. It is only a fantasy. A vision of what is possible if you are willing to go beyond the human values that hold back the weak and the timid. Oh, the sadness! I have so many regrets!

We have to be positive. What is the alternative? I would not want to see any of us chained to a monster of negativity, a beast of misery, a foul socialistic creature, intent on dragging all of us beneath the waves of equality. Is that our destiny? No, no, no! It is our destiny to be special! To be rich! To be happy! Stephen Couttie knows this. That is why we will not find him wailing in the pit. He knows nothing of the pit. Only the sunshine above it. The blue sky. The white, fluffy clouds. A million miles away from the wretched one! Sailing out into the cosmos? Why not? Who will stop him? Not the wretched one.

Is the wretched one even aware of Stephen Couttie's situation? It was not his story, after all. This does not matter. He prowls around, hungry for news of failure. He would have heard. He would have rejoiced. So shall I name him? No. He is our little secret. Besides, he could be anyone. He could be a woman. Well, he certainly looks the sort who would wear a dress in the privacy of his own home.

Stephen Coles, Luke Ryan and Michael Yamoah, all fallen down

They have fallen down. That is what we are supposed to believe. These three men, fine mystic brothers, heroes of the desert, Stephen Coles, Luke Ryan, and Michael Yamoah, directors of Simply Trading Group, fallen down from the awful, insane heights that the FSA has reached in the dark sky on the lowest of levels. These are the final depraved days of a cruel empire! Good men have been taken down. That is the horrible reality.

They were taken down. They are in hell now. Somewhere I try to avoid. But I have seen the red eyes of furry giants. I dodged the poisonous spit from their mouths in my days of chaos. Let me speak the truth with one grand voice: It is hell for money. Men become animals there, oh, women and children too. No mercy is shown. Margaret Cole! Jack Pickles! Satan! There is no light or love within them. And around them? Only the ashes of cash, with sighs of despair, and the practised faces of evil.

Our friends, the three directors. If we could not ease their pain, we would cry for them like it was our pain. If we could not save them, we would certainly remember them. But there is hope. There is the chance of escape. Remember, children: Blood and fire! The mystic blood! The mystic fire! Their flesh is our flesh. Their bones are our bones. Their souls, and our souls, and our money gods, one river to the sea of GOD!

Wednesday, 28 July 2010

Greg Sommer will join Deutsche Bank with blood and fire

Greg Sommer has been at Citigroup for a thousand years, or so it seems. But Deutsche Bank wants him with his blood and his fire in its mergers and acquisitions group as a managing director, as a warrior, as a man who knows the value of all that is hidden from the sleepers.

Deutsche Bank has Greg Sommer's soul. His body will arrive wrapped in golden flames, delivered by ghosts, blessed by gods, dreamed of by shamans. We have been waiting for this. I knew the day would come. It is coming. It will come. The day is not here, yet. It is over there, beyond the astral horizon, in the future of the world, in a time that exists only in my imagination, oh, and yours, of course. We are patient. Did we not wait a million years for the first money gods to take their positions? Time is nothing to us. We are immortal, out of flesh or in flesh, away from bones or embracing bones. We take what we are given. We never complain. We are more than human. In fact, everyone is. Oh, if only everyone knew! Could everyone be like us? Yes!

They must leave small things behind. Greg has. If we cut Greg Sommer, will he not bleed? If we set fire to him, will he not burn? But he will not die. That is what the sleepers fail to understand. A mystic bleeding is the most beautiful sight in the cosmos. A mystic burning can change reality. We know this. They do not. We cherish such events. They are repulsed by them. That is why they are not like us. We love the blood. We love the fire.

We are awake. The agony of our lives is a great joy. We are on friendly terms with Death. Nothing frightens us. We are covered in blood. And we are burning. Not that they would know. They cannot see. They have no dreams, no visions. The sleepers are cold, wandering in endless night. We should pity them. Their poverty is a terrible shame. And some of them are very wealthy. Oh, it is cold money. That is all they have. They suffer without awareness. They struggle without meaning. They are the dead who insist on breathing!

Tuesday, 27 July 2010

Global Resources Absolute Alpha will be loved by Chris Butler and Duncan Goodwin

They will love this new Martin Currie fund, as they manage it, these men, Chris Butler and Duncan Goodwin. Ucits III compliant. It does not get any better than that. Not in the desert. Not in the sea. Not with astral waves, sand or water. This will be the best thing to have ever moved within them, this fund. They will feel its fire. Their blood will heat up. And we will see their faces in the sky, like the faces of angels, because this is what happens once you have found a fund you can love.

Chris Butler and Duncan Goodwin know they must step outside. Leave the safety of their bodies. They must take Global Resources Absolute Alpha with them, at the right time. Walking in darkness or in light, they must show no fear. We will escape with them, when they go. Follow them to the nothingness that has been calling them. They can make something out of this nothingness. Fill it with the fire of the fund. They will open their minds to the universe and let everything in, as I have.

I am letting go. I urge the future men of Global Resources Absolute Alpha to let go. You cannot control your thoughts or your actions. We are God's robots. I will give in to the darkest words that come in my head. The lightest words will float off. You will chase after them. It will be a comedy. For the cold ones: I care about everything you have no knowledge of. I have seen things that do not exist in your world. Come to my world. Chris and Duncan are here. You will not be alone. Men and women you may have seen in the City or on Wall Street years ago, you will see again as ghosts. We are waiting for you. You are welcome.

All voices become one voice in the end. All characters become one character. When we return to God, we become God in His realm. It is not like the astral plane, where you can be separate. The plane is a kind of purgatory. I realize that now. I know I will become a god for a while. Then I will shake money off and become God. This is natural. Chris and Duncan will experience it. So will you. There is no need for you to be afraid. Children become shamans become gods become God. It is a process. It will go on forever.

Global Resources Absolute Alpha is a first step for the Martin Currie future men. It comes inside. They step outside. They leave the safety of life, which is death. They move further away. You watch them. Oh, they follow you. You are ahead. Let them catch you.

Mr Butler and Mr Goodwin will be very pleased to meet you. If they existed, how scary would they be? If you existed, how serious would the situation become? If I were alive and writing these words, how important would the world seem then? This is God’s fantasy. We play His game. We are not taken in. That is why He loves us so much.

Global Resources Absolute Alpha. A name of a fund to burn you. Believe in it the way you used to believe in the tooth fairy. This is the only way. A thing is only real because we believe it in. Mr Butler and Mr Goodwin are ready for you now.

Monday, 26 July 2010

JPMorgan Private Bank takes Luc Bachy, off death

From HSBC Investment Banking, gone from death. Terrible passion explodes within Luc Bachy. We all know, children, he is close to the gods. Taken to a new life, a senior capital adviser! Who could ask for more? I would ask that my body be wrapped in flames, to get off to a flying start, above Paris; a drifting, whirling, sliding astral body, in a sticky sky with red sun or pale moon and stars higher, far away.

If we had to report to men such as Jean-Baptiste Douin and Xavier Baudusseau, our eyes would show the pain of life. Luc Bachy will have to control himself. He must not fall. The skulls he buried will come back to haunt him. Just heads they were. No one knows the whole story, but I am looking deeper. His colleagues will not have travelled to the region I am about to explore. To enter a man's soul like this is dangerous.

Echoes and shadows but nothing solid, nothing you can touch. This is Luc Bachy. The real person. Not the shell. Not the skeleton with the flesh, like his victims. I have seen this with ghosts. I have seen this with other financial workers on the edge of life. The pain of life is on the edge of life. All greatness can be found on the edge of life. If you want happiness, you must stay in the centre. It is safe there, and boring.

Has money touched the soul of Luc Bachy? Or has it stained his soul? And what does money mean to him? Is it something he can leave behind, as he searches for greater meaning? Money does not make us wise. But the wise man is rich. Even the fool has something of value. Is Luc Bachy a wise man or a fool?

I have never been to Paris. One day I will go, to visit Luc Bachy. I will see with my physical eyes the man I only know through my dreams and visions. Will I be disappointed? Can anyone live up to a dream or a vision? This morning I saw Gillian Tett with her endearing lisp, speaking from the other side of the world. What would she be like in reality?

Friday, 23 July 2010

FSA implements new powers granted by Financial Services Act 2010

Oh, for crying out loud! New powers?! Doesn't the FSA realize it's all over?

O Master, the FSA sadists will do such things, what they are yet they know not, but they shall be the terrors of the earth. You think they'll weep. No, they'll not weep. They have full cause of weeping.

O my child, I haven't got the energy to get into this with you.

O Master, do not worry. I'll take over.

O my child, I'm going to beat the shit out of you, when I'm better.

O Master, you are always sick. Sick in the head. That's half your charm. And that's why you understand those fools at the FSA so well. Thou hast seen a farmer's dog bark at a beggar?

Please, no more!

And the creature run from the cur? There thou mightst behold the great image of authority: a dog's obeyed in office.

O my child - NONE DOES OFFEND!

Fuckin' A!

SEC charges Laurence M. Brown and Ronald Mangini with Ponzi nonsense

Yes, more Ponzi scheme nonsense. It's getting a bit old now, isn't it? Aren't there any other scams these people can dream up? Whatever. The SEC alleges Laurence M. Brown and Ronald Mangini conducted a Ponzi scheme against their clients. Something to do with a gas pipeline in Tennessee. Whatever. Like I'm interested.

Like you're interested. I know you want blood and fire. You don't come here for Ponzi nonsense.

But there is no fire today. Look at my fucking blue face! That's the face I have on me today, and there is no fire. Deal with it.

Neither is there any blood. Bloodless. My blue face is cold. I am cold. This ... is ... painful. Just writing, thinking, these words. Do you know what pain is? Real pain. Not sham pain. I'm talking about real pain. You have no idea. Or maybe you do. How on earth would I know if you had an idea or not? I don't know who you are. You could be anyone. You probably are. YOU ARE ANYONE! How does that feel, eh?

I don't wanna hear your problems, man. I know you're talking to me. I hear your voice. I got ears, ain't I? Don't take that tone with me. I've been with ghosts. I've been with gods. Who you been with? Have a bit of respect.

How do I get off this fucking world? What would Jesus H. Christ do?

Thursday, 22 July 2010

Cem Habib has left Cheyne Capital!

No more vibrating in a lonely cosmos for Cem Habib. He has left Cheyne Capital. He has turned his back on the mystical life.

O Master, is this the promised end? Or image of that horror?

Don't quote King Lear at me, you little twat. You're not clever.

Howl, howl, howl! Oh, you are a man of stone! Had I your tongue and eyes I'd use them so that heaven's vault should crack. Cem's gone forever.

Fuck off!

Wednesday, 21 July 2010

No one knows if Luca Rubinelli will ever appear in the flesh at Xenfin Capital

Like the ghostly flesh of Jesus, Luca Rubinelli's flesh is hard to find. They have had visions at Xenfin Capital. Duncan MacInnes saw Luca in the light, and in the dark. His mind was penetrated by words as well. He heard the voice of Luca. He heard things no man should hear. It wasn’t a ghostly Jesus figure that spoke. More like the devil. It is easy to get confused. The night-time terrors. The daytime pleasures. They merge into one grey nightmare where you are asleep and awake. Dead and alive.

Luca will be running the Global Macro Absolute Return Trading strategy, if they ever find him. If they can tie him down to a chair in the office and make him do some work. But we all fear that Luca will be floating far above for all eternity, and that no one will ever be able to reach him. Xenfin Capital needs someone who can drag Luca out of the clouds. The firm needs a miracle, let's be frank. We shouldn't lie to ourselves. The world is full of lies. People you trust will lie to you. People who praise you one minute will reveal their innate phoniness the next. We must be strong.

Luca has been at Societe Generale, Morgan Stanley Dean Witter, Paribas, and JP Morgan. No one remembers him. It's as if Luca doesn't really exist. Maybe we should envy him. Maybe Luca has discovered the secret of successful living. Let no one see you in the flesh. If you must speak, whisper in people's ears while they are asleep. Tell them things you wouldn't dare tell them if they were awake. Make them understand. Make them realize their wretched lives are nightmares, and that their glorious dreams are glimpses of the lives they could have.

A face staring forever. A haunted face. Is that Luca? It could be any one of us. Those eyes could kill. And if they did, who would be the lucky one? Like the girl with the clown, there is no end to it. There are some seriously sick people in this world. Luca knows this. He knows the truth about himself. I don't envy Duncan MacInnes. He has brought a monster onboard; a great big monster of consciousness without the flesh that could make it all bearable. Who is Luca Rubinelli? What does he want? What are his plans?

Forget him. There's a cool breeze that will take him. Let him go. There's a shower of rain that will wash him away. He will go. That's the only way we'll cope. Do you want him wandering around anywhere near you? Then stop thinking of him. I blame myself. I am responsible for passing him on to you. Now he is stuck inside you. Have you ever had jam on your shirt? This is worse. Luca is jam in your head. I'm so sorry. Please forgive me.

Tuesday, 20 July 2010

Fabrice Tourre denies the fraud charges

Goldman Sachs trader Fabrice Tourre is innocent! Or so he reckons. He has asked me if he can release a statement to the world through my blog. Well, Fabrice is one of my oldest and dearest friends, so why not?

See if you can dig this -

I am Fabrice Tourre. I have burned ever so brightly, and I have smouldered in a corner of the office - with no one caring. But that’s all in the past. Today, I am facing a great evil - the SEC! These cold earth wanderers have set their cold hearts on destroying me, and I am alone and at their mercy. Or am I? Don't I have the support of Mr Michael Fowke, the world's foremost financial shaman? YES, I DO! Not only is Mikey the only true friend I have left, but my boss Mr Blankfein is paying him an obscene amount of money to get me off. SO LET'S SEE SOME ACTION! I want blood! I want fire! I want ghosts! I WANT MY FREEDOM!

Okay, let me explain a couple of things. Lloyd isn't paying me anything at the moment. I'm not saying I won't work for Goldman again in the future, but right now we're taking a break. That's something both Lloyd and I have agreed upon. I wasn't let go, and I didn't resign. It was a freelance thing, anyway. I like Lloyd. I like him a lot. But I'm not going to go around whacking people for him. Besides, he has Viniar for that. Right, my friendship with Fabrice. Yes, he is a friend, and I am working behind the scenes to get him off the hook. But I will not be bursting into any fucking courtroom with blood and fire, let alone ghosts. Fabrice has got to understand that this situation calls for subtlety. Yes, it is very tempting to go in mob-handed and cause a scene, and I know that's what Lloyd would want, but I don't have an entirely free hand in this matter. Big Herb has told me that he doesn't want any amateur dramatics. He certainly doesn't want any bad publicity. Fabrice will have to be patient. It'll all work out.

Fabrice, mate, keep the faith.

Monday, 19 July 2010

Anthony 'Chocolate Finger' Ward is a genuine Wonka

Yes, just like the fictional Willy Wonka, Anthony Ward is a man who wants to get his hands on all the world's chocolate. The hedge fund he founded, Armajaro Holdings, recently purchased 241,000 tons of cocoa beans for £658 million. Rather disturbingly, Mr Ward has actually taken possession of these beans. He is storing them in a shed at the bottom of his garden. The man is obviously a crazed, obsessive cocoa bean nut. Either that or a ruthless financier who has seen an opportunity to make a shitload of money.

I'm going with crazed, obsessive cocoa bean nut. I can understand Anthony. It ain't just about the money with him. He has a passion. And he wants the power. I once had an ambition to buy up all the world's tarot cards. It didn't happen in the end, but it would have driven fortune tellers mad. People like Keith Busby would have had to come to me every time they wanted to do business. I would have controlled everything. I'm still thinking of doing it with scrying fluid.

Thursday, 15 July 2010

Collateral: the most existential film ever made

I watched Collateral again the other day for about the twentieth time. I keep finding new things in it. I believe it is the most existential film ever made. And I'm not talking about the dark atmosphere, of which you can find something similar in countless other films. I mean the subtext. There's a bit of philosophy in the dialogue between Cruise and Foxx, but the message is nearly all in the subtext.

The way Vincent (Tom Cruise) kills the jazzman. He was considering letting him off, but he is disgusted when he hears that the jazzman didn't take his music seriously after Miles Davis encouraged him. So he doesn't deserve to live. Vincent is fierce in his head like Davis was, and he only respects that sort of person. His existential commitment to his contract killing career justifies his existence. He knows he is the best in the world at it. God may or may not exist, but Vincent is the best contract killer there is. That means something. To him, at least.

Max (Jamie Foxx) is going nowhere in life. He works as a cab driver and has a safe, predictable existence. He dreams of owning his own limousine service. A modest dream, perhaps, but Max has potential. Unfortunately, all he does is dream. Then Vincent enters his life. Vincent forces Max to take risks. He forces him into criminal activities, to be rude to his boss, to go into a club and deal with a top gangster; and - at the end of the film - he even forces Max to kill him. This extreme act of killing Vincent raises Max's life to another level. His life is about to be changed beyond all recognition. You can tell that he is going to have a relationship with the lawyer he saved, he's going to be famous in the media, and - because he's had his eyes opened and his consciousness expanded by Vincent - he is going to start the limousine firm he has been dreaming of for so long. He is going to take risks without the need of a catalyst such as Vincent.

There is also a coyote in the film, on the streets of LA, which has the same hair colour as Vincent. Vincent is a wild animal, acting beyond or outside normal human values and morals in a universe where God (if He exists) has not revealed Himself. Well, not to Vincent, at any rate.

Of course, this has nothing to do with money. I had to write this post. I use the message of Collateral as a crutch for my will, as I propel myself onwards and upwards. You, dear reader, can use it as well, with whatever you happen to be involved in.

Magnus Spence and double risk of the Melchior European Fund

There is going to be double trouble investment risk at Dalton's Melchior European Fund, according to DSP's chief operating officer Magnus Spence. This is not the guy who wrote Magnus's Book of Money Curses, so we can all relax a little bit. DSP stands for Dalton Strategic Partnership, but you already knew that somewhere deep inside where angels fear to tread. You have no angels in you, that's your problem.

Magnus Spence knows that investors want higher returns. He knows they are willing to take incredible risks. Investors will listen to white noise inside a pyramid for money. They will travel to the Shadowlands without permission. They will fly towards the sun. They will pester me for advice while I'm busy meditating. All for money. Magnus Spence knows this. He is a man who will double the risk for double the money, and we have to respect that.

But I must break off from this incredible news to tell you, dear reader, that through my windy windows and curtains I can hear tinkling, quite similar, in fact, to the noise from that instrument I do not know the name of (but I really should) at the beginning of Leonard Cohen's Famous Blue Raincoat. This is most disturbing.

Well, more fascinating than disturbing. It is fascinating to me that someone would take time out from his/her/its busy day to remind me of a season long ago when I would sit in my favourite armchair for hours. But I thank this stranger. O stranger, you are a true gentleman or lady. Or maybe you are the Owlman. Whatever happened to that armchair?

The Owlman doesn't know. He/it has no knowledge of armchairs. Owlman, get back to Cornwall. I have nothing to offer you.

It's after nine o'clock in the morning. The middle of July. I'm writing you now just to see if you're sicker.

Wednesday, 14 July 2010

No title will do this justice

On the lookout for spiders overhead but I'm okay, they won't get me tonight because I'm not sleeping. Can't sleep with my worries, struggling to survive, struggling to get started even, fallen out with myself, but we'll be friends again.

Pieces of flesh stuck on the ceiling, pieces of consciousness scattered like bones in graveyard on the hill over the sea, blood swelling fuck eyes, aching arteries, teeth cracking, soul-breaking shivers. I have been tested. Like no one has. Van Gogh didn't last this long. Rimbaud lost a leg. Dylan Thomas drank a thousand whiskies to ease the pain but I have seen Christ at the end of the mind in flames, years ago, and I have left my body after the rich food at the Krishna temple made me have strange visions, and I have had a fire in my head, and stars turning in it. A wasp, buzzing. I heard them. I saw them.

In a field, four in the morning, drizzle, more disasters than most people will ever know. I didn't sit on the roof of a freight train with tuberculosis. Fair enough. But a suicide note that goes on and on and on is what I have to offer now. Unto death. No fear. You can fear life. You can't fear death. This is off. It's bad. They've gone. I would not follow them because I have seen what happens to them. I have heard their voices. They are confused. I don't need that shit.

An enormous red moon on the beach, resting. A cold night in winter some other time. Singing in the rain another time. A woman in an art gallery another time. I gave her the benefit of the doubt. It was weakness. This is truth, not lies. Memories, not fantasies. Life, not literature. Breaking it all up, coming back, pushing it away, nightmares, dreams that would be nightmares to some. A 'journey.' I hate that fucking phoney word!

This means nothing. Nothing is the best there is. I am sick. I continue. This is not what they think it is. I am not what they think I am. I am not here. I am not writing. I am not thinking. I am not existing. I am not. I am. I. Don't get me started on that!

Sick of money. Sick of work. Sick of seeing. Sick of feeling. Sick of looking forward to nothing. Sick of looking back at nothing. Sick of this moment. Sick of time. Sick of space. Sick of hope. Sick of despair. Losing control. Just sick of control. Sick of knowing. Sick of ambition. Sick of others. Sick of their ideas. Sick of their lack of understanding. Sick of my understanding. Only God can stop the rot.

God has given me something I did not ask for. I never chose this. It was forced upon me. I could give it up but I won't because it is valuable. It weighs me down. It wears me out. It stretches me to breaking point. I am not ashamed. And I have made sure that this is something beyond analysis. I am not stupid. No one will know who I am.

Tuesday, 13 July 2010

Cambridge Place Investment Management Inc is suing everyone

Cambridge Place Investment Management Inc lost more than $1.2 billion due to everyone's untrue statements. This fund from the Boston area in the US is now suing everyone in the known universe.

It is suing: Goldman Sachs, Citigroup, Morgan Stanley, Bank of America, Merrill Lynch, UBS, JPMorgan Chase, Barclays, Credit Suisse, Deutsche Bank, HSBC, myself, Big Herb, Ganesh the elephant god, the ghosts of the dead financiers, Keith Busby, Felix Nutjob, Maurice Marble III, the Diaz brothers, Les Dennis, and so many others - I can't name them all.

That is just the known universe. What about the unknown universe? All to do with subprime loans. Why can't Cambridge Place just let it go? This anger and bitterness will destroy it.

Monday, 12 July 2010

Prime Fund Solutions has launched PFS Horizon

Yes, it has. And I think we should all be concerned.

O Master, what's the problem? PFS Horizon is a service platform for fund of hedge funds managers. It offers them a front, middle, and back office service, that's all. There is nothing to worry about.

O my child, it does not offer financial shamanism. It does not offer burning love. It does not offer the wisdom of the ancients. It -

Oh, I understand. Yes, that is a problem. What can be done about it?

We need to take the chief executive of Prime Fund Solutions, Erik Jens, and we need to make him understand. I suggest we remove him from the earth, for a short while, and cast him off into outer space where his cold body will be heated up by the sun and will expand until everyone at Prime Fund Solutions can see his new form floating above with gigantic eyes staring down at them from the night sky. Then they will learn. Not just Erik. They will all learn that there is more to life than full transaction-based custody portfolios and investment management systems.

Yes. Good idea. That will work.

Thursday, 8 July 2010

Peter Preisler and wet dreams in Madrid

This story was brought to my attention by the lovely ******* **** of ******* ******. Follow the link. [There is no link.] You will find a picture of her, surrounded by a bunch of squares. [No you won't.] Well, this is finance. Have you seen some of the ugly fucks that Gillian Tett has to work with? Not exactly oil paintings. Unless Francis Bacon painted them.

But I digress. Let's concentrate on this absolute lunatic Peter Preisler. Here's the full quote from today's ******* ******, concerning the wet dreams: "Some firms would say: 'Let's throw money at it and see what sticks', but we don't do that. I don't wake up in the morning with wet dreams about having twenty people in Madrid."

Sick or what? I mean, is this man sick in the head? Why isn't he having wet dreams about having people (women? men?) in Madrid? And the more the merrier! Not twenty! Thirty, forty! Fifty, even! WE NEED A QUOTE FROM THE GREAT HENRY MILLER: When I look down into this fucked-out cunt of a whore I feel the whole world beneath me, a world tottering and crumbling, a world used up and polished like a leper's skull. That's in Paris! But it's the same in Madrid! Henry Miller wasn't afraid of life or wet dreams or dry nightmares or anything. And I know if he were alive and here with us now he would say: Let's throw money at it and see what sticks.

LET'S THROW MONEY AT IT AND SEE WHAT STICKS!!! O my children, if Peter Preisler won't do it, we will. Let's throw money at it and see what sticks! In our wettest dreams we can get money to stick in the astral desert of our love with rainbows in the waters of our bloody eyes! It comes natural to us. Pete has never been to the desert. He has never torn his shirt and tie off, and his trousers, and his pants, and just run around and fallen exhausted into the sand and had money plastered all over him by the ghosts of financiers long dead. Even dead they have more fun than Pete alive! AND PETER PREISLER HAS NEVER BEEN TOUCHED BY THE TRUNK OF GANESH! That's what we're up against. The coldest of cold earth wanderers. How could T. Rowe Price employ such a bloodless half-man? This is a disgrace! I'm literally shaking with anger. Such passion! This is what they do to me. These animals! It's not just Pete. They are everywhere. I bet Baptiste Aboulian isn't getting upset about it. He doesn't have a care in the world. Bastards!

Charles Wilson is leaving Lazard to join Investec

Oh, why do they do it? Why do they keep moving around, searching for that elusive happiness?

Charles Wilson, managing director at Lazard Asset Management and head of third party distribution, is leaving - after thirteen years of glory - to join Investec. Well, thirteen years is a long time, I suppose. But the universe is billions of years old. So thirteen years is really nothing, nothing at all. He could stay a while longer. Oh, why doesn't he stay a while longer? Just another five years, that's all. Then maybe he will see that there is no point in moving anywhere.

You have to take yourself with you. Your new colleagues will soon seem as boring and dull as the colleagues you left behind. The excitement will fade. One morning, you will look in the mirror, and a desert will stare back at you, the desert of your ancient face. Emptiness. Despair. Your mind will turn to suicide. You will long for a burning, but money doesn't always burn. Sometimes it just hovers out of reach, yes, it hovers, and it is cold, and you cannot touch it.

Grey morning in summer. The darkness of the night has gone. Thank God for that! Thank God the satanic ones are resting! But they will be back tonight. Maybe they will look for Charles Wilson. That will give him something to think about. Men like Charles Wilson need to be challenged. They need to be stretched. Oh, he will be challenged. He will be stretched. If the voices catch him, out of darkness and into his soul.

Charles Wilson is a lucky man. I've just got a feeling. No harm will come to him. He's probably very happy. He wants a change. Nothing wrong with that. But I have dark thoughts. It's ridiculous! What is there to worry about? I have never even met Mr Charles Wilson. Why am I so concerned about him?

Every banker, every hedge fund manager, every analyst, is a potential mystical child. Isn't that was I was taught? Wasn't it drummed into me by the ghosts of the dead financiers? Yes, they taught me well. All financial workers are lost until I can find them and carry them into the burning love. That is true happiness. Not shifting around. Not searching with sadness. But staying in one place, paralysed with ecstasy, rooted to the spot. The spot wherever you happen to be in the cosmos. Where you are is the only place. For eternity.

A new day. Like yesterday. Like tomorrow. On and on and on! But one day, love will last forever. Then no more days, no more nights. No passing weeks, and months, and years. Only a silent and beautiful burning outside time and space. That's the best we can hope for. It is our ultimate goal.

Tuesday, 6 July 2010

Dieter Frerichs shoots himself in the sea

Dieter Frerichs, managing director of the K1 hedge fund group, has committed suicide. The cops were after him, so he just ran into the sea with a revolver and ended it all.

Ernest Hemingway once said that if he couldn't live life on his own terms, then life was impossible. He took a shotgun to himself soon after.

Suicide is not always an act of despair. I don't think people who commit suicide are cowards. Most people alive are cowards. Afraid to live fully. Dieter had his life.

Would you want a life of absolute freedom, or a life in a cage? We don't know what freedom or bondage lies beyond death. We can guess. I have thought about it. I have had visions of heaven and hell. I have no idea how good you have to be to get into heaven, or how bad to get into hell. And heaven isn't really anything you can see. It's a state of mind. The same goes for hell. What state of mind will you be in when your time comes, dear reader?

I was stopped by a fire in my head. That's not everyone's experience. There is no stopping some people. Some people go all the way. Dieter went all the way. He ain't coming back. Unless you believe what you read in the Bhagavad-gita. If you do read it, that is. You may read the Bible. Or you may be a godless communist.

Communists? O you fools, your atheism won't protect you! Not at the very end. You are so shallow. Your consciousness is hardly a consciousness at all. You are not awake. Death will open your eyes. Good luck!

Heroes and villains. There are no heroes. There are no villains. Dear reader, your soul is a drop of water. God is an ocean. When you die, no one will be able to find you, not in an ocean. And your sins, if you have any, will be washed away.

We will enjoy it there.

Monday, 5 July 2010

Gravelle Pierre and his Iron Harbor Capital

It is rolling. A new hedge fund rolling in flames, picking up sandy money from the astral desert in my mind, with Gravelle Pierre in ecstasy!

Yes, it is Iron Harbor Capital, a $5 million macro hedge fund. Why wasn't I told? I have only just discovered it. I was in the sand, sleeping, and it rolled over my head. Now I watch it, rolling off into the distance. Will it ever return?

Gravelle Pierre is floating above it. Look! There he is. When a Goldman trader floats in the desert, and the sun hits the creature, I feel a tingling inside. See Gravelle above a big ball of money, getting bigger! But looking smaller.

A sandball of flames! O my children, if it comes towards you, let it roll over you. Let it hit your consciousness so hard that your thoughts fly out into the cosmos like sparks from a fire. Let it hit you in the gut. Let it crush you!

Going, going, almost gone. A little speck on the horizon. I feel so tempted to chase after it. But we must let it go. Goodbye, Iron Harbor Capital!

Friday, 2 July 2010

Summer darkness

If we cared about you with my black hole eyes sucking your soul, the voices, the satanic ones, you would feel our love. Our love would make you come dollars and pounds. Then you would know the glory of capitalism. We would take you to a heaven that is just like hell.

If we wanted to entertain a bunch of fucks, wouldn't we tell you so? That's not our game. We are here, living here in a body that will not last, then we will move on, and take some other mutha down. That is what we do. The life we share is a thug affair.

We are not speaking for your benefit. You are not special. We do not give a shit about your riches, or your position. We don't care if all your colleagues respect you. We don't respect you. That's what you should be concerned about. We're coming to get you in the summer darkness.

Henry Cai is very tired

Why is everyone so surprised? Yes, Henry Cai is very tired. He has been burning himself up. All for money, for UBS. Top financial shaman! He needs a rest.

O Master, where should he go?

To recover? I don't know. Not the astral plane. Not the desert.

What about your gaff in *****?

He's not staying with me! I'm a busy man. I can't nursemaid exhausted executives. Not with all that I've got on at the moment.

Don't be so selfish.

O my child, I can't do it. Henry, mate, you're on your own.

Thursday, 1 July 2010

Miranda Barker and the BarCap bonk peril

Apparently, there is some sort of bonk peril at Barclays Capital - see here.

Miranda Barker is an executive PA at the bank, and she has been warning all the secretaries - via email - that a randy sex pest with a disease is on the loose. Shocking! Who is this man?

I have been speaking to my dear friend Bobby Diamond. This is what he told me: 'Mikey, we are going to get this character, mark my words. We'll find him. Miranda has given us a pretty good description of the filthy degenerate. (Are you sure you're not a bit jealous, Bobby? Come on, mate, be honest. I've known you too long.) Michael, I'm above all that. The opposite sex. Or any sex. I want to become a financial shaman, remember. (Bobby, being a financial shaman doesn't stop you having a bit of the other. We're not monks, for Christ's sake!) I want to save my energy. It's like a boxer preparing for a big fight. (Whatever. It's your life.) See you on the astral plane, Mike.'

What a crazy kid!

Who is Jean-Pierre Mustier?

Who is this mutha? Is he merely another ex-SocGen man on the run, or is there something else about him? Oh, we know he has been fined €100,000 for insider trading, but there must be more to him than that. Who is the man behind the headlines?

Fortunately, Jean-Pierre Mustier is a personal friend of mine, and this is what he says -

I am Jean-Pierre Mustier, and I am not on the run. I fly in the astral sky where no one can touch me. Look! There is Jean-Pierre, warrior in flames, hunter of money, a man apart, alone, but not afraid. Jean-Pierre Mustier is the voice in the heads of the hungry. He speaks to anyone who yearns for riches. Jean-Pierre is a motivator. He pushes the children on. On, on, on! Money is burning for you, children! Stuck to astral clouds! Grab it! Your astral fingers must reach for it! I am Jean-Pierre Mustier, and I know the way. I am inside this cosmos, and I am outside the world. The AMF can fine me. I laugh at fines! Even if the AMF had the power to kill me, I would laugh at death. A man such as I does not need a body. I leave it behind all the time. One day I will leave it for good, and I will not be sad. Oh, the cold earth wanderers will never understand! Their sad little reality is all they have, and they cling on to it with all their might. Let go, you fools! There is a greater life!

Thank you, Jean-Pierre.