Aviva loses Nic Nicandrou

Yes, he has been lost. Nic Nicandrou has gone. Gone. Gone. Gone. Lost.

And I would write about it (so very boring) … but I am feeling so very depressed today. The sun is shining, but still … it is midnight in my heart.

I know what it feels like to be lost. Floating nowhere believing myself to be somewhere.

If it were not for my white sheet, I would be naked. You would be able to know everything about me.

I wonder if Nic ever …

No. I've seen his face. A jolly face. He hasn't known the pain, not yet. But …

Now he is lost. Aviva has lost him. But Prudential has found him. Found him burning out of control, too much money …

I feel quite emotional, and not just about the loss of Nic. He has been found. But I have not been found yet. Dear reader, will you find me one night, floating in your dreams?

SAVE ME!!!

Why has Kevin Zhao left Goldman?

It doesn't make any goddamn sense. Why has Kevin Zhao left Goldman Sachs Asset Management and joined the fixed income team at Union Bancaire Privee?

It's a mystery.

Couldn't he find the burning love he was looking for at Goldman, even though love burns forever there? He must have experienced it. Did his dream of money turn into a vicious nightmare? Did ghosts reach for him at night, their ghostly hands around his neck? Was he scared? Did he ask himself the question we all ask ourselves before turning out the light and slipping into an unreal world of nothingness that actually seems all too real?

O Kevin, why did you run away from Goldman? What do you think the fixed income team at Union Bancaire Privee will do for you? Will it hide your destiny from you? No! You cannot leave your ghosts behind, and money will burn you wherever you are. Run from Goldman, and Goldman will chase you. There is no escape!

Dear reader …

You may be concerned that this sweet blog o' mine is not updated as often as some others you may be reading. I get these vibes, man.

Well, I can only really write when the spirit moves me. But consider this: Money is the way is already twice the length of Rimbaud's complete works. And he ain't gonna write no more. I will be writing this blog for twenty or thirty years, God willing. I have got to pace myself.

Also, there is my work behind the scenes. My financial shamanism. It is very exhausting. And I will soon be starting a novel. So bear with me, man. There ain't no other mutha in the world who will take you on the trip I have planned for you.

And comments? Well, I don't allow comments for a number of reasons. But I know what you are thinking anyway. You don't have to leave no freakin' comments, man.

BECAUSE I KNOW.

I love you, man.

Paul Touradji remembers the early years …

Paul Touradji of Touradji Capital Management remembers the early years in the desert. I remember. Yes, he remembers.

Paul saw a great burning before he was born. I was in the desert, not even born, but burning with a love of money. He faced the devil.

Paul remembers. I remember. He remembers.

He heard the voices. I heard the voices. They spoke to him.

What did they tell him? What did they tell me? They told him …

Yes. Yes. Yes.

They told him. They told me. But it cannot be spoken of again.

No. No. No.

Goldman Sachs 666

Everyone else is linking to this fucking blog, so I will as well - Goldman Sachs 666.

Apparently, the communists behind this blog are being sued by Goldman Sachs. But that is not the whole story. I can reveal that Goldman has actually commissioned me to put a curse on the blog. The bank is paying me an obscene amount of money for this service, but I would have done it for free.

Bank of America: a tripling of bad debts

Yes. Bank of America. A triping tripling to $25.7 billion. Shares in the bank plunged by 25 per cent or so. But there is nothing to worry about.

A new calmness has come upon me. I suppose it helps that I am writing this post way after midnight. There is an owl outside my windows. The windows of my soul. My eyes. Yes, it helps. I should make a habit of this. Ghostly fingers on the keyboard. I am not typing this. A friend is. A dead friend. But do not be alarmed. Surely, dear reader, you know me well enough by now.

I really don't give a shit about BofA. But I am not heartless. I just have a higher consciousness. The higher I get, the more detached I get. You should come up and see me sometime. Make me smile.

Blood, blood, feed the fire with your bloody tears, burn them, burn them, they all come out, waiting for you, in the shadows, live in the shadows, live there!

Oh dear. That wasn't me. The voices are stronger and more persistent at night. Maybe this wasn't such a great idea. The world is asleep. Well, my part of the world anyway. But the other world, the other side, comes out to play. And some of these 'beings' - I'm trying to be polite - are rather demonic.

But don't worry. They wouldn't dare hurt me. They are just as scared of me as you would be of them. No one fucks with me in the world of spirit. They know who I am. Who I really am.

Hyde Park

What? Why have I written a post about Hyde Park? Don't be silly. HYDE PARK ASSET MANAGEMENT! Yes, that is the name of John Duffield's new venture. John is back from the desert.

I spoke to John earlier this morning, and this is what he told me: 'Mikey, man, I'm back. Back from the desert. (How did it go?) Oh man, what an experience! (Good, eh?) Michael, let me tell you, I'm a changed man. I've never felt so alive. My chakras are in beautiful condition. And my aura? (What about your aura, John?) You wouldn't believe me if I told you. (That good, eh?) Yes. (Bloody hell.) Yeah, Mike. Why didn't I do this before? Why wasn't I a desert man in my youth? (You were a square, John. And you know how many squares there are in the financial world.) But not me, man! Not any more. I've been reborn. I've felt the fire of holy cash. I've danced with the dead financiers. I have even spoken with Big Herb. (Get the fuck outta here!) No, it's true, Mike. He spoke to me. I was wandering one night, beneath the stars, in the moonlight, the desert wind was caressing me, tousling my hair, and I heard a voice. (Yeah?) Oh yeah. The voice spake unto me: O John, John, you must return to the City. Go back to wealth management. (Get the fuck outta here! Are you for real, John?) I swear to you, Michael. It was Big Herb. (How do you know it was him? Could have been Ganesh.) No, man, it was the big money god. You just know, you know? (I suppose.) So here I am. (Back in the City.) Back in the City, man. (Good luck, John.) Thanks, Mike.'

John Duffield, eh? What a guy!

Duncan Niederauer and the real money investors from the desert of our dreams

O Duncan Niederauer, chief executive of NYSE Euronext, are they waiting for you? Are they watching?

O Master, the real money investors are waiting for all of us. They are watching all of us. I think they're waiting, they're watching. Oh yes, Master, they are. They are! It's so exciting, isn't it?

O my child, it is very exciting. Tell me more.

O Master, the market will have a totally different tone to it. From the desert they will come. Real money investors, not fake, real! Institutional! Men and women, dead and alive, sand in their souls, the sun in their eyes, cosmic rays from their astral bodies, blood, mystical blood. It's a bond we have. It will happen.

O my child, more!

O Master, fuck the short-term traders. Fuck 'em, man! This is real money from real ancient souls beyond this world, out of time, burning in the most unbelievable ecstasy. Flames out of their mouths! Burning cash swirling in their hearts! Can you feel it?

Not yet.

O Master, listen to the angels! The angels who love money!

Beautiful singing, my child.

Fuckin' A! Master! Fuckin' A!

O my child, I am starting to feel the vibration.

O Master, there is going to be a fucking summer rally. A big one, man. This vibration is only the start.

O my child, my chakras are … are …

I know. You don't need to tell me, man. Un-fucking-believable! This is what we have all been waiting for. Big Herb has been waiting for it. Ganesh the elephant god has been waiting for it. The ghosts of the dead financiers have been waiting -

The mystical children have -

O Master, that goes without saying. I am a child of the desert. All the desert children are ready for this one, man. We will be stoned immaculate!

O my child, break out the fucking peyote. It's going to be one hell of a party.

Fuckin' A! A summer of love from the desert to the cities! We are the cosmos. We are the people.

Peyote visions galore!

O Master, we've got the cold earth wanderers on the run!

David Viniar: cash, liquid assets, burning forever!

O David, I've been told Goldman Sachs has $164 billion in cash and liquid assets. Wonderful, wonderful, wonderful! But what will you do with all this money?

O Master, buy distressed securities and loans!

No, no, no, David. You have to be more adventurous than that. O my child, I see a burning for you!

O Master, where?

In the desert of our dreams. O David, can you feel it?

Feel what?

The fire. That $164 billion will go a long way in the desert. You do not want to waste it on distressed securities and loans. Walk into the fire! Burn with me and all the other mystical children in the desert. And bring the money. Hark! Can you hear them?

O Master, I hear them!

You hear the ghosts?

Yes, Master, I can hear the ghosts of the dead financiers calling me. They want me to join them in the desert. And they want the money.

Yes, my child, they want the money.

Yes, Master, they want the money. And they shall have it! Cash! Liquid assets! What do I care? Let them have it. I want to burn with them!

O my child, you shall burn, forever!

Goldman Sachs to repay the communists!

Some brilliant news. Goldman Sachs is planning to raise $5 billion to pay back some of the $10 billion it received last year from the Tarp programme.

Lloyd Blankfein phoned me last night, and this is what he said: 'Mikey, man, we're back, man! Goldman is back! (Fuckin' A, Lloyd!) We are the mystical lords of capitalism, and no one is going to fuck with us now. (Fuckin' A, Lloyd!) I just want to thank you, Michael, for all the support you gave us through the hard times. (It was a pleasure, Lloyd.) You're a beautiful man, man. You know that, don't you?'

Thank you, Lloyd.

Christopher LaFemina: bleeding cash

Right, what is all this bleeding cash shit? You may well ask, dear reader. You may well ask. Apparently, Christopher LaFemina, an analyst at Barclays Capital, has said that De Beers is 'bleeding cash', or something like that. I think. I couldn't quite understand what he was going on about when he phoned me late last night. Check this:

'Mikey, oh thank fuck I managed to reach you, there is cash bleeding all over the shop at De Beers. Blood everywhere, man. Blood in their eyes, coming out of their mouths, with cash in it! The cash is mixed in with the blood, and just pouring out! (Chris, mate, slow down. You're not making any sense.) It's Jack. Jack is behind this. A demonic vision of blood and cash from the bowels of hell! And I am the only one who can see it! Do you know what this means, man? (Tell me.) It means Satan has plans for me, man. Why would I be chosen to see this vision? (So it's just a vision? There's no bleeding cash at De Beers?) No, man, it's real. The vision is real. There is bleeding cash, but only I can see it.'

Don't ask me, dear reader.

But anyway, I have been speaking to Keith Busby about 'bleeding cash'. This is what he told me: 'Well, we all know what burning cash is. We all know about the mystical burning of cash. The demonic bleeding of cash though, well, that's a different ball game altogether. (Yeah?) Oh yeah, Mike. What has happened to poor Chris is, he has seen a vision of cash bleeding out of the mouths of De Beers personnel. (So there's no blood, just cash?) No, no, no, if I understand right, Chris has said that the cash and blood are all mixed up. So there is blood. Blood and cash, bleeding, from mouths, eyes, noses, even ears - I should imagine. (So it's really happening then?) Well, yeah, in a vision. (What the fuck do you mean, Keith?) It's not physically happening. You can't see it in the physical world, but on the astral plane they're fucked. (Who are?) The De Beers people! They are bleeding cash on the astral plane. Probably on the lowest level. The demonic level. (Oh. So this is Jack Pickles fucking around again, is it?) Well, who else, Michael, eh? (That guy's a fucking prick. I'm sick to death of this guy.) You me and both. But what can we do? (I'm gonna fucking do him. I'm gonna get a fucking crew together and just do him in. He's a dead man.) Oh, come on, Mike. It won't be as easy as that. What about Satan? (Listen, Keith, fuck Satan, all right. Fuck him and all the dark angels he has with him. Fuck 'em all! I'm sick of this shit. I'm trying to run a fucking blog here. I've got the credit crunch to deal with. I've got bankers, dead and alive, pestering me at all hours of the day and night. I'm at breaking point.) Michael, take a few days off, man. You've been overdoing it.'

Well, dear reader, I don't know what I'm going to do. I probably do need a few days off. I’m not feeling my normal self. I'll be back next Tuesday. Have a nice Easter.

Rob Withecombe

Here's some exciting news. Rob Withecombe has left Grant Thornton (about bloody time) and moved to Barclays Wealth as head of wealth advisory. Brilliant!

Rob, mate, I need some advice:

If I were to burn in the desert for all eternity, what colour would my aura be, in the long run? I mean, I have asked Keith about this, but he's fucking useless. Well, he ain't useless, but you know what I mean, yeah? You know what I mean, don't you, Rob, mate? You see, I'm just wondering if there is any way I can fix the colour permanently. I don't really want it changing all the time, like rainbow colours or anything, the wealthier I become. And you know all about this stuff, don't you, Rob, mate? I mean, you do know, don't you? You haven't been winding us up, have you? Because that would be a dirty trick, and you would probably get kicked out of the desert for that. You do realize that, don't you, Rob, mate?

Rob, are you there?

O Mikey, I will speak with you on the astral plane.

Oh, okay, fair enough. Yeah, that's probably best. Good thinking, Rob.

Is midnight okay?

That's fine. See you later.