But he wants $250 million. And do you know what? I think he's going to do it. I actually believe the crazy bastard is going to get all the money he needs. It seems I was too harsh with Mr Gougenheim last time. Well, it just goes to show that even financial shamans can get it wrong. / Philippe, I take my hat off to you!
Right, this is a slow start to the week. There's no reason why I should rush straight in to all the exciting financial news, is there? I'm going beyond finance, anyway - didn't you get the memo?
But no conceptual post today either. I've got to go out this afternoon, as long as it doesn't rain. What about all this rain, eh? It's a good job I've got my hat.
I've been thinking about my conceptual shit again. (You know me, I like to analyse shit.) Well, I could only have developed this new literature as an unknown writer. At the beginning of the year, I pulled out of an interview with a big American newspaper. At that time (as I've already mentioned) I had two kinds of posts: news stories in an odd style, like the opening of this post, and posts of the immortal words/love is a dying star variety, which can easily be mistaken for prose poems. All lovely stuff, sure, but nothing (too) revolutionary. And there was a danger I could have become satisfied with that. "Fame" makes you satisfied. / So, it would have been the wrong time. I'm getting closer to the right time. I need another forty or fifty conceptuals. Then no one will be able to fuck with me. It will be an historic achievement. And no one will be able to fuck with me. Do you understand? I hope you can dig it, man.
Put it together with the songs I'm writing at the moment, and this has got to be the most important year of my life. Even if I live to be a hundred, there will never be a better year for me. And please consider: this is a manic depressive writing/talking. Jesus H. Christ! There's a serious chance of my becoming happy.
Note: I'm not really all that depressed these days. Just a touch melancholic. You should have seen me in my youth. I gave Prince Hamlet and Young Werther a run for their money.
_________________________
Right, this is a slow start to the week. There's no reason why I should rush straight in to all the exciting financial news, is there? I'm going beyond finance, anyway - didn't you get the memo?
But no conceptual post today either. I've got to go out this afternoon, as long as it doesn't rain. What about all this rain, eh? It's a good job I've got my hat.
I've been thinking about my conceptual shit again. (You know me, I like to analyse shit.) Well, I could only have developed this new literature as an unknown writer. At the beginning of the year, I pulled out of an interview with a big American newspaper. At that time (as I've already mentioned) I had two kinds of posts: news stories in an odd style, like the opening of this post, and posts of the immortal words/love is a dying star variety, which can easily be mistaken for prose poems. All lovely stuff, sure, but nothing (too) revolutionary. And there was a danger I could have become satisfied with that. "Fame" makes you satisfied. / So, it would have been the wrong time. I'm getting closer to the right time. I need another forty or fifty conceptuals. Then no one will be able to fuck with me. It will be an historic achievement. And no one will be able to fuck with me. Do you understand? I hope you can dig it, man.
Put it together with the songs I'm writing at the moment, and this has got to be the most important year of my life. Even if I live to be a hundred, there will never be a better year for me. And please consider: this is a manic depressive writing/talking. Jesus H. Christ! There's a serious chance of my becoming happy.
Note: I'm not really all that depressed these days. Just a touch melancholic. You should have seen me in my youth. I gave Prince Hamlet and Young Werther a run for their money.
