I just thought I should tell you. Some of you may actually be interested in their nonsense. Me, I'm so pissed off at the moment that ... well, Winkelried was a Goldman banker, an important one, a co-president - if you can believe that - and then ... he left Goldman to work with Big Herb. As you all know, I assassinated Big Herb in the astral night BECAUSE I was feeling so strong, so powerful; I thought I could take on the whole cosmos. That left Winkelried at a loose end. Now he's doing something with the TPG Specialty Lending Fund. I don't know what, exactly. Advising. I don't even care. I am genuinely pissed off.
I don't want to write about finance. My soul is in chaos. How am I ever going to get rid of this pain, this misery? I thought I could write it out, like Kafka, like Rimbaud, but I'm just getting dragged deeper into the shit - by a dark power? There's something they don't tell you, the serious writers. You can guess though. YOU CAN'T WRITE IT OUT. That's my guess. Why did Kafka want Max Brod to burn his novels? Why did Rimbaud run away to Africa? Use your fucking imagination! You don't need to be a genius. Bastard! Bitch! Oh, I'm sorry. I shouldn't be having a pop at you, dear reader(s). You've been good to me, so far. Not many people would put up with me the way you(s) have over the years - if you're a regular(s), that is. I know I'm lucky. If we think about it, together, I'm lucky to be alive, lucky to be breathing, lucky to be reasonably healthy, to be reasonably young. Jesus, I'm only forty-two! That's not old, not really. I should count my blessings. I know God is keeping an eye on me, for my own good. What is there to worry about? It's crazy, the way I am. HOWEVER: better this than the calmness, the happiness, of someone like Jeffrey Archer, I suppose, eh? Imagine how awful that must be. It doesn't bear thinking about.
Maybe my insanity is the blessing from God. The pain, the misery. You can't learn anything sailing through life like a carefree fool. Yes, you can make money. Fuck the money! We haven't got much time. WE NEED TO LEARN SOMETHING. I'm telling you: one day, we will all have to answer to a higher authority, and if we haven't learnt anything during our time here on earth there'll be hell to pay. I wish it wasn't so. I've just got a bad feeling.
Talk about cathartic! Maybe you can write it out - for an hour or two.
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I don't want to write about finance. My soul is in chaos. How am I ever going to get rid of this pain, this misery? I thought I could write it out, like Kafka, like Rimbaud, but I'm just getting dragged deeper into the shit - by a dark power? There's something they don't tell you, the serious writers. You can guess though. YOU CAN'T WRITE IT OUT. That's my guess. Why did Kafka want Max Brod to burn his novels? Why did Rimbaud run away to Africa? Use your fucking imagination! You don't need to be a genius. Bastard! Bitch! Oh, I'm sorry. I shouldn't be having a pop at you, dear reader(s). You've been good to me, so far. Not many people would put up with me the way you(s) have over the years - if you're a regular(s), that is. I know I'm lucky. If we think about it, together, I'm lucky to be alive, lucky to be breathing, lucky to be reasonably healthy, to be reasonably young. Jesus, I'm only forty-two! That's not old, not really. I should count my blessings. I know God is keeping an eye on me, for my own good. What is there to worry about? It's crazy, the way I am. HOWEVER: better this than the calmness, the happiness, of someone like Jeffrey Archer, I suppose, eh? Imagine how awful that must be. It doesn't bear thinking about.
Maybe my insanity is the blessing from God. The pain, the misery. You can't learn anything sailing through life like a carefree fool. Yes, you can make money. Fuck the money! We haven't got much time. WE NEED TO LEARN SOMETHING. I'm telling you: one day, we will all have to answer to a higher authority, and if we haven't learnt anything during our time here on earth there'll be hell to pay. I wish it wasn't so. I've just got a bad feeling.
_________________________
Talk about cathartic! Maybe you can write it out - for an hour or two.
