There's a rumour going around - oh, these fucking degenerates - that Raffaele Costa will start his own investment firm, focusing on real estate - if you can believe that. I don't believe any of it. Oh, I believe Raffaele exists. I'm willing to believe there is such a man. But I'm not falling for the nonsense of Man/GLG, Goldman, and incredibly now: an investment firm of his own?! Ha! Hoo! Ha! It's too mundane. Raffaele strikes me as the magical sort. He wouldn't work in finance. And I've never met him. I've only heard his name. A voice in my ear, while I was sleeping. But he wouldn't work in finance. (Yes, well, there are magical sorts in finance - look at the shamans, if your eyes can bear seeing them - but not this goddamn magical. And the shamans are mystical rather than magical. It's a subtle point.) I get these feelings about people. I know Raffaele is different.
I know. Yes, I know. How about that? Ain't it impressive? It's got to be more than a feeling if I actually know, obviously. In my heart, in my soul, I feel, but, let's not forget, it's my head that matters; because that's where all the action is, my head. You won't get far in this world with just heart and soul. Idiots have tried it and they have failed. They end up in the gutter, forsaken, with people spitting at them, and pissing on them. I apologize for being so graphic, but that's the reality. I'm not going to hide the truth from anyone, let alone a much-loved reader. So why should I apologize?! No, I take it back. Live with reality. Live with it, child! It's about time you stood on your own two feet. And I can't keep spoon-feeding you this stuff. There's a whole cosmos out there, a rather big one. Go and have a look at all the realities, with mystic eyes. (They'll need to be mystic.) You'll thank me one day.
And I'm going to thank myself, right now, just for staying alive and getting this far. I once told everyone: love is a dying star heavier than the sun, and maybe that's true, but (look!) the sun is shining, our star is not dying, right now, and I'm happy to be alive, with or without love. Raffaele knows the feeling. When he's out, out, out, on the sea, sailing his yacht, Raffaele's fully alive and the man he wants to be. It's emotional. It's psychological. And it's physical, for our feelings and thoughts get into our bones, and our fleshes. We are elevated animals when we're hot and ecstatic like that. Like this. Yes, I'm feeling it now. I'm thinking it - now! You can change your state from deathly bag of bones to burning miracle soul. It's like money doesn't exist, politics doesn't exist, work is unknown. Only fun, pleasure. If this ain't the way, there is no way.
Oh, electric rumbles! It doesn't get any better. I'm talking fingers with sparks, and eyes of fire, and teeth like knives. And a gutful of gold, too, and mirrors all around. That? It's some heavenly light. I'm spinning up to the daytime sky / [I mean, this time] / I'm spoilt for choice! (Me so fixed, so stuck, abnormally, yes?) It's pure delirium, and the way, the crazy way, the way it's supposed to be. I'm actually shaking spasms of words right here, and there: watch out! As a mystic warrior, I'll strike, yes, strike you, dear reader/stranger, strike you, and dreamer, with my weapons. I'll strike right at the core of your being, whatever, wherever. They'll go through you, believe me. My thought-bullets, my emotion-bombs. Seriously, one hit is all it takes, and you can get a mind-storm in a situation like this. I've got to be careful. Or maybe not. You'll catch my disease. Yes, I've got the bug if you want it. Open your mouth. Kiss me. You know you want it. You've been dreaming of it in peculiar ways. We've come so far together, and we are still alive, and fully alive in this moment, this time - like Raffaele Costa at his best. So, we shall surrender to electric rumbles, mind-storms, the flashes of colour, / light/dark, day/night / , and, and, ... ha, ha, ha / oooooooooh ... / It's a bit of a giggle, ain't it, once you've discovered yourself (truly) and the meaning of your life?
Goo goo ga ga goo goo
This is what Raffaele Costa has done to me, done for me. / Thank you, Raffaele! You have inspired me. You can sail away, Raffaele, oh, sail away now, knowing that you have 'touched' the shaman - and maybe a reader or two, through me. It's such a rare thing. I hope you tell your grandchildren.
I know. Yes, I know. How about that? Ain't it impressive? It's got to be more than a feeling if I actually know, obviously. In my heart, in my soul, I feel, but, let's not forget, it's my head that matters; because that's where all the action is, my head. You won't get far in this world with just heart and soul. Idiots have tried it and they have failed. They end up in the gutter, forsaken, with people spitting at them, and pissing on them. I apologize for being so graphic, but that's the reality. I'm not going to hide the truth from anyone, let alone a much-loved reader. So why should I apologize?! No, I take it back. Live with reality. Live with it, child! It's about time you stood on your own two feet. And I can't keep spoon-feeding you this stuff. There's a whole cosmos out there, a rather big one. Go and have a look at all the realities, with mystic eyes. (They'll need to be mystic.) You'll thank me one day.
And I'm going to thank myself, right now, just for staying alive and getting this far. I once told everyone: love is a dying star heavier than the sun, and maybe that's true, but (look!) the sun is shining, our star is not dying, right now, and I'm happy to be alive, with or without love. Raffaele knows the feeling. When he's out, out, out, on the sea, sailing his yacht, Raffaele's fully alive and the man he wants to be. It's emotional. It's psychological. And it's physical, for our feelings and thoughts get into our bones, and our fleshes. We are elevated animals when we're hot and ecstatic like that. Like this. Yes, I'm feeling it now. I'm thinking it - now! You can change your state from deathly bag of bones to burning miracle soul. It's like money doesn't exist, politics doesn't exist, work is unknown. Only fun, pleasure. If this ain't the way, there is no way.
Oh, electric rumbles! It doesn't get any better. I'm talking fingers with sparks, and eyes of fire, and teeth like knives. And a gutful of gold, too, and mirrors all around. That? It's some heavenly light. I'm spinning up to the daytime sky / [I mean, this time] / I'm spoilt for choice! (Me so fixed, so stuck, abnormally, yes?) It's pure delirium, and the way, the crazy way, the way it's supposed to be. I'm actually shaking spasms of words right here, and there: watch out! As a mystic warrior, I'll strike, yes, strike you, dear reader/stranger, strike you, and dreamer, with my weapons. I'll strike right at the core of your being, whatever, wherever. They'll go through you, believe me. My thought-bullets, my emotion-bombs. Seriously, one hit is all it takes, and you can get a mind-storm in a situation like this. I've got to be careful. Or maybe not. You'll catch my disease. Yes, I've got the bug if you want it. Open your mouth. Kiss me. You know you want it. You've been dreaming of it in peculiar ways. We've come so far together, and we are still alive, and fully alive in this moment, this time - like Raffaele Costa at his best. So, we shall surrender to electric rumbles, mind-storms, the flashes of colour, / light/dark, day/night / , and, and, ... ha, ha, ha / oooooooooh ... / It's a bit of a giggle, ain't it, once you've discovered yourself (truly) and the meaning of your life?
Goo goo ga ga goo goo
This is what Raffaele Costa has done to me, done for me. / Thank you, Raffaele! You have inspired me. You can sail away, Raffaele, oh, sail away now, knowing that you have 'touched' the shaman - and maybe a reader or two, through me. It's such a rare thing. I hope you tell your grandchildren.
