Well, the nuns aren't actually working there, thank God, but they own a few shares in Goldman Sachs, a few hundred dollars' worth, tops. This makes them think they have the right to tell Lloyd Blankfein and other executives what to do. They want a review of pay, these nuns. Lloyd made over $14 million last year. I suppose they think he should be on the minimum wage. Now, I can't say Lloyd is doing God's work. I would never say that. But he isn’t as far away from God as a lot of people would have you believe.
Who are these nuns, anyway? The Sisters of Saint Joseph of Boston. Have you heard of them? No, me neither. The Sisters of Notre Dame de Namur. Who? The Sisters of St. Francis of Philadelphia. Eh? And the Benedictine Sisters of Mt. Angel. Whatever. It's crazy. I can't understand it. Imagine if Lloyd turned up at one of their nunneries and started throwing his weight around. How would they like that? And haven't these nuns heard about the financial shamans that work at Goldman and practically everywhere else in the world of finance? Genuine work, I mean, so obviously. Soul-stretching, mind-expanding, WORK. They don't complain, do they, the shamans? Why not? They are money-oriented! That's why not. They're not communistic nuns. Thank ... me. Yes, thank ME.
Of course, now that Big Herb is dead (a hero's death, oh, hero of the revolution!) and Ganesh is in exile (he'll be missed, I'm sure) there is only me. I'm the boss. I'm the one they all look up to on this cold earth. And the desert is out of bounds! Why? We must take over the cities! The City of London, Wall Street, Hong Kong, plenty of other places. Financial shamans are second-class citizens no longer. The money gods are dead (or gone). Long live ... ME!
And people said I lacked ambition. Ha! They couldn't understand that my nutty days and nights in the astral/physical desert were actually leading to something. No, not incarceration. Glory! It's only a matter of time before I become ruler of the world. Then you'll see things heat up a little. [Oh dear, I'm getting excited again.] Deep breath. Soothing classical music, yes, some Wagner. In an ideal reality, I would go back and edit. No! I must hold my nerve. I am not afraid to write what must be written. This is the ideal reality, this here, with music. Tristan and Isolde. Just like Romeo and Juliet. Or Dante and Beatrice. No, I mustn't go there, again, and again, and again. Like a broken record. The Three Cs. Think! Meditate! Three Cs, in my head! As I've said before, no one said this was going to be easy. They were right not to say it. I am right to keep stressing it. Storm of passion, out of the melancholy afternoon, with birds by the window, and white, fluffy clouds by the chimney. Ah, that's better.
I seem to remember that we were discussing nuns. Well, I was. You were all passive, as per usual. Waiting for me to lay burning love on you like it's going out of fashion. Is that all I'm good for? And when are you going to make a contribution? 'No place to leave a comment, Mikey!' Use your freakin' minds! Send me a message, with your freakin' friggin' minds! Haven't you learnt anything? [Calm down.] I'm calming down. It's that bloody Wagner! If he were alive, I'd swing for him. But that's a different kind of music.
Right, the nuns. The nuns have got to stick to God. It's the only way, for them. Why are they even investing in Goldman Sachs? Who told them to do that? It makes sense financially, sure. But spiritually? What would Jesus do? He'd have a fit.
Who are these nuns, anyway? The Sisters of Saint Joseph of Boston. Have you heard of them? No, me neither. The Sisters of Notre Dame de Namur. Who? The Sisters of St. Francis of Philadelphia. Eh? And the Benedictine Sisters of Mt. Angel. Whatever. It's crazy. I can't understand it. Imagine if Lloyd turned up at one of their nunneries and started throwing his weight around. How would they like that? And haven't these nuns heard about the financial shamans that work at Goldman and practically everywhere else in the world of finance? Genuine work, I mean, so obviously. Soul-stretching, mind-expanding, WORK. They don't complain, do they, the shamans? Why not? They are money-oriented! That's why not. They're not communistic nuns. Thank ... me. Yes, thank ME.
Of course, now that Big Herb is dead (a hero's death, oh, hero of the revolution!) and Ganesh is in exile (he'll be missed, I'm sure) there is only me. I'm the boss. I'm the one they all look up to on this cold earth. And the desert is out of bounds! Why? We must take over the cities! The City of London, Wall Street, Hong Kong, plenty of other places. Financial shamans are second-class citizens no longer. The money gods are dead (or gone). Long live ... ME!
And people said I lacked ambition. Ha! They couldn't understand that my nutty days and nights in the astral/physical desert were actually leading to something. No, not incarceration. Glory! It's only a matter of time before I become ruler of the world. Then you'll see things heat up a little. [Oh dear, I'm getting excited again.] Deep breath. Soothing classical music, yes, some Wagner. In an ideal reality, I would go back and edit. No! I must hold my nerve. I am not afraid to write what must be written. This is the ideal reality, this here, with music. Tristan and Isolde. Just like Romeo and Juliet. Or Dante and Beatrice. No, I mustn't go there, again, and again, and again. Like a broken record. The Three Cs. Think! Meditate! Three Cs, in my head! As I've said before, no one said this was going to be easy. They were right not to say it. I am right to keep stressing it. Storm of passion, out of the melancholy afternoon, with birds by the window, and white, fluffy clouds by the chimney. Ah, that's better.
I seem to remember that we were discussing nuns. Well, I was. You were all passive, as per usual. Waiting for me to lay burning love on you like it's going out of fashion. Is that all I'm good for? And when are you going to make a contribution? 'No place to leave a comment, Mikey!' Use your freakin' minds! Send me a message, with your freakin' friggin' minds! Haven't you learnt anything? [Calm down.] I'm calming down. It's that bloody Wagner! If he were alive, I'd swing for him. But that's a different kind of music.
Right, the nuns. The nuns have got to stick to God. It's the only way, for them. Why are they even investing in Goldman Sachs? Who told them to do that? It makes sense financially, sure. But spiritually? What would Jesus do? He'd have a fit.
