Sunday, April 25, 2010

Springtime in Paradise.

0655/1954 70/80 Blue Skies E10/20 70%H
DOGS 11160 8437 1153 1816 LIBOR .251

Greetings from the Hill.

Swaying palm trees and sleeping cats,
classics and cafe con leche,
brunch on the balcony,
a quiet day...

Garden watered, floors swept, dishes done,
chores to keep alive.

An oldman's exercise to survive.

Another week of lies from cheats,
who do not break a law of course
hiring the makers for breakers,
"Derivatives are bets...",
of course, of course,
not insurance, not gaming,
an unregulated contract
that is cleared by the DTCC,
how most peculiar.

"What if...we created a thing
which has no purpose,
absolutely conceptual, highly theoretical,
and which no one knows
how to price 'it'."

A confiscated email from Mister Fab.

"When you are going down the Shit Shoot,
who greased your ass?"

Traders are traitors,
blame 'it' on a frog!

"The quantitative aspirations of economists
and financial analysts have for many years
been based on the belief that
'it' should be possible to build models
of economic systems as predictive
as those in physics...
Random Thermal Noise,
Gaussian Distribution of Fluctuations,
the Bell Curve...
the Black Scholes formula of option trading
capturing all contingencies
and probabilities of Risk...
except when the free market is rigged
for gangsters lke John Paulson
by Lloyd Blankfein,"
roars the madone,
a pretender in paradise.

Bought through the front door,
hedged through the side door,
shorted out the back door,
winnings offshore.

Not a cop to stop
the banksters.

Obama is a sissy,
shameful effete,
all talk no walk.

The oldman would take the walk...
to the garden and wonder,
"Mental masturbation
is a writer's tool,"
sorting out the subconscious,
hidden mazes of the covered mind,
patterns of behavior disguised
not to be recognized,
laughing masks protecting
the fragility of the heart,
a caustic wit to save the soul...
too much catharsis could make
the imagination anorexic,
troubling thoughts to presume
one might comprehend a society,
the ways of man seeded
in the fields of greed,
endeavoring to understand the greatest
financial crisis in history and
the complicated methods
of the perpetrators
of monetary fraud.

"Shoot the fucking lawyers,
that eliminates politicians as well,"
laughs Alger with a treat.

"How bad can 'it' get,
what is left to steal...
all the Debt,"
laughing at the Truth
and lighting
God's gift.

Nothing would Change,
there is no Hope
with a jive talking dope,
shit in a smoothie.

A beautiful breeze
in the florida keys.

Above the Horn.

High on the Hill.

Saturday, April 10, 2010

Freddie Couples and Loving Couples.

0709/1946 72/82 E5/10 Blue Skies 75%H
DOGS 10965 8484 1160 1839 LIBOR .228.

Greetings from the Hill.

Another beautiful day in paradise,
golf on one side and classics the other,
blue skies and swaying palms...
spring and summer have arrived
with seventies and eighties
and a light sheet at night
for the open window breeze.

"Well, oldman..about time for a rant,
you may be free for a year,
but the nation you love
is deeper in financial shit,
thanks to the phony professor
in the White House,"
grumbles the madone
watering the balcony plants.

The oldman mused about the performance
of Barryboy and his oratory art,
a form of political evangelizing
that had the faithful swaying
and the doubters braying...
the middle class back to praying,
a subtle form of change
for the might of the religious right.

"The Prick canceled National Prayer Day
while letting Ragheads congregate
in front of Lincoln..."
steamed the Obama hater on the balcony.

Definitely a hidden agenda,
this warmongering Peace Prize winner
oozes false enthusiasm encouraging
"And a round of applause for..."
another of his toadies,
a toastmaster of bullshit.

The oldman sighed and accepted the con,

Ingratiating cheerleaders on the sidelines.

Most marriages aren't made in heaven,
but through,
but for those exceptional few,
those couples not fake or opaque,
but transparent in honesty
and the true love
of soulmates.

"No lying eyes, no cheating hearts,
true love from heaven above,
real American couples
exuding happiness...
after editing,"
chuckles the oldman,
approaching his A game.

"And we are coming up to
the final pairings,"
intones the idiot announcer
with hush hush ostentation
for for fools who bang balls
"And bang their balls,"
interjects the madone
mocking the man who took
'The Gentle Path'
to understand his
sexual aberrations
for white girls,
the promiscuous kind,
the wild sort.

"I don't know why that boy
didn't just have oral sex...
that's not intercourse,
why..ask Hillary,"
grinned that shifty
Billy Blythe.

Always close to the Truth.

A good spokesman for business,
and acting helps in politics,
Ronnie was the best but
Arnold looks like he was shot
or has a California cucumber
up his ass and his wife
looks like a Kennedy in drag,
spokespersons for default
on every imaginable bond
from the eighth largest economy
in the world..."Hello, hello,
Dumb, Stupid, Retarded...
snorts the oldman to Big Mac.

So comforting to know that some
politicians are honest about sex
but not the incestuous finance
of Freddie and Fannie,
or the menage a trois
with Ginnie Mae.

"That sputtering queer
covering up the Fraud,
the Fed in bed with the
'naked shorters',
Little Ben and Tiny Tim
peaking through the window
of opportunity at discount,"
snorting and getting thirsty,
too weak to walk.

Time to take the shade
in the garden
for beautiful thoughts.

"The Devil is out of the golf bag,
no pretty lovely blonde is safe,
big stick, big dick...
take your Gatorade..
'Is it in you',
great ad, Pepsi Cola,
hofuckingho, on with the show,
and the largest female audience
in television history...
every thing works out
thinking about all those
forgiving wives
until the time arrives.

Quiet streets and empty parking spaces,
no weekend repairs, no nothing,
no weekend drunks at three,
the Recession was Back!

"Imagine if the Fraudsters couldn't cheat,
professional golf, no handicap,
no mulligans, no kick out of the rough,
and noooo side bets covered
by a partner or rich caddy,
no snakey ass lawyer moving markers,
changing cup placement,
not raking traps,
scuffing the greens...
a game of honest gentlemen,"
wonders the oldman sadly,
knowing that 'if there is no law
against 'it', then do 'it'
is the prevailing behavior
of players of all American games,
be it golf, sex or the market.

"Tiger cheated on his wife,
tainted his children
and embarrassed his mother,
Earl would have broken
all of his fingers,"
growled the madone.

"How's Freddie hitting them,"
asks Fred from Portland,
on the MagicJack,
"Is Lee still first on the tee?",
inquires Cousin Terry's
scottish wife...
funning on an email,
"I like Phil,"
giggles Patricia,
watching in the bedroom.

A day of Change.

"It's a different world,
the complexity is awesome,
reaching far beyond our capacities,"
the senile old shit getting
his comeuppance on CSPAN
from Brooksly Born,
Greenspan was right
seventy percent of the time,
"Put that on margin."

Tiger was lurking in the short grass.

Phil had lost his thrill.

Hardly a breeze
in the fabulous florida keys.

Above the Horn.

Thursday, April 1, 2010

Seventy...and Free for a Year!

0718/1942 65/75 Blue Skies E5/10 70%H.
DOGS 10948 8487 1124 1793. LIBOR .220.

Greetings from the Hill.

A marvelous day in paradise,
the dreaded tax certificate
paid again in the last hour
with Bill's silver stash
and a bridge loan from John...

another year to learn to type
and pretend to make Comix.

Beautiful blue skies and swaying palms,
wackos from CNBC across the hall,
classics from Havana in the corner,
contented cats on a sunny balcony.

The gardener off on a voyage,
the oldman tending and loving
the backyard magic garden.

Springtime and learning to walk
more than around the block.

"Hey, oldman, looking gooood,"
laughs the madone popping a cork,
a pinot noire from the lovely lady
from Foggy Bottom who arrived
with a frown and left
with a happy smile...
"Key West is the best."

"Watch your mind, wine is a different kind,"
lecturing Four Pack Jack.

Hohofuckingho, wondering about Barry,
in his Oshawa wine cellar.

Silver roofs mirroring in the noonday sun.

"Never thought I'd be seventy,"
muses the oldman to the Big Mac,
ready for a little ranting.

"This Fox inspired Tea Party
by the Mad Haters without hats,
Limbaugh, Beck and Coulter,
stooges of the Mad Murdock
and his yellow journalism
fomented by his chink wife,"
snorts the oldfart wondering why
bad taste and overweight waste
submerged the American Dream.

"Television commercials did 'it',
consumption financed by Debt,
everything became a scheme...
offshoring of jobs and capital,
a socialistic government
without health and oldage benefits,
the world's largest military
cannot find Osama Bin Laden
but can bomb a donkey in Afghanistan
from a bunker in Colorado,
the insurance companies never stop
pitching accident and death,
Buffet,s Geiko geeky gecko
and a spastic cunt in red lipstick,
AIG is still on your face,
all cash flow for the Vultures
creating a new line of derivatives
from the fashion houses
of innovative finance,
the traitors who trade
in Debt, Chaos and Disease...
Monsters from Jekyll Island,
agents of the Federal Reserve System,"
sighing over the 'National Swindle'
that debilitates with inflation,
a very complicated concept of theft
evolved by Central Bankers.

Bill had given the oldman a birthday treasure,
'The Creature from Jekyll Island',
by G Edward Griffin, read 'it' before,
now a house reference with Quigley.

Patricia brightened the day
with a smile and supplies
from Faustos.

A lucky oldman indeed.

"All very nice oldman, but...
reality is living each day,
watering the ornamentals,
tending the vegetable patches
and feeding the cats...
after that
life is a breeze
in the fabulous florida keys,
sometimes high on the Hill,"
smiled the madone.

Beyond the Reef.

Above the Horn.