Thursday 28 May 2009

Ghost to shaman

I was afraid of being completely ruined and I decided on leaving Shoa.

Where are you now?

I don't know. But I got back to Aden on July 25, 1887 with 8000 thalers in bills of exchange and around 600 thalers in cash.

They are no use to you, now that you are dead.

I am not dead!

I'm afraid you died in 1891.

But I have poems in my heart, in my soul.

That's as maybe, but you are still dead.

Who are you - er, Michael?

Yes. Another dreamer.

I still have to pay, you know. In addition to the caravan expenses. 3000 thalers for …

Don't worry about that now. Actually, you have paid.

I am a proud capitalist!

Aren't we all?

Menelik II, King of Shoa, Kaffa, and the lands of the Gallas, sends his regards.

Fuck him. You don't need him.

But the 300 rifles!

Forget about the rifles! You're getting confused. Think about your weeping heart.

Drooling spit?

Fuckin' A!

Arthur Samberg is closing Pequot Capital

What? Why? Who? Yeah, I know, it's confusing. I can't keep up myself. So many traders and hedge fund managers are being investigated, fined, banned, arrested, you name it. Sometimes I despair.

O Master, please do not have another breakdown.

What do you mean, another breakdown?

O Master, you know what I mean.

Shut it.

Dear reader, do you see what I have to put up with? It's bad enough hearing bad news all day long, but I've got these voices as well: mystical children from the desert, spirits from the other side, thought-forms from my subconscious. And people wonder why I'm a little 'eccentric'. Jesus!

Wednesday 27 May 2009

Nilesh Shroff: fined and banned by the FSA!

What the fuck?! What is it with these FSA motherfuckers? Why are they banning and fining all my dearest friends at Morgan Stanley? This is persecution! First Matt Piper, then David Redmond, now Nilesh Shroff. Yes, Nilesh - a former Morgan Stanley trader - has been fined £140,000! Jesus H. Christ! Does the FSA think he is made of money?

I have been speaking to Nilesh, and this is what he told me: 'Mikey, man, why me? What have I done to deserve this, man? (Nilesh, mate, it's spite, pure and simple.) You reckon? (Yeah. These FSA nutjobs see you burning in the desert with me, Big Herb, Ganesh, and the ghosts of the dead financiers, and they don't like it.) You're saying they're cold earth wanderers, Mike. Is that what you're saying? (Of course. They don't care that you were pre-hedging or any shit like that. What winds them up is the fact that you have the mystic love inside you.) The mystic love of money, yeah? (Fuckin' A, Nilesh! The mystic love of money. That's what I'm talking about. That's what the ancients believed in. They passed that love down to us, and -) It burns within us, Mike. (Of course it fucking does. Now, if the FSA can't handle that, it's not our problem. Fuck 'em.) We'll have the last laugh, Mike. (Fuckin' A we will! We'll be the ones having it large this summer.) The ceremony in the desert, you mean? (What else? It will all come good in the summer, mark my words.) Man, you're like a god to me, you know that, don't you, Mikey? (Hey, I'm only a shaman, but you never know. Maybe one day.) It's gonna happen, man.'

What about that, eh? Nilesh Shroff. What a trader! What a man!

Tuesday 26 May 2009

Robert Maguire has been hired by Perella Weinberg Partners

Yes, he has. Rejoice! According to my sources - and I think we have to believe the bums - Mr Maguire is going to be a partner at PWP. Interestingly, Bobby worked at Morgan Stanley for more than twenty years, and he will now be reunited with old colleagues from the bank: Joe Perella, Paulo Pereira, and Derek Starr-Child. Only one problem. Bobby and Derek once had a bad trip together in the desert. They have not spoken to each other since. Or rather, Bobby refuses to speak to Del.

Well, I am one person who is on speaking terms with Del. This is what the mad bastard told me: 'Mike, Bobby Maguire really hates me. There's a lot of bad blood between us. Bobby still blames me, you know. (For the bad trip, you mean?) Well, yeah, bad for him, man. I was the experienced one. I should have known. I should have looked out for him. (What happened, Del?) He had visions, man. And he heard voices. (So?) Bad visions, man. Bad voices. (It happens to the best of them, Del. But it’s nothing to piss your pants over.) Mikey, he saw the devil. He heard the voices of all the damned. (And he didn't like that, no?) Oh man, what do you think? Bobby is a great guy, but he's a square. I should have never taken him out there. Something else, I think there was touch of jealousy in his attitude towards me afterwards. (What do you mean?) Well, while he was being tormented by the sights and sounds of hell, I was having a realization about the nature of God and our relationship with Him. (Get the fuck outta here!) No, it's true, Mike. I realized that religion is just man-made shit, man, and that God has no truck with it. God is the spiritual force of the cosmos. A truly spiritual person worships life when they worship Him. But He is not a he anyway, you dig? He is not a personality. Just a thing, man. A force. This force gives you what you need and what you deserve. So there is no point in praying to ask for stuff. When you ask God for help, you are encouraging demonic forces to enter your life. (Why?) Because you should not ask. It is evil to ask. And it is evil to lose faith. You've heard stories of religious dudes who have lost their faith, yeah? (Oh yeah.) Their wife dies in an accident or something, and suddenly they don't believe in God no more. (Yeah.) Well, those cats never loved God in the first place, man. It was just like a protection racket for them, man. (Far out!) You dig? (Fuckin' A, I do, Del.) So that's the secret, Mike. Love God. Love life. Don't ask for shit. Don't expect shit. And you'll be all right.'

Jesus H. Christ! No wonder Bobby Maguire was pissed at him.

Sunday 24 May 2009

Because I am bored …

I am posting on a Sunday. But not tomorrow. I will have nothing to say tomorrow. I actually have nothing to say today, but I will say it anyway.

There is an emptiness here. There usually is. But now it seems emptier. Can emptiness seem emptier than before? If you have no money in your wallet, can you take out more than …

Forget that. We were not heading anywhere with that. Are we heading anywhere with this?


There is a death in these words. But behind them is something worse. If I were to stop -

O Master, please do not stop.

O my child, there is no need for you to worry. I will not stop until the end. If I have no reason to continue, I certainly have no reason to stop.

Thank Christ for that!

No. Thank someone else. Or something else. Thank the force that pushes me along to my destiny.

Thursday 21 May 2009

Xavier Rolet: 'I can feel the beat of what's going on'

What's going on, eh? As the great Marvin Gaye once sang. What's going on? Well, Xavier Rolet, the new chief executive of the London Stock Exchange, knows what's going on. He can feel the friggin' beat of it, I shit you not.

I have been speaking to Mr Rolet, and this is what the mystic joker told me: 'Mikey, man, these are exciting times. Can you feel the beat of the cosmos banging in your head, shaking your teeth to fuck? (I can, Xavier. I can.) Well, that's what’s going on, man. The whole cosmos is getting ready to go crazy for money, man. There is everything to play for. And you know me, Mike. I love to love, but my baby just loves to dance. (Tell me more, Xavier, man.) Well, get this, I was freaking out like a nut on the astral plane the other night, a few minutes before midnight, and I was loving it, man. I was in touch with such spirits as I never knew existed. (Beings from other realms, like?) Fuckin' A! Mike! (Well, astral realms, of course. What am I saying?) Yeah. And I saw my baby dancing in an astral waste land. (No!) Oh yes. Frisch weht der wind, der heimat zu, mein Irisch kind, wo weilest du? You dig, man? (Oh man, I dig!) And that was enough for me, man. (It would be enough for anyone, Xavier.) Damn straight.'

Wow! The London Stock Exchange is in safe hands now. You better believe it, baby. Keep on dancing!

I was dancing when I was eight. Is it strange to dance so late? I danced myself into the tomb. Is it strange to dance so soon?

No, it's perfectly normal. I wouldn't worry about it.

Wednesday 20 May 2009

David Redmond: banned by the FSA!

Okay, okay, I've changed my mind. I will write a post today. This one, in fact. I am not as depressed now as I was this morning.

So, who the fuck is David Redmond? You may well ask, dear reader.

David Redmond was a trader at Morgan Stanley, but he has just been banned by the FSA. Apparently, he concealed his trading position or something.

Well, David is a friend of mine. Yes, I do know who he is. I've spent time with this man in the desert, and he is a good sort. I wish the FSA would stop hassling my mates. I will have to take action if this continues.

Tuesday 19 May 2009

Anthony Webster sent to jail!

Eh? Who's Anthony Webster? You may well ask, dear reader.

Anthony Webster was a high-flyer - as they say - at Barclays, but he has just been sentenced to three years in jail for stealing money from Sir Victor Blank and various other characters. Rather comically, some recorder (judge?) or something at his trial said fraud in society was a growing problem. You can say that again! When are our MPs going to get their collars felt?

As for Sir Vic, he will definitely be looking for somewhere safer now where the feeling stays. And he will most probably try to love you, dear reader, as long as he doesn't get blown away.

Monday 18 May 2009

This is not the way

This is not the way. That's the fucking way. Covered in blood. Like the old days.

O Master, put your sheet back on!

Fuck off! That sheet was killing me. I could hardly breathe. Money in my mouth. My mouth burnt to fuck. White heat. White sheet. Shades. Flames! The words of dead financiers in my ears, that were bleeding. You didn't see the worst of it. You didn't know the horror. I did not tell you everything.

O my children, my brothers, my sisters, I was trying to protect you. But I do not know, I do not know, for how much longer I will be able to keep this up. Forces beyond my control want control over you. If they get you, the markets will face a disaster (stop singing those songs, I beg you) that will make the credit crunch seem like a picnic. They are diseased! It is an attack of -

O Master, is this automatic writing?

Fuck off! I won't tell you again. I am listening to the other ones. And I am seeing what they see. They are showing me everything. THEY MUST BE STOPPED!

O Master, they want to hurt you! PUT YOUR FUCKING SHEET ON!!!

Tom Douie has joined from Ferox Capital Management

Yes, he has. Tom Douie has joined from Ferox Capital Management, but whom has he joined? Has he joined the wailers in the pit, the ones who live in an everlasting night? Has he joined the dark angels, the demonic ones, the evil servants of Jack Pickles? Has Tom made friends with the desolate traders - those mad soulless monsters - in the shadows of his heart? Has Tom looked into the eyes of a dragon and despaired? Maybe he has fallen to depths deeper than depths we could possibly know about. Is he out of sight now? Is he lost to the world? O Jesus H. Christ, please do not tell me that Tom Douie has travelled to the market of the damned! Do not tell me that!

No! Tom Douie has joined the masters of light! The mystic worshippers of money! He has joined the burning ones in the desert! What a relief! O Big Herb, O Ganesh, O ghosts of the dead financiers, please show Tom the wild love that he has always dreamed of. He needs it. He wants it. He must have it! O lords of the holy cash that burns forever, take Tom into your hearts. Let him drown in your sandy souls. Let him swirl in the astral sky with his eyes shining. Tom Douie has joined you!

Congratulations, Tom.

Thursday 14 May 2009

Yes, the sheet and the shades are gone!

Yes! Yes! Yes! I have decided not to hide from Jack Pickles and Satan any more.

O Master, is this wise? You will be vulnerable on the astral plane now.


I know what I am doing.

Tuesday 12 May 2009

Marc Dreier cries out for Jack Pickles

Dear reader, do not continue reading if you are a weak soul, one who is easily corrupted.

From the astral plane in the early hours of this morning:

O Jack, they have got me on securities fraud, conspiracy, wire fraud, and money laundering. What can I do? They are holding me under armed guard in my luxury New York apartment. Is there a way out of this? Jack, I beg you!

O Marc, O swindler of hedge funds, stop snivelling and act like a man! I will not come to save you if you continue to behave in such a manner. I need men of character around me; fearless souls, astral adventurers, warriors of the night - masters of evil who will serve me!

O Master, O dark one, I will serve! Yes, I will serve. But you must come to me now. Fly to me through the astral sky, and whisk me away from New York, from the courts and the people who would judge me. They do not understand. They have no idea that evil can take us close to the source of life, the real life!

O Marc, I will rescue you. Listen to me. This is the plan: yes, I will whisk you away from New York. I will drag your astral body from your physical body, and we will dance together, forever, on the lowest level. But they - the fools of the world - will never know. Let them have your shell. Let them guard it with their guns. Let them lock it away in a prison cell. But your spirit, your soul, your personality, your astral body, shall belong to me.

O Master, O Jack, that is a wonderful plan! How can I ever repay you?

O Marc, you will repay me by serving me without complaint. If I order you to commit unspeakable atrocities, you must obey. Do you agree?

O Master, how long must I remain in your service?

Until the end of time.

O Jack, O lord of the endless night, I agree.

Monday 11 May 2009

Alex Snow: this is the beginning of something pretty extraordinary

Alex Snow, chief executive of Evolution, whispered those words in my tired ear last night while I was sleeping. Floating he was, high as a kite. So, what was this friggin' head case referring to? The Dresdner Kleinwort crew? No. No. No. That's not something you would bother someone with after they had just come to the end of a hard day, their shamanic duties performed, and were off in the land of Nod dreaming the dreams that only the righteous can dream.

O Alex, Alex, speak to us! What did you mean?

O Michael, O Master, O holy man of the desert of my dreams - yes, I dream as well - you know what I meant. I -

Fuck me, this is a voice out of nowhere!

O Master, you called me, so I am here.

But I was only mucking about!

Michael, man, you are very clever. You knew when I whispered those words I was not speaking of the Dresdner Kleinwort schnooks. I was speaking of the delightful weather we've been having lately and how it will lead to our summer of love. We will burn in the desert this summer. Big Herb, Ganesh, the ghosts, Keith, Arthur, Luke, Bobby, the other Bobby, Duncan, and loads of other spaced-out characters. This is our moment. I am convinced we will be able to crunch the crunch, especially if Luke brings that £75 million.

Yeah, Alex, have you heard anything more about the money?

No, Mike, but you know Luke. He likes to keep his cards close to his chest.

Well, as long as he's not backing out. We need that money. And Big Herb is expecting it.

O Master, imagine what Big Herb would do if Luke did a runner with the money! He would tear Luke's chakras out, one by one. He would dissolve his aura. He would throw him into the pit. Yes! Luke in the pit! Wailing. Gnashing his teeth. No more money! No more trips to the desert! No more tripping in the desert! Luke would be destroyed, finished. Never again would he be able to -

All right, Alex, all right. Jesus, man! Have you got something against Luke?

No, Mike, I'm just saying that Big Herb would probably -

Well, that's enough now, okay?

Okay. Sorry.

Jesus! I know you're new to this game, Alex, mate, but you've got to chill a bit sometimes. Forget Luke's chakras, it's your chakras I'm worried about if you're going to carry on like this.

Yeah, sorry, Mike. I better be going.

All right. Stay lucky, eh?

Aurelia Lamorre-Cargill: there's a huge amount of potential money out there

That's what the girl says. Aurelia Lamorre-Cargill from Barclays Capital has been telling anyone who will listen that there is a huge amount of potential money out there in outer space. All we have got to do is grab it with our cosmic minds. Easier said than done, you're probably thinking.

O Master, I am thinking that. How do you know?

Ignore him, dear reader. But what the hell is 'potential money'? I have been speaking to Maurice Marble III - Acton's leading brain specialist and my adviser on all matters scientific - and this is what the fucking loon told me: 'Michael, potential money doesn't exist yet. It has not been born in our minds. What Aurelia wants to do is give birth to the money with a burst of cosmic fire in her head. (Hang on a minute, Maurice. That is not what she says. Aurelia has told some newspaper that we have all got to grab the money with our minds. Not give birth to it with our minds.) You're talking shit, Mike. (It's not me. Tell Aurelia.) Oh, I will. How can we grab money that hasn't even been born yet? Remember, it is only potential money at this stage. (Fine. But we do have to go out into outer space, yeah?) Well, yeah. We will travel there in our minds, beyond the stars, to nothingness! (To nothingness? I don't like the sound of that, Maurice.) That's where the money is.'

Potential money, he means.

Well, as regular readers will know, you have to take everything this prick says with a pinch of salt. So I phoned Aurelia. We had a nice conversation about all kinds of shit. Then we got to the heart of the matter:

Michael, I can assure you that I will not be giving birth to this money with a burst of cosmic fire in my head. (No?) No. Your friend Maurice is an idiot. All we have to do is grab the money. It is there waiting for us. (Aurelia, love, how can we grab potential money though?) I don't understand the question. (The money doesn't exist yet. It hasn't sprung from nothingness yet.) Michael, why are you and Maurice getting so hung up about this word 'potential'? It's just something I said when I was talking to some newspaper. The money exists. It's real money. We've just got to grab it. (With our cosmic minds, yeah?) Of course, Michael, what the fuck do you think I'm talking about over here?

Er - I'm more confused than ever now. But the point is: there is money around somewhere. Born or unborn, we will be able to get our hands on some money. Let's leave it at that.

Friday 8 May 2009

LCH.Clearnet: clearing for Turquoise

LCH.Clearnet will start clearing for Turquoise. You probably didn't hear it here first. But then again you probably didn't kiss that ghost last night. Although it kissed you while you were sleeping. While you were lost in dreams, a turquoise-coloured ghost sent to you by Eli Lederman hovered over your bed (unless I am getting you confused with someone else, dear reader … that often happens … I often get you confused with someone else … someone I knew in another life, another world) and it fell upon you, just like a classic night hag, just the way it should, and you smiled. Yes, you smiled in your sleep.

At least, that is what Eli told me. I have to take his word for it. I have to believe him. He is a mystical child. You see, it wasn't I who possibly confused you with someone else. It was Eli. And I have been confused with Eli before. And he has been confused with me. WE HAVE BEEN CONFUSED WITH EACH OTHER. Yes, burning together on the highest level, away from all the dirt, the scum, we have flown high in the friendly sky. And he has said: O Master, let us move into high gear amid a price war in pan-European equities clearing! And I have said: No! No, Eli, there are more important things. Well, not 'no'. I will not say 'no' to you, Eli, but think of the turquoise clouds floating in your angel eyes. Ponder, Eli. And just consider this: will this high gear make you happy, and will you be higher than before? We have been to the top, higher than anyone - isn't that enough?

So, dear reader, I left wondering him and he wondering me, and I left him wandering, he is there now - (Where?) - never you mind. Actually, my voice, you never had a mind.

Am I your voice?

Dear reader, let's get back to where we were before. That ghost. You heard it here first. Who else would tell you? Who else can you trust? Who actually has the knowledge and the understanding anyway? Let's be honest: you do not come here for the square news any square can give you. You come here for something out of reach. You cannot touch it. They cannot touch it. BUT I CAN. I can touch it. I touch it on your behalf, and then I tell you about it. I am the one who takes all the risk. I am the one who puts his soul on the line. So let's have a bit of respect, and a bit of gratitude, eh?

Thursday 7 May 2009

Stress tests for banks

To start off with, we tested JPMorgan Chase. O Master, what happened? O my child, we sent in a team of giant rats. Astral rats from the lower levels. They swarmed everywhere. O Master, how did the JPMorgan freaks cope? Reasonably well. I was quite impressed.

Then Citigroup. O Master, what happened at Citigroup? Horace went in. O Master, who the fuck is Horace? He is one of the ghosts of the dead financiers. Horace tried his best. He tried to scare them shitless. But they were not having any of it. Of course, Vikram has seen it all before. O Master, Vik has his temple of love out in the desert. Of course he has. That's why passing this stress test was a piece of piss for him. Capital shortfall? Forget about it!

We went to Bank of America. O Master, how did BofA cope? O my child, you may hear in some quarters that the bank needs $34 billion in fresh capital, but that is only the half of it. BofA's employees all need new chakras, man - after the stroke we pulled. O Master, tell me more! No.

We went to Wells Fargo, flames in our eyes, money burning in our hearts - and did our love take them out of their bodies for a trip around the stars? O Master, did it? Er - unfortunately, they did not fly. Cold earth wanderers, the lot of them. May Big Herb and Ganesh have mercy on their souls.

And with great joy in our hearts we went to Goldman Sachs! O Master, that must have been some stress test, eh? Forget about it! We didn't even have to test these beautiful muthas, these mystic lords of all the cash. We just danced with them beneath the moon. O Master, you went at night? O my child, I am referring to an astral moon, one of many. Oh. And did they dig it? O my child, they dug it until it couldn't be dug any more. You should have been there.

Then we tested Morgan Stanley. O Master, how did that go? Well, you know, it could have been worse. We stretched them on a spiritual rack. Their souls went out, then came back in. O Master, will they ever be the same again? That remains to be seen.

And what of the other banks?

You mean MetLife, PNC Financial Services, US Bancorp, Bank of New York Mellon, GMAC, SunTrust, State Street, Capital One Financial Corp, BB&T, Regions Financial Corp, American Express, Fifth Third Bancorp, and KeyCorp? Yes, Master. Tell me! We tested them all, my child. Some took the pain, and smiled. Some took the love, and frowned. That's just the way it goes sometimes.

So, quite a result, then?

Yeah, all in all, not bad.

Tuesday 5 May 2009

Edward Vandyk: this is the space where he has always been

To dig it all and not to wonder - Van Morrison

They say great minds think alike. Actually, they also dream alike. Edward Vandyk, chief executive of Blue Oar, has told some newspaper: 'This is the space where I've always been.'


Dear reader, you will not believe the dream I had last night. I often leave my body when I'm dreaming and go on an astral trip. I go to the desert, or the City, or somewhere familiar, and I can usually feel the ground beneath my feet. But last night was different. Last night I went flying through space, out into the solar system, past Jupiter and Saturn, and get this: the planets filled my mind! They were vibrating in my head. The noise was incredible. My eardrums were almost bursting under the strain, and my teeth nearly got rocked out of my skull. I NOW KNOW WHAT THE COSMOS FEELS LIKE. AND I KNOW WHAT IT SOUNDS LIKE.

So as soon as I woke up I was straight on the blower to Eddy. This is the conversation that took place (I'm in italics):

Who the fuck is this? Do you know what the time is? I was dreaming, man. (Eddy, mate, it's Michael Fowke. I -) Oh Mikey, you won't believe - (Flying through space, planets vibrating in your head, yeah?) Yeah! How the fuck do you know? (Same dream, Eddy. The same fucking dream.) This is crazy! (You're telling me. And I knew you would be -) Mike, I've been speaking to some newspaper. I told them. (Told them what, Eddy?) I told them that this is the space where I've always been. (Get the fuck outta here! Seriously. Get the fuck out of here.) Mikey, you can read it in the morning. (Jesus!) Yeah, Mike, this is the space where I've always been. It's the space where you've always been. It's just so fucking cosmic, and now - (Now we're even fucking dreaming about it.) Exactly. What does this mean?

Dear reader, what the fuck does this mean? Are Eddy and I cosmic soul brothers? No, I don't think so. I went through that shit with Martin Hughes last year, but this is something else. I will not be at all surprised if more people from the world of finance start to have these dreams. Something is happening. Something … let's just wait and see, eh?