Friday, July 17, 2009

In fraud we trust.

0648/2017 82/91 Blue Skies NSW/5 65%H
DOGS 8733 6358 9370 1335.

Greetings from the Hill.

Peace and quiet in paradise,
the cement truck left,
the bathtub pool makers
back to Miami...
upgrading finished.

Cats on the railings,
classics from Havana,
idiots gushing on CNBC,
roosters back on the street.

The Waterman servicing his customers,
salt, filters and a smile,
with of course a check.

"Ain't life great in Key West."

The oldman was crippled again,
unable to write resting in bed.
"What if the mind is in a state of TV,
would the mood be subjective,
incapable of objectivity, imagine if

a society was hypnotized into believing
that commercials were real....
only consumers of course,"
musing to the cat on the windowsill.

He was watching the movie, 'Ed',
a Meathead parody of Reality TV.

All in the Family of Duncedom.

The lingering doubts of those 'things'
and the schemes of financial engineers,
more and more the idea of deceit, distrust,
magnitudes of money numbers
entering the galaxies of quadrillions,
a timespace differentation into
the conspiracy of currency.

"World devaluation on a numeric scale
by derivative inflation, hofuckingho,
central banks guarantee derivative debt
invented by counterparties' debt,
debt, debt, debt, credit to a bank,
fractional banking and shadow leverage,
based on the price of a home,"
snorts the oldman on the balcony
a slight breeze in the keys
at the closing bell.

"Upward mobility in the middleclass,
sell the house make a profit,
don't plant a garden
or cut the grass,"
growled the madone
surrounded by 'flippers',
no longer equity dippers.

A Trillion Dollars of savings spent
on toys for the boys,
granite tops for the wife with a knife,
all for the lawyers.

"That lying suckass weneed perpetrator
of false promises and bogomoney,"
growls the madone hearing
the preacher teacher deadeying
the spirit hope.

Reggie Jackson smiling and grinning
on CNBC with Maria,
making the weekend better.

Goldman Sachs has holes in their socks.

"Hey Hank, how's your portfolio,
hopefully with polio,"
chuckles Airhead, a bit drunk,
off to Faustos for beer and wine.

Another glorious day
in paradise...
dinner on the balcony,
beyond the reef,
outside the Straits,
high on the hill,
on top of the Rock.

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