It's not enough being chairman, you know, for some characters. They have to buy millions of shares as well. Edward Bramson has acquired more than one million shares in F&C in the last week or so. The man is insatiable! Everyone else is selling. The chief executive, Alain Grisay, has sold a shedload. So has Charlie Porter. Sold more shares than Grisay, in fact. What the hell is going on? What does Eddie know that Alain and Charlie don't? Or maybe it's the other way round. Maybe there's something Eddie doesn't know.
Maybe there's something I don't know. That would explain a lot. I don't understand half of what goes on. But there's no shame in that. It's not my area, after all. Ask me about dead financiers on the astral plane. Well, no, don't ask me about the ghosts. I'm supposed to be leaving them to rot in my subconscious, aren't I? No one said this was going to be easy. (I have a reference to popular culture lined up, ready to go, concerning a rose garden. But I must resist. You won't believe the tension. If you're a fatty, imagine rejecting a big cream bun. It's a lot like that.) I need monologue, and a lot of it. On my own. The deeper in, the greater I'll get. Just a theory of mine. Like that mole, or whatever it was. Or like the one with no name. I mean, that Beckett voice, not Eastwood. [Shit!] No one said this was going to be easy.
O Master, I never promised you a rose garden.
Right, that's it! CONTROL. CONSISTENCY. CONCENTRATION. Read this: Edward Bramson knows a thing or two. Alain Grisay and Charlie Porter are afraid. (And I had such high hopes for Charlie. He's let me down. He's let himself down.) I don't know what Eddie is up to, but I trust him. And he has to trust me. I'm taking Eddie deeper. Right now. Why put it off? We need less entertainment. Narrow path. Do I have the courage to isolate myself further? I hope so. This is not popular fiction. This is not popular anything. It's unpopular reality. It's real, and it's here. And I am with you. And Edward Bramson is with you. And you are here. This is here. Don't float off back to a life where no one cares. No one else is doing this. There's no money in it. But there's life (and death) in it. There's blood and fire, in it. I'm trying to convince you. Give it a chance. What have you got to lose? Oh, your sanity. That's what you’re worried about. Don't be silly. Look at me. I'm all right, ain't I?
Maybe there's something I don't know. That would explain a lot. I don't understand half of what goes on. But there's no shame in that. It's not my area, after all. Ask me about dead financiers on the astral plane. Well, no, don't ask me about the ghosts. I'm supposed to be leaving them to rot in my subconscious, aren't I? No one said this was going to be easy. (I have a reference to popular culture lined up, ready to go, concerning a rose garden. But I must resist. You won't believe the tension. If you're a fatty, imagine rejecting a big cream bun. It's a lot like that.) I need monologue, and a lot of it. On my own. The deeper in, the greater I'll get. Just a theory of mine. Like that mole, or whatever it was. Or like the one with no name. I mean, that Beckett voice, not Eastwood. [Shit!] No one said this was going to be easy.
O Master, I never promised you a rose garden.
Right, that's it! CONTROL. CONSISTENCY. CONCENTRATION. Read this: Edward Bramson knows a thing or two. Alain Grisay and Charlie Porter are afraid. (And I had such high hopes for Charlie. He's let me down. He's let himself down.) I don't know what Eddie is up to, but I trust him. And he has to trust me. I'm taking Eddie deeper. Right now. Why put it off? We need less entertainment. Narrow path. Do I have the courage to isolate myself further? I hope so. This is not popular fiction. This is not popular anything. It's unpopular reality. It's real, and it's here. And I am with you. And Edward Bramson is with you. And you are here. This is here. Don't float off back to a life where no one cares. No one else is doing this. There's no money in it. But there's life (and death) in it. There's blood and fire, in it. I'm trying to convince you. Give it a chance. What have you got to lose? Oh, your sanity. That's what you’re worried about. Don't be silly. Look at me. I'm all right, ain't I?
