Monday, 21 February 2011

Where is Brian Kim?

And what in the name of the Nazarene does he think he's getting up to? There is a rumour going around that Brian Kim, founder of Liquid Capital Management, CNBC pundit, Ponzi man extraordinaire, and fugitive from justice, is somewhere in Italy, living the high life on ill-gotten gains (allegedly), while his victims and the Feds, the SEC, the DA's office, the Marines, the CIA, the Navy SEALs, and Delta Force, all wail and gnash their teeth, 'cos there ain't nothing else to do in the circumstances. No one can touch him!

This is from Liquid Capital's website: 'Liquid Capital is a New York-based asset manager specializing in U.S. equity markets. Our firm has a dedicated and experienced management team, schooled in the black arts, that focuses solely on the Managed Futures sector, and combines this devilish expertise with the highest level of risk management infrastructure. Proprietary evaluation and risk management tools provide the foundation for industry-leading product design and portfolio management. Integrity and dedication to performance are our core principals [eh?] and we strive to be a trusted partner with the ability to protect and manage your assets in changing economic and market cycles. Also, we have no truck with those mystical fairies in the desert. We're with Jack on the lower levels.'

Oh, right. Nice. Fairies? I'd like to see him say that to my face.

O Master, someone should make an example of him.

I'm not going over to Italy, looking for him. If that's what you're suggesting. He might not even be there. He could be at Jack's house in the Cayman Islands for all we know. I've got better things to do with my time.

Like what?

Like anything. I don't know. It's not my job to track down suspected crooks. [I'm being very careful with my language. Kim hasn't had a trial yet. He could be an innocent man. Someone may have been telling lies about him. His landlady's cook always brings him breakfast at eight o'clock. Not that I should be writing this. I was supposed to be making a fresh start, leaving out all the literary references. I don't need to refer to anything else. It was a mistake mentioning Bill Withers this morning, too. What is wrong with me? I can never do what I say I'm going to do. I hate myself sometimes.] I've got this blog to write. I'm hoping to put ten hours in today. There's my shamanic duties on the astral plane. Then later on, tonight, either do some reading or play my guitar. I'll probably play my guitar. Still haven't finished that blasted song. It's going to be called 'Gilly Marie' now. A sort of combination of Gillian and Stacy-Marie. My tribute to the two fittest birds in finance. Although I only love one of them.

O Master, you're going to get yourself in trouble one of these days.

O my child, I lead a charmed life. 'Some of these days, you'll miss me, honey.'

Jean-Paul Sartre?

Yeah. Afraid so. Nausea. I once wrote a song called Sunset Nausea. [Italics for titles, not the mystic child/voice thing.] Over twenty years ago. I've still got the recording on cassette. Unfortunately, I don't have a tape recorder. It's a sign, I suppose, that I'm old. I can't even listen to the songs of my youth any more. But I'm not going to get all maudlin. And I'm not going to slash my wrists. I considered it at the weekend, you know; had a Mr Polly moment.

H.G. Wells?

Yeah. H.G. Wells. Mr Polly cut his own throat and burnt his shop down. But he survived! Then he realized: if you're prepared to commit suicide, you're free to do anything.

Then he went roaming the countryside, didn't he? Got into an awkward situation with an eel, as I recall.

Indeed. [How I hate that word! Someone fucking shoot me if I ever use it again.] The point I'm making is this: I'm not going to die yet. I'm going to live! And live without fear. And I'm going to do what I want to do. And I'm going to work hard, on everything. I'm going to reduce my sleep, like I said I would. I'm going to stop wasting time. And I'm not going to judge a man like Brian Kim. And I'm not going to judge the people who want him so badly. It's a big comedy! And it means nothing - if you look at it from far away, out in the cosmos, with the aliens. They have their own troubles, anyway.

H.G. Wells?