Wednesday, 25 May 2011

Samuel Kahn will never abuse the market again

The FSA has seen to that. Like a dead shark that refuses to believe in death, an immortal monster, lurking in the depths of our souls, the FSA is still around. But what of its big hairy bearbug: does it live on, fatter than it has ever been? [That won't make sense to anyone.] Oh, it does. So incredibly and unbelievably, it has struck once more! (With the FSA as shark.) [I've lost control.] Mr Kahn has been bitten, twice, by the bug and the shark, fined £1,094,900, for being abusive. That is a lot of money. Probably his life savings. Now it's all gone. Just so the FSA can have more champagne, and more caviar. I hate this world. The FSA has also obtained a High Court injunction restraining Sammy from committing further market abuse. Who breaks a butterfly upon a wheel?


Do we need these regulators with their hellish regulations? If only we could live, really live, free and easy, dancing in sunshine days, full of love for everyone and everything. Is that too much to dream of? I'll never stop dreaming. And I'll never stop writing - in dreams! I'm after smaller fish than the regulators. Forget the FSA, and the SEC. Look at those creatures scribbling and crawling and shivering in the dark! All the cold ones must be taken down with words beyond their capabilities. They know who they are. They think we can't see them. It has become my obsession. Paranoid, here I am, floating in my space, physically alone, and mentally/spiritually isolated, surrounded by enemies, cretins, and other supporters. Am I afraid? No! They're afraid. They know I can't be beaten. I am a ghost in their lives. I can pop up anywhere, and at any time. It's a sickness, this. It's so hard, working without voices. I am a voice. It's me! Me on my own, frustrated, sure, but not dead inside. I get cold, myself, sometimes. Then it shuts down. Like this. [Edited, to be cryptic, my despair, my terrible thoughts.] Like this. Where's the fire, a little spark? They take advantage of me when I'm weak. [I hate this. It shouldn't be posted.] But I keep fighting. I am the ghost, paralysed in their lives. Twitching a bit, I'm searching for a burning. I am the ghost of their future, hanging in their air. They breathe. They take me in. I'll infect them. I'll fuck up their work. They'll get the sack. No one will blame me. No one imagines that I even exist. It's not an ideal situation. But I'll take it. As long as I get the result I'm after. I know this ain't good. I ain't good. Something better save me.