Soon. [In his flesh. In the flesh. His flesh. It belongs to him. This is an edit, a rewriting or whatever. Even when I want to write like the dead people, I can't help adding something. No, not fire. Not on this occasion. Flesh. His flesh.] Any time now. Maybe the next few days. Maybe he's there already there. Yeah. Mr Kelham is [going to be] director and international wealth adviser within the wealth advisory division. He['ll] be managing major private client relationships, and he['ll] be developing new business.
He was a managing director at Rothschild. He was a director at Credit Suisse. He went to the University of Sheffield, and the University of Southampton, and ... somewhere else, and ... Law Society England Wales International Bar Association Society Trust Estate Practitioners Association Contentious Trust Probate Specialists Institute Directors Chartered Management ... Rugby, cricket, and golf. I say, he likes rugby, cricket, and golf. No one knows his opinion on football. It's a vulgar sport. I'm sure that's his opinion.
This is what they like /// I would cry, if I had tears left /// It's what they want /// I would wail, if I wasn't all done with wailing /// Oh, how the other half dies. [!] It's no reflection on Mr Kelham. He never asked to be written about like this. Normally, I would put in a bit of fire. [Blood? Flesh!] But I want to fit in now. I want to write like the dead people, now, who are still breathing. There are dead people still breathing who write about Mr Kelham and the others, and other subjects. There is nothing I can do to stop them.
I'm sure there are lively souls that play Russian roulette when they're feeling like this. Or a game with a knife, between their fingers. (Souls have fingers too.) When they're feeling like me, desperate and bored and angry and psychotic. But not Mr Kelham. He doesn't feel like this. There's no need for the gun or the knife. He's calm and happy. And ... not the dead. They're just pleased they're still breathing. I would be pleased, oh yes, indeed, indeed, indeed, if I were not so alive. That's where the pain comes from, being so alive. I'd recommend it to any of them.
He was a managing director at Rothschild. He was a director at Credit Suisse. He went to the University of Sheffield, and the University of Southampton, and ... somewhere else, and ... Law Society England Wales International Bar Association Society Trust Estate Practitioners Association Contentious Trust Probate Specialists Institute Directors Chartered Management ... Rugby, cricket, and golf. I say, he likes rugby, cricket, and golf. No one knows his opinion on football. It's a vulgar sport. I'm sure that's his opinion.
This is what they like /// I would cry, if I had tears left /// It's what they want /// I would wail, if I wasn't all done with wailing /// Oh, how the other half dies. [!] It's no reflection on Mr Kelham. He never asked to be written about like this. Normally, I would put in a bit of fire. [Blood? Flesh!] But I want to fit in now. I want to write like the dead people, now, who are still breathing. There are dead people still breathing who write about Mr Kelham and the others, and other subjects. There is nothing I can do to stop them.
I'm sure there are lively souls that play Russian roulette when they're feeling like this. Or a game with a knife, between their fingers. (Souls have fingers too.) When they're feeling like me, desperate and bored and angry and psychotic. But not Mr Kelham. He doesn't feel like this. There's no need for the gun or the knife. He's calm and happy. And ... not the dead. They're just pleased they're still breathing. I would be pleased, oh yes, indeed, indeed, indeed, if I were not so alive. That's where the pain comes from, being so alive. I'd recommend it to any of them.
