RBI Capital Partners is a new hedge fund that has been set up by Craig Skaling and his compadres, confederates even, Paul Stenovec and Barry Tague. Skaling is the chief financial officer and the compliance officer. He's going to be busy. But that's okay. He's a hard worker. Stenovec and Tague are executive officers, if anyone can believe that. It's just another way of saying financial shamans, I am absolutely convinced. Skaling used to work at the Four Seasons Hotel in San Francisco as a maitre d' in the restaurant. Like me in the days of my youth, in which I would rejoice, he was fascinated by finance. But it wasn't until recently - when he accidently knocked a bowl of soup into Barry Tague's lap - that he had the chance to do anything about it. Oh, Craig, Barry, and Paul. Now they're in business together. Craig, Barry, and Paul. Like musketeers or something. It brings tears to the eyes.
Skaling is listed as an executive officer as well. Are all three of them shamans then? I can't keep up. There are so many characters wandering in the desert these days. But I am not complaining. There is room for more. The more the merrier! The desert in my soul is infinite. Those spaces stretch on, and on, and on. There is no end to the emptiness. So, come on, children. And bring your friends. What does life taste like in a bloody mouth? What does death taste like? We can pick and choose. We can burn. We can twist. Bleed for me!
[This bit is private. I have scared off all the superficial readers, the ones who were not prepared to make a commitment, the ones who were too timid to put their souls on the line. If you’re reading this, my friend(s), it's just me and you now. A private affair between us. It's how we like it. It's cosy. It's warm. It's soft. No one else is reading this. It's just me and my poison and your soft dreamy head. What are you prepared to do for me? We are alone. No one will know. Pretty soon I will stop addressing you. It will soon be time for me to come over all impersonal, and cold, and distant. I will cut myself off, even from you. Yes, even from you. This is your last opportunity to be intimate with me. Unless I change my mind. I'm always changing my mind, ain't I? I'm always losing it, my control. My consciousness is a sewer. So what are you going to do for me? I want you to please me, before it's too late. You'll miss me when I'm gone. Oh, I'll still be here, writing, but something will be missing. The personal touch. That's my plan. But I won't cut myself off from my angel. I'll be open for her. And I'll continue to read her work. Everyone else? Every other 'expert' can get to fuck. I'm sick of their words, their opinions, their ideas. They know nothing. There is the angel. There is me. That is all. That's all. THAT IS ALL. So - give me something. I want to remember you, one day. One day, I'll look back. 'I remember him/her.' I'm doing this for the sake of my mental health. You better believe it. I love you. I'll never stop loving you.]
Skaling is listed as an executive officer as well. Are all three of them shamans then? I can't keep up. There are so many characters wandering in the desert these days. But I am not complaining. There is room for more. The more the merrier! The desert in my soul is infinite. Those spaces stretch on, and on, and on. There is no end to the emptiness. So, come on, children. And bring your friends. What does life taste like in a bloody mouth? What does death taste like? We can pick and choose. We can burn. We can twist. Bleed for me!
[This bit is private. I have scared off all the superficial readers, the ones who were not prepared to make a commitment, the ones who were too timid to put their souls on the line. If you’re reading this, my friend(s), it's just me and you now. A private affair between us. It's how we like it. It's cosy. It's warm. It's soft. No one else is reading this. It's just me and my poison and your soft dreamy head. What are you prepared to do for me? We are alone. No one will know. Pretty soon I will stop addressing you. It will soon be time for me to come over all impersonal, and cold, and distant. I will cut myself off, even from you. Yes, even from you. This is your last opportunity to be intimate with me. Unless I change my mind. I'm always changing my mind, ain't I? I'm always losing it, my control. My consciousness is a sewer. So what are you going to do for me? I want you to please me, before it's too late. You'll miss me when I'm gone. Oh, I'll still be here, writing, but something will be missing. The personal touch. That's my plan. But I won't cut myself off from my angel. I'll be open for her. And I'll continue to read her work. Everyone else? Every other 'expert' can get to fuck. I'm sick of their words, their opinions, their ideas. They know nothing. There is the angel. There is me. That is all. That's all. THAT IS ALL. So - give me something. I want to remember you, one day. One day, I'll look back. 'I remember him/her.' I'm doing this for the sake of my mental health. You better believe it. I love you. I'll never stop loving you.]
