Thursday, 1 January 2015

Wesley Wong has got a brand new hedge fund!

'Yippee, Mikey!' Not yet, Voice. Not yet! 'What?!' Wesley won't be launching the fund for months. Maybe six months. 'Then why are you -' Because, man ... it's exciting news, ain't it? A new fund, a new year. Over in Hong Kong. Mild-mannered janitors, all that. You know the scene, come on. Something to be happy about, you dig? 'Yeah, all right.' Cheer up. I've been looking at Wesley's LinkedIn profile. He used to play for Arsenal! 'Are you sure about that?' Hang on ... no, he was an associate at Arsenal Capital Partners. Not quite the same thing. 'No.' It's still good though. He was at TPG-Axon Capital as well, as a partner. 'He knows his stuff then?' I should hope so, Voice.

...

Anything else? Well ... not today. 'No more news?!' No more news today. Christ. / It's supposed to be a holiday, but I'm working. That's how committed I am. 'You should be committed. Galaxy Quest is on later.' Forget Galaxy Quest - !!! I've got a conceptual to write, No. 280. We're moving into the future! 'And the past is behind us, I suppose?' You bet your ass it is, boy!

Music? I'm listening to The Doors, L.A. Woman. Their best album. / If Jimmy hadn't had relocated to the astral plane, The Doors could have gone on to achieve real greatness. They were maturing, like Pink Floyd. They would have been massive in the Seventies. 'Jimmy had different fish to fry, Mikey.' I know that, Voice.

...

One more thing? Well ... just Jimmy, man. He was the closest thing to Rimbaud in rock music. I mean the spirit of Rimbaud, you know? He had it, big time. / Dylan was(is) too civilized. Same with Cohen. And the others, the minor figures? They've tried to capture the spirit of Jimmy, knowing nothing about Rimbaud. They're uncultured, and uneducated. But Rimbaud is the key!

Rimbaud is the only poet ... / Dylan Thomas? A Welsh copy. W.B. Yeats? Far too beautiful. T.S. Eliot? Too fucking square! / The Waste Land and The Hollow Men are great shamanic masterpieces. But(!!!) ... everything else Eliot wrote sucks ... like you wouldn't believe. However, try to believe - PLEASE! I know what I'm talking about. I live this shit, yeah? It ain't mere words on an old-fashioned page to me, man.

Laters.