Tuesday, 26 April 2011

Stark Investments has a new short subprime hedge fund all set to wreak havoc

Havoc everywhere in the world, just like the old days. I'm looking forward to it. We don't want to die in our sleep. We are mystic soldiers! Shamans against reality! Well, some of us. Like the Stark ones. Those characters at Stark Investments see things differently. Thank God for that! They are not communistic cowards, shivering in the attic, crying for mummy. Stark's RMBS CDS Opportunity fund will invest in credit-default swaps to short subprime mortgage-backed securities. So: beautiful, magnificent, wonderful. I'm sure the fund will be all three of those words. If not, I'll put in a complaint. And there's more! We're talking delinquencies and severities. It's going to be very exciting.

Or maybe I have it all wrong. I'm not exactly an expert in these matters. What do I know? (Let's forget about Stark Investments now.) I'm just looking for chaos. And it's not a selfish thing. I want the timid to have their share of the blood and fire. It's about time that the blood stained them and the fire burnt them. All of them! They've avoided me, so far. Yes, it's true. Not everyone has been touched - yet. Those fragile morons have been hiding behind their fake indifference. My passion hasn't raped their minds or their hearts. But it will. Hasn't cut into them rather than rape them, actually, being a scalpel and all. We'll see. My passion is nothing if not versatile. Atrocities can - and will - come in any form.

I bet some of you are feeling nostalgic about the days and nights (oh the nights!) of Jack Pickles. At least with Mr Pickles there was a faint chance that he didn't even exist. You can't say that about me. I exist in the world as a genuine human being, almost like you, no physical abnormalities, you'll be glad to hear, it's my head that's the problem - or the solution. All depends on how you look at it. Are you scared or delighted? And I'm asking this of the shamans too. (None of you, brothers, the odd sister, are as extreme as I am.) Children, money-lovers, followers, I am not made out of words and pictures. If you caress me, do I not moan? Understand this: I was always Jack. (I wish I had his money. That was the fiction.) You must deal with it. Come to terms with evil, and then move on. I'm not living in the past. I know what I did. I'm not proud. AND I AM NOT ASHAMED. This is what it's like to be a spiritual aristocrat. Amoral as if it were going out of fashion. We set our own standards. Will you join me?

I want peace. You're shocked, I can tell. I can see it in your face(s). You can't hide from me. It's the peace of the winners I want, resting on the corpses of the defeated. Oh, I didn't say it was going to be pleasant. The end justifies the means. [[I'm sure I don't believe half of what I write. I am possessed! Or is that just an excuse?]] (Double-strength square brackets? Has it come to this? I'm afraid it has. I really don't need fragments of my consciousness mingling with other ... fragments. I don't know. I realize "fragments of my consciousness mingling with other ... fragments" doesn't make a great deal of sense, or any sense at all. I probably haven't expressed myself properly. Cut me some slack, for Christ's sake! I get so confused.) Yes, I want peace. A heaven for the lovers of money. A soft pillow to lay my head on. Some flowers. The inner calm. Relaxed, happy and gone, like the ultimate coma, or the biggest fuck. FOCUS! It's a dream. It's a vision. There aren't any words. We've been here before. Well, I have. You were merely a spectator, a voyeur, far away, out of reach. Not like this. Kiss me.