I presume you've heard the news. If you haven't, I'll just have to tell you in my own inimitable style. Carlo Grosso and Federico Ceretti are closing down their fund firm, FIM Limited. All the executives have deserted the ship. (That's old news.) The funds have been liquidated. (Oh, you know?) 'Where's the sense in going on?' That's what they must have asked no one in particular, a dark night last week. [Was it last week?] I felt it in the air, that night. It's always dark at night, isn't it? Unless there's a great big moon out. I like a big moon. I don't care for the small ones or the half ones. And I like them red, fat, grinning, near the sea. There's no sea in London. So they (Carlo, Federico) wouldn't have been surprised by the darkness. But they would have been in the mood for it. 'What are we going to do?' You can imagine the despair, the loneliness. Even two like-minded souls together can be lonely. But that was then. NOW: is the whole world against them? Irving Picard is. I blame Bernard Madoff, myself. And Jack Pickles. Yes, I blame both of them. THEN: 'How did we get mixed up with Bernie and Jack?' Did they ask that? Who knows? But read this: Picard won't mess with Pickles. He's just going after the small fry. He's a terrible bully. Or a rather good one. I can't decide.
But here's the important bit. Here is what I call the news. They can come with me, Carlo and Federico. Yes, yes, yes. I'll give them shelter. I'll protect them. Yes, yes, yes. My little cave in the desert will be their new home. They'll be safe there. Please understand: Carlo and Federico will be friends of mine, if they want to be. And I won't charge them a penny. You know why? Because Jack will be watching, and I will want him to see me, yes, me, me, me, with my supernatural sanity like fireworks out of my eyes. He has his house in the Cayman Islands (very nice), and he [has has, his his] has his penthouse apartment in Manhattan (yeah, lovely); and he can keep them. I have my cave and a blanket and the truth! It's the simple life for a complicated man. The more I cut out, the more the light shines. I swear sometimes I can see God's face. That's how fucking chosen I am! I get so close, inches away. I can smell His breath. The best part? He put an angel on earth, just for me. Oh, she's out of reach right now, yes, as is nearly everything else, like heaven, but I'll get her/there one sunny day, maybe even a mass of sunny days, when all the nights have died and taken the filth and the scum to hell to bother me no more. That's when I will share my ultimate vision with the true believers. I'm going to fuck the world. I'll be the new Jesus Duchamp. It sounds nuts, I know. You wouldn't believe me if I showed you the future in a dream. But, oh, lick my skin. It tastes like hot peppers. So, come with me, you, you, you, and Carlo, and Federico, too, and anyone else who wants the ride of a lifetime and a deathtime too. Because I'm going all the way. I'm going to burn my brain and the brains of any mad bastards with me. But no ashes! That's the law. I don't make the rules. I just make history. That's the discipline. I am trapped and I am free. Can you understand? I'm down in the gutter with the broken souls, while human trash (are they human?) walks on by, not knowing. And if they knew?! Oh, tell me children, what the fuck would they understand? It's a curse! It's a blessing! I have to admit, I don't know what it is, this ludicrous situation. I know I ain't got bad karma no more. I burnt off all of that shit, twenty years of misery. It's gone! This is the new way. Are you coming? Or are you staying behind, smug-faced, dying slowly, not even aware? This is for you! I'm already saved. This is for you! Come with me. Oh, come with me, come, come, come!
