He's leaving it all behind. And I don't blame him. Why did he ever get involved in it? It's Moore Capital's emerging markets fund, and it's rubbish. My mate Greg is going to concentrate on his GC Macro fund now. Oh dear. Out of the frying pan into the fire, eh? I don't like these macro funds. Never mind. It's his life. I'm not going to tell Greg how he should live his life. He's a top financial shaman, a veteran of the desert. He should have more sense than this. But what can you do? What can I do? I can't do anything. He's not a kid any more.
God knows I've made enough mistakes in my life. I guess I'm a bit more mature than Greg, more worldly-wise, but you only get that way by making mistakes, by being foolish. What did Blake say? 'Tyger feet. I really love your Tyger feet.' No! He said: 'If the fool would persist in his folly he would become wise.' He also said: 'Energy is an eternal delight, and he who desires, but acts not, breeds pestilence.' Which reminds me, I really must get on with writing those new songs. Oh, I know I wasn't going to mention music again, but I'm becoming obsessed. Fuck it, I am obsessed! In one song, Gilly Marie, I've discovered a transcendence I haven't been able to reach with over 1,400 blog posts. How? Why? Because the song is pure joy. It doesn't come from my personal problems, fears, nightmares, existential worries, and all the rest of it. It's because Gilly Marie is a pop song. The thirty or so songs I wrote in my youth were just like my blog posts - tortured. Also, to be honest, I must admit that the prospect of making some decent money for a change has cheered me up. Why should I suffer like Van Gogh? Do I really want the misery and death of Rimbaud: a tumour, then hobbling around on one leg, waiting for the end? 'So I'm back to the crutches. What difficulty, what a bother, what disappointment, when I think of all my travelling, and how active I was only five months ago! What happened to my trips across mountains, on horseback, walking, across deserts, rivers, and oceans? And now I'm a basket case! And I'm beginning to understand that crutches, wooden legs, and artificial legs are all a bunch of jokes, and all that stuff gets you is to drag yourself around like a cripple and never be able to do anything. And just when I had decided to come back to France this summer to get married! Farewell marriage, farewell family, farewell future! My life is over, all I am now is a motionless stump.' No thank you! I can do without that if you don't mind.
God knows I've made enough mistakes in my life. I guess I'm a bit more mature than Greg, more worldly-wise, but you only get that way by making mistakes, by being foolish. What did Blake say? 'Tyger feet. I really love your Tyger feet.' No! He said: 'If the fool would persist in his folly he would become wise.' He also said: 'Energy is an eternal delight, and he who desires, but acts not, breeds pestilence.' Which reminds me, I really must get on with writing those new songs. Oh, I know I wasn't going to mention music again, but I'm becoming obsessed. Fuck it, I am obsessed! In one song, Gilly Marie, I've discovered a transcendence I haven't been able to reach with over 1,400 blog posts. How? Why? Because the song is pure joy. It doesn't come from my personal problems, fears, nightmares, existential worries, and all the rest of it. It's because Gilly Marie is a pop song. The thirty or so songs I wrote in my youth were just like my blog posts - tortured. Also, to be honest, I must admit that the prospect of making some decent money for a change has cheered me up. Why should I suffer like Van Gogh? Do I really want the misery and death of Rimbaud: a tumour, then hobbling around on one leg, waiting for the end? 'So I'm back to the crutches. What difficulty, what a bother, what disappointment, when I think of all my travelling, and how active I was only five months ago! What happened to my trips across mountains, on horseback, walking, across deserts, rivers, and oceans? And now I'm a basket case! And I'm beginning to understand that crutches, wooden legs, and artificial legs are all a bunch of jokes, and all that stuff gets you is to drag yourself around like a cripple and never be able to do anything. And just when I had decided to come back to France this summer to get married! Farewell marriage, farewell family, farewell future! My life is over, all I am now is a motionless stump.' No thank you! I can do without that if you don't mind.
