Thursday, 22 September 2011

I wish I were an old billionaire with grey hair

I'd like to be old and rich. All the pain is gone when you're old. All the passion too. I'd like to be rich enough and old enough not to have a care in the world. I'd like to sit in my favourite armchair with a blanket over my legs. The closer you are to money the closer you are to death the closer you are to ...

I'd like to be old and mad. With grey hair down to my feet. And I'd like a grey hermit's grey beard. I would lock myself away in a mansion, a palace. Men with guns and dogs would protect me. I'd be free of scum. The further you are from humanity the further you are from life the further you are from ...


I don't really want any of that shit. I was being sarcastic. You see, I read a story about George Soros today - or was it yesterday? Apparently, he's worth $22 billion now.

And I know Georgy Boy's not a hermit. I know he doesn't have hair down to his feet. And he doesn't have a beard. This is just another example of my ... excess? What the hell is wrong with me?! The words come and I'm too weak to resist, I suppose.

For the record, I have absolutely no desire to become a billionaire. I've set my heart on £20 million by 2016. That should be enough.

Like Lautreamont's ghost, like Akaky Akakievich's ghost - and I'm not even a ghost - I want REVENGE! I need that money, and I'm going to get it.

But I know what will happen. In time, twenty million will become one hundred million; one hundred million will become five hundred million; and then ... then, I'll be sitting in my favourite armchair with a blanket over my legs.

But I must have my REVENGE!

I don't even want to stroke a fucking cat. But I must have my revenge. Oh, I should keep it quiet. I should keep it small. I have no idea who's reading this.


This is a private area. Goodbye, dear reader(s).

[Save me, angel. You have the opportunity. Oh my angel, come and save me from a life of despair. Here's your window of opportunity. I am weak, and I am vulnerable. Quickly, before I go back to being a Nietzschean superman - an aeronaut of the spirit! It's either you or the money. Money is waiting for me. It will destroy me. Is that what you want? I refuse to believe that you're a woman of iron. You have emotions like everyone else, surely?]

Alone. Isolated. Yes. But strong again. Like Caesar. This is my destiny. Is it? It must be.

These words, that are coming now, I'll control them. A moment to myself, and for myself, so listen -

Human weakness is human disgrace. It is not as if I have time to waste, a carefree life to burn to nothingness. I must find a reason. The light is going out! This is my one life. Day after day after day, it goes on, and it passes away; and I get closer, and further. Is there a solution to the problem? Is there an answer to that question? I cannot see into the future. I know I cannot know my destiny. So, I will do what I am capable of doing. That is all that is possible.