Thursday, 28 July 2011

This angel floats above my life, so high

This angel floats above my life, so high.
She's out of reach - in her angelic way.
I only wish I had the wings to fly.

They say some stuff is far too hard to try,
Like jumping up to touch a dream? I may.
This angel floats above my life, so high.

With love that's hot enough to burn the sky
I'd surely disrupt her world: true disarray!
I only wish I had the wings to fly.

Her smiles, bright colours, make me want to cry.
(My feelings down with earthbound frowns, so grey.)
This angel floats above my life, so high.

She's pure, and clean, and free, and that is why
I'd like to be with her, up there, each day.
I only wish I had the wings to fly.

I'll steel myself, and strain to catch her eye.
Maybe she'll come to me and want to play.
This angel floats above my life, so high.
I only wish I had the wings to fly.

This is the first and last poem on this blog. I think you know how I feel about poems. However, if you don't, you could always read my "Notes".

Wednesday, 27 July 2011

George Soros is closing his Quantum fund to outsiders

No, not men like Nijinsky, Van Gogh, and Dostoyevsky, [and me!]. I doubt very much that Mr Soros has been reading the works of Colin Wilson. No, George is closing Quantum to investors outside his family, and the SEC is to blame. Do you know why? Let me tell you. It's because those crazy SEC bastards want hedge funds to register with them. Have you ever heard of anything so outrageous? I haven't.

Well, that's enough for one day.

Tuesday, 26 July 2011

Jokes about the death of Amy Winehouse

Rejoice, O young woman, in thy youth; and let thy heart cheer thee in the days of thy youth, and walk in the ways of thine heart, and in the sight of thine eyes: but know thou, that for all these things God will bring thee into judgment - Ecclesiastes

Apologies for the Bible quote. I'm not a moralist. I do believe in God, but I also believe He has too much class to judge anyone.

Now, those jokes, and the jokers. It's hard to criticize the people who are telling jokes about the death of Amy Winehouse without coming across as a humourless moralist, but I really think it's a question of sensitivity rather than morality. Have these jokers on the internet - and other places, I presume - seriously considered the certainty of their own deaths, and the deaths of their loved ones? After all, it happens to everyone - eventually. Is it something to laugh about?

It could be a lack of imagination. It could be a lack of respect. It's certainly a lack of sensitivity. Death isn't funny. Even if you loathe the person who has died. Even if you're indifferent to that person. Especially if you're indifferent. 'Oh, I don't care about so-and-so. You've got to read this on Twitter. LOL.' Not smart. Not clever. Not cool or edgy.

Dear reader, let's put death away, back to the depths. Are you sensitive to life? I hope so.

Are you sensitive to human weakness? Amy Winehouse was a genius. And she was weak, for giving in to her demons. She was also strong, for going out into the world and achieving something remarkable. What is your weakness? What is your strength? My weakness is depression. My strength is this blog. 

Thursday, 21 July 2011

I am "The News"

I am "The News". I understand, at last. I am "The News". There's nothing to be afraid of. My workers are working overtime to keep me up to date. It all flows through me, in and out. From the unholy in the dark to the holy in the light. I am a transformer. It's my job. I never asked for it. We all have a destiny. This is mine.

The drudges are lost. "The News"? They have no understanding of it. Literal minds is a tragedy. That's why I'm needed. To make sense, with my visions. It's my way. To give it grandeur, with my spirit. Exciting times? Oh yes, indeed, but no one will read the workers' words in a hundred years. That's why I got the job.

Hedge funds and banks; with their souls, the hedgies and the bankers. They have names. They will not be forgotten. They are deeply human. It’s hard to believe. I’ve been feeling so low, worrying about the reasons, the methods, the routines, the results. All I need is the emptiness and then the fullness will come ...

... It’s a big drop for reality to my body in its space. “The News”! It comes in through my eyes, my ears - my mouth! I am a whale, hungry for news. I am a tiger. I’ll rip the news from their minds, and their hearts, if they take too long. What’s the latest? Tell me, workers. Feed me. Who died? Who was born? Who made a buck? Who lost a fortune?

I am "The News". It's such a power. I am "The News". It lets me own the world. It lets me own the reality that falls like an apple from a tree. Nothing is out of reach when it comes to you. There's no suffering when you know what you are. Pain passes you by once you've reached the end. And I'm only beginning at the end. My life isn't a mystery any more.

Tuesday, 19 July 2011

Paul Bate wants me to bite him like a crocodile

The man is insane. This Paul Bate is the founder of Matterhorn Investment Management, which is an emerging market specialist, a long/short equity fund manager. It manages assets on behalf of pension funds, endowments, foundations, individuals, family offices, and funds of funds. And there's nothing wrong with that. It all seems perfectly reasonable. But there's something wrong with Paul Bate. He tells me he's not a scrawny chicken, he's a big elephant. And if you want to pounce on an elephant, you've got to be a crocodile. What is he really saying?

I'm not going to get involved. I get all sorts of strange requests. There are so many fantasists around.


Still haven't sorted myself out yet. This feels like a transitional phase, don't it? I can hardly bear to read the news. It sickens me. It strikes me as being superficial, and stupid, and obvious. Well, it always has struck me, like that, I suppose. But I am less able to tolerate it now. I am not satisfied.

It's all emptiness. I want news that makes me full. Full of life, full of joy, full of knowledge, full of wisdom.

Maybe I should write it myself. Just cut loose of the square world. Just surrender to the visions. I mean, fully. No half measures.

I don't know. It's early days yet. I take comfort from the fact that I'm only forty-two and that my astrologer has told me I won't start to do my best writing until I reach the age of fifty-four. And he's no end-of-the-pier idiot. He has a PhD in Physics. He helped develop technology for the Stealth Bomber. He has also translated Beckett's plays into Bengali.

Friday, 15 July 2011

One morning, a blue sky

One morning, a blue sky, just one morning. And that is enough, away from the machine, for an hour or so, going off, sailing in fresh air. Out, and off, off, off! I'm not thinking of my troubles or the world's troubles. A child with a mouthful of dust - red / orange / yellow - crackling, I'm living those holi/days in Selsey. Young again, hopeful again. This is the real life. And looking around! The kite has gone. It's somewhere on the moon, I suppose. Oh, never mind. I can only try to recapture everything. Maybe I shouldn't. At least I have this feeling, this mood. The world may burn next week - and burn me with it. Right now, I couldn't care less. If someone offered me a million pounds to care, just a little bit, I would laugh at them, and feel sorry for them. This, is, a, lot like ... the metamorphosis, later on - I was much older - when my ribcage was white clouds against the blue skin of the sky. I remember that, too. Can live it now, too. Nothing changes. I try to touch eternity with my visions. Will my words last, beyond death? I am stretching myself. My fingernails are reaching for God's face. I will scratch Him, so He never forgets who I am, who I was.

This morning's blue sky is the sky blue I want to hold on to. It reminds me of the earlier sky, that kite; and the dust, with a can of Top Deck. And the dog, and the grass, after the summer-heated car seats, and the window, with the cool air coming in. [Strange bikes.] Then, the nights, those fruit machines, and Hi Ho Silver Lining, and The Hokey Cokey. And the people, and the joy, the sheer joy. And that Womble. I remember the Womble. I still have the photograph, in fact. And the days. And the windmill! How in the name of Christ did I forget the windmill? Oh, I didn't forget it. It's always in my head. It's there when I want it. And I can go back, any time I want, to see it again, in its actual reality.

Or was it the afternoon? It is the afternoon - now, yes, back on the machine, after a break. That's when the kite got away with its miles of string. Perhaps. It was all such a long time ago. Or did I reel in it? I don't know. I'm as confused about the past as I am about the present. Well, I'm writing it down, typing it up, whatever. Basically, I'm chasing a magical happening in my life, regardless of whether or not it actually happened. That shows commitment? No, my words will chase anything. They're wild animals. They're killers! I think I better quit while I'm ahead. This post ends here ... there -

Tonight, I'll go looking for the moon.

Thursday, 14 July 2011

Karim Moussalem has joined Guy and Rambourg at the mysterious hedge fund

I don't think they will be calling it The Roger Guy Experience. I have no idea what the hedge fund will be called. No one does. That's why it's so mysterious. Anyway, Karim Moussalem has joined the firm now. Moussalem was a big noise at Goldman Sachs - head of cash trading, or something really impressive like that. God knows what he'll be doing at Guy Rambourg Capital. I don't think they'll be calling it Guy Rambourg Capital. I wish these characters would pull their fingers out. Time is money, after all.

I think it's based in Paris. Or will be. Maybe I should fly over there, you know, pay a little visit to Roger and Guillaume, and bang their fucking heads together. The problem - as I see it - is that we're not dealing with alpha males. They need someone to take charge. I mean, someone with a bit of testosterone, a pair of balls, like. Do they have a chief executive yet? Oh, I might be interested. I might. And I know I would be able to come up with a decent name for the hedge fund, what with my being so creative and everything. Actually, no, no, no - NO! To tell you the truth, seriously, I don't want to be their chief executive. I've got better things to do with my time than to wet-nurse a couple of losers. However, I could be a consultant, for a while. A week or so, just to straighten them out. £20,000 a day should cover it. Plus expenses: a nice hotel room, etc.

Call me, lads! You won't regret it.

Wednesday, 13 July 2011

Weijian Shan has raised $1.7 billion for a new PAG Asia Capital fund

It is hard to understand. Weijian Shan is obviously a great man, an immortal genius. This man is a doctor. I might have to see him about my aching heart. I might have to see him about a lot of things. It is the Asia private equity fund, clearly, investing in China. Many of the fund's investors - sovereign wealth funds, public and corporate pension systems, and financial institutions, that sort - are very knowledgeable about Asia. It is understandable, potentially. And I believe I could understand, if I were given a quarter of a chance. Weijian Shan is the chairman and chief executive of PAG Asia Capital. He is a managing partner, as well, of the fund. He used to be a professor. And I think I can trust him. There will be more money. Another $800 million - if everything goes according to plan.

Now, to me. I know I could raise billions of dollars, myself, if I had to, if someone asked me to, as a favour. One has to be charming and persuasive. I could be charming and persuasive - with a gun at their head, or a knife at their throat. The heads of investors, people, their throats. I could take people’s money. It is the easiest thing. You do not need to be a professor. You do not need to be a chairman, or a chief executive. You need to want the money. You certainly need to need the money. You have to have the desire. And you have to want - without a doubt - to want the love. Or, at least, I do. And you need to want to drift[?!]. Like a dead man down the river. Like the sun’s rays coming to earth. Or, even better, like a flower, cut, falling to the ground. It can all happen in slow motion, if you like. [Yes.] Money comes slowly, when it is a flower, a sad, and silent, colourful explosion. Its petals in your face, so incredibly soothing, just like a beautiful death. Well, it is a beautiful death.

Not that Weijian Shan would know. I am presuming he would not know. It is highly unlikely he operates in this fashion. He may be a great man, an immortal genius, but it is a cold greatness, a cold genius, he possesses. I am pretty sure of that. I have never met the man! Oh, I am pretty sure of that. I have never seen his shadow on my wall. I will try to imagine I am pretty sure of that. My memory is not what it was. I cannot remember. His eyes. [It never happened - ?] And those teeth! It was a nightmare, merely. If I could remember, I would not want to. Some things are best forgotten. [If only I were pretty sure of that, or anything, really.] I am half awake, half asleep, and half alive. There is another half, waiting for me. I am in no hurry. Raising money? It is a comedy. It is a tragedy. Why does anyone do it? You have to be wide awake, but I live in dreams. Weijian Shan has never appeared in my reality, for he is a man of the world. It was an hallucination, surely?

Thursday, 7 July 2011

Chunlai Yang charged with stealing proprietary source code

And I'm not worried about it at all because it doesn't affect me. Chunlai Yang is - or was - an employee at CME Group. A computer programmer, (they say) he had the great idea of stealing some proprietary software and passing it on to a Chinese start-up. Whether he did it or not, I don't know. I'm sure the courts will decide. They're good at that sort of thing.

CME Group, by the way, is the world's leading and most diverse derivatives marketplace. That's all right, ain't it?


It's raining. What a lovely summer!

And in other news, who gives a shit? Am I right, or am I right? I know what the squares will say. 'Mr Fowke, this is a financial blog, covering banks, hedge funds, and the markets. You have a responsibility to your readers.' Yeah, well, maybe when I'm dead I'll have the enthusiasm for it. This isn't the place for mindless news. I go deeper than the news. The news is a starting point, the gate to hell. I smashed that gate down years ago ...

The meaning of money. The evil of poverty. The ache for wealth. The choice - money or love? [Can't you have both?] How a demon loves an angel. Oh, how! That's the only news I want, Angel News. That's the only news I can stomach, The Angel Times. [Yes, one day. I believe in her.] I hack into people's souls. The collapse of Western capitalism. The collapse of Western society. Who knew? I didn't. I just fell into it. Or maybe I was guided[?]. It's possible. All this could be out of my control. My mind is opened, by a power, to it, and it pours in[?]. My soul is opened, by an awesome power, to it, and I am overwhelmed. It would explain the pain. It would explain a lot of things.

It is raining. What a lovely life.

Wednesday, 6 July 2011

Jon Winkelried is working as an adviser to TPG Capital

I just thought I should tell you. Some of you may actually be interested in their nonsense. Me, I'm so pissed off at the moment that ... well, Winkelried was a Goldman banker, an important one, a co-president - if you can believe that - and then ... he left Goldman to work with Big Herb. As you all know, I assassinated Big Herb in the astral night BECAUSE I was feeling so strong, so powerful; I thought I could take on the whole cosmos. That left Winkelried at a loose end. Now he's doing something with the TPG Specialty Lending Fund. I don't know what, exactly. Advising. I don't even care. I am genuinely pissed off.


I don't want to write about finance. My soul is in chaos. How am I ever going to get rid of this pain, this misery? I thought I could write it out, like Kafka, like Rimbaud, but I'm just getting dragged deeper into the shit - by a dark power? There's something they don't tell you, the serious writers. You can guess though. YOU CAN'T WRITE IT OUT. That's my guess. Why did Kafka want Max Brod to burn his novels? Why did Rimbaud run away to Africa? Use your fucking imagination! You don't need to be a genius. Bastard! Bitch! Oh, I'm sorry. I shouldn't be having a pop at you, dear reader(s). You've been good to me, so far. Not many people would put up with me the way you(s) have over the years - if you're a regular(s), that is. I know I'm lucky. If we think about it, together, I'm lucky to be alive, lucky to be breathing, lucky to be reasonably healthy, to be reasonably young. Jesus, I'm only forty-two! That's not old, not really. I should count my blessings. I know God is keeping an eye on me, for my own good. What is there to worry about? It's crazy, the way I am. HOWEVER: better this than the calmness, the happiness, of someone like Jeffrey Archer, I suppose, eh? Imagine how awful that must be. It doesn't bear thinking about.

Maybe my insanity is the blessing from God. The pain, the misery. You can't learn anything sailing through life like a carefree fool. Yes, you can make money. Fuck the money! We haven't got much time. WE NEED TO LEARN SOMETHING. I'm telling you: one day, we will all have to answer to a higher authority, and if we haven't learnt anything during our time here on earth there'll be hell to pay. I wish it wasn't so. I've just got a bad feeling.


Talk about cathartic! Maybe you can write it out - for an hour or two.

Tuesday, 5 July 2011

John Paulson makes $550 million from his Lehman bonds

Oh, some good fortune for John Paulson at last. After all his recent losses, it turns out that he's made $550 million from bonds he bought in Lehman Brothers. A beautiful, wonderful fortune. Didn't he lose money in a Chinese forest recently? I don't keep up with the news much these days. Not since life became complicated. Since my consciousness expanded so much I'm having trouble keeping it all inside. Since I left the desert and killed the gods and ghosts but discovered a new me, a bigger me. I still try to keep one eye, a little, on the news, one eye on the cosmos, BUT NOW: one eye on myself (as well) as I change into something else. It may not even be a savage god. I'm just going to go with the flow. The river of life. The trip to death. The dream of overcoming. The nightmare of being stuck. Possibly ... somewheres in between, neither sha/man nor god, a freak of nature. 'He went so far. He couldn't get back. But he didn't reach his destination. He got tangled up in words and images. No one knows the meaning of it. Does God have a plan?' That's what they will say. The ones who like to read. The passive ones. The ones who want to be entertained. They demand it. I'm their monkey.


So, I watched Chinatown yesterday. Got lost in it, for a while. I also watched a few episodes of This Life. I also watched Rambo: First Blood Part II on ITV. What an idiot that guy is! A total buffoon. Running around, grunting, shooting people. They're a far more civilized bunch in This Life. A bit politically correct, of course, but still ... it wasn't a bad TV series, was it? Lawyers are a funny lot. I once did a bit of work at Matrix Chambers. Can't talk too much about it. There was this solicitor by the name of ******. I called him ****** the friendly solicitor. I mean, he was a nice guy and everything. I was only there a couple of days. I didn't bump into Cherie. But I read the Daily Mail during my lunch breaks - just in case, like.

I'm glad my days of slavery are over. It's nice being free. It's just me and my laptop and my guitar now. That's the way I like it. I don't know what the future holds. One day at a time, sweet Jesus.

Monday, 4 July 2011

Credit Suisse has a problem with offering prime brokerage to hedge funds

Well, start-up hedge funds. It seems Credit Suisse wants hedgies who have proved themselves in some way. I was hoping I wouldn't have to get involved with something like this, so early on a Monday morning. It's the start of the week and already I'm dealing with people who seem to have it in for the capitalist system. Just give them the goddamn services they want! They ain't proved themselves because they ain't done nothing yet. How can anyone expect young hedgies to have a track record in investment and an understanding of infrastructure and a good business sense when those hedgies may have only just got started on solid foods? They ain't done nothing yet! Give them a chance to prove themselves. How about that for an idea? The whole world has gone freakin' insane! Is this how they built America or Great Britain or Iceland? This is no way to do business.


It's going to be another bad week, I can tell. My three-hundredth fresh start will be delayed. Next week, now. It's a psychological "thing" I have. When I'm working, I quite often get the feeling that I'm missing out on life, that I'm dead, almost. But when I stop working, I just waste my time. I don't do anything useful. Surely that's the real missing out, the real death? I read recently that Bill Gates used to sleep under his desk. I don't have a desk. Maybe I should sleep under my bed. No, let's do things properly. I'm going to buy a desk. Then I'm going to sleep under it. That will give me the feeling or the impression that I'm achieving something. By the way, I'm listening to two Donovan songs on repeat at the moment. Hurdy Gurdy Man and Atlantis. Two classic songs, both used brilliantly in films. Talking of films, I'm going to watch Chinatown later on today. It's a film so perfect you can just get lost in the reality and the atmosphere of it.

I know that posts like this are a mess, where I start off writing about banks and hedge funds and end up with songs and films, and my personal problems. It won't last. I AM GOING TO SORT MYSELF OUT. I promise you. I think some of you actually like all this anyway. It makes me seem more human, doesn't it? Not such a great shaman on his way to becoming a god. Just a fucked-up person, like you - maybe? Like everyone, let's face it.