Thursday, 3 March 2011

Blackstone has given Michael Pearl $125 million

I'm very happy for Michael Pearl with his Harbor Bridge hedge fund he's supposed to be setting up. Why won't anyone give me $125 million? I guess you have to be lucky, or know all the right people. I know all the wrong people. I need to leave them in the dirt, where they belong.

As my title suggests [oh, it does more than suggest] Blackstone Group has given him the money. It's a seed investment. Blackstone has planted a seed in Mr Pearl, and soon more money will come. I suppose he knew all the right people at Duquesne Capital Management. I would not be surprised. Now he knows all the right people at Blackstone. I know all the wrong people, in my head. I'll get rid of them. I have to.

All the dead are going, or have already gone. I need the strength and the discipline to be serious. It's easy for Mr Pearl. It's easy for all the shallow souls who write about him and the people like him, like it's so very important and means something. I am beyond that. I've always been beyond that, but I have not shown it with sufficient seriousness. Goodbye to the phantasmagoria! Is this wishful thinking? We all know how little control I have over my material. [References to popular culture, literary quotes, feuds with nonentities. All must go! (A few quotes can be used, maybe, in moderation; then people will be reassured. 'Oh, he's well read. How lovely! I'm glad he's letting us know. Otherwise we might think he's a c**t.' I need to read La Vita Nuova.)] Oh, time will tell. Let this be the fresh start to end all fresh starts. Or should that be, to begin them?

I want to kill Jack Pickles. Big Herb too. I want to stay silent about the desert in my heart. We all know it's there. It's not as if anyone can miss it. I am so empty. I may keep the mystic child voice. I actually like him/it. I'll definitely keep the angel. She is my life. (No, I'm not joking. And if you don't approve, tough. You don't know me. You don't know her. It's a story that will last. We will live in eternity. Like Dante and Beatrice. All of my thoughts can only speak of love.) And I don't care who reads. Or who doesn't. I don't care who understands. Or who fails to understand. It's all the same to Michael Fowke, whoever he is. [I'm determined to find out. I'm going to make it my mission in life.] It's time to get serious. Men like Mr Pearl will appreciate it. And women. I'll start next week. It's about consistency, deep vision, discipline, seriousness, not being swayed, not being dragged down, or even lifted high. I want to stay straight on my own path.

I'll be a priest, a saint. Untouchable. Undisturbed. Isolated, but without fear. Serene? That would be nice. I'll feel better. I might even get happy. I have a plan. I am the shaman with the plan. Let's see if we can keep the jokes and the satire to a bare minimum, eh? Wit is for the witless, after all. Glory is for the ... deathless. [What?] Money is for the ... I wish I knew. [I need to know.] After so many innovations and all the visions, there is room for more. I must keep on! I am driven. I have demons after me. Hellhounds! How would you feel? This isn't as much fun as it seems. But I am committed. Mr Pearl doesn't know what he's let himself in for. He should have stayed well clear of finance. Let this be a warning to the youngsters. Steer clear, little ones, lest you become immortal in a way you never bargained for. [Actually, I'm sure they haven't been thinking of immortality at all. But that's kids today for you. I blame the parents.]