Back on the Hill.

Blue skies and beautiful
a gorgeous day in paradise.

No photos yet.

Waiting the engineer...

Then the Editor.

solaris hill notes

madonthehill.blogspot.com

pretty fucking funny for a senile
seventy year oldman.

High on the Hill.

Back on the Hill.

A Chilly Day in Paradise.

Greetings from the Hill.

Perhaps the time has come to edit
the learning experience.
Not much else since ignores
an uneducated oldman.

Solaris Hill Notes arises as
madonthehill.blogspot.com

Does 'it' connect...
send a comment or email,
madjackgunn@gmail.com.

"Is anyone out 'there' or
indifferent to CHANGE
or the HOPE of the DOPE",
growled the madone.

Blue skies and breezy
above the Hill.

solaris hill notes madonthehill,blogspot.com.

Greetings from the Hill.

Due to technical problems,
Mad Jack has the above new spot.

Kind of hard to find????

Chilly day on the Hill.

No help from Blogger!

0704/1817 70/75 Blue Skies SSE20/25 75%
DOGS 10035 7271 1077 1530.

Greetings from the Hill.

Pissed off with Google...
the assholes can monitor every message
but not return help email,
Suckspies for the CIA.

bXcqnn4m, you fuckfaces!

joebageant.com on CounterPunch,
socialist ragbagger.

Continued from before the fuckup.

Money was the rule, the law the fool,
class separation in the cocaine nation,
as Ronald mumbled and Nancy smiled,
technology was creating the communication
to network the world...
The Wall crumbled as Capitalism
invaded Communism...
who would have believed
except Mitchell and Schultz.

This peculiar process of making money
by dealmaking had infected the economy,
financing became the profitable division
of the multinationals...
"Hey, fuck 'it',
why make it here, too many problems,
unions, benefits, pensions, insurance...
cheap labor and shipping,
warehousing and retailing."

The financial engineers designed the economy
according to Ann Ryand's secret lover
and Atlas Shrugged
as America got mugged.

And Boob Tubes were made by Mexicans,
then in Korea for the Japs,
then China for T Bonds.

"What a concept," enthused the senile Greenspan,
with Rubin and Summers,
mass producing derivatives
to ensure the insurance
against default and protect the bet,
hedging the hedge, both short and long,
bundling the tranches from the cellar
to the mezzanine...
shit in a steak sandwich.

"Billy Blythe, aka Bill Clinton
sold out for a blowjob
and a library, white trash
jiving like brother Barry,
Liars in the White House,"
fumes the madone,
disappointed with sellouts,
and pathetic actors,
politicians playing games
while Demons Rule.

No pictures today.

Blogspot a snot.

Greetings from the Hill.
bXcqnn4m attack?

The mind is overloaded with bullshit,
the continuous crap prevaricated by media,
commentators and journalists afraid
to explain the facts...
pawns of their sponsors who create
the fantasies of free markets
and an honest government,
both trustees of public monies,
schememakers of consumer fantasies,
the middleclass dreams of upperclass illusions,
a fine wardrobe and fancy car
covers a dumb mind...
A gullible brain who borrows his tomorrows
to pretend tonight,
cinderellas with granite countertops,
hardons with Viagra pills.

"A better life for the children,
a finer education and aricher lifestyle,"
my heavens, but wasn't that a fifties dream
that produced dropouts of the sixties
and drugdealers of the seventies,
assholes who made money breaking the law,
bending the law spending
on crooked lawyers.

Not enough Warriors to be Saviors.

0711/1803 62/75 Blue Skies NE10/15 77%H
DOGS 10561 7696 1112 1802.

Greetings from the Hill.

A beautiful day in paradise,
reading the New Yorker on the balcony,
classics through the open window,
in the morning sun...
CNBC fools ignored in the bedroom,
roosters across the street,
away from the madone's hose,
cat's sleeping in chairs of their own.

Swaying palm trees and quiet streets.

A message from Alida, the hot dog lady,
when Carter was President...
an entrepreneur with the aluminum wagon,
"Steam your buns
and relish your wiener."
She had a dream to be city manager
and change the conch corruption...
hearts are broken in paradise
minds turn to alcoholic slop,
and hope exists in dope.

"Hey, asshole, only for those who stay,"
laughs the madone, seen it all,
watcher of fools fall,
and the brokers call.

"Yeah, fucking blah, 'it's' all bullshit,"
said Billy to Henry Fonda,
when Scott Brown sucked ass
in the state senate, another Guardsman,
a JAGmaster and no kills,
strange religious background
that didn't get him into BAIN
and Romneys' circle.

The oldman watched him embarrass
his lovely daughters on National TV,
"They are available..."
even George Stupid Bush
wouldn't pimp his daughters,
this fuck is a fool.

And the grinning President pumped hands
in another losing show of support.

An earthquake destroys an already ruined nation.

The Three Stooges agree to help.

Three Assholes who have ruined America.

One wonders if the spokesman
is always the jokesman,
comfort the audience
and smile at the ladies,
humor the fat fool
paying the bill...
the credit card consumer...
"Spend, spend, spend,"
encouraged George after 9/11
on the road to debt heaven.

Clinton released the Three Headed Dog.

This verbal flowmaster believes his own shit,
whoever unleased this monster of deceit
will find the dog of CHAOS
with a fix on the River Styxx...


"Imagine what happened this year,
Hope and Change in Obamaville,
this jivetalking halfwhite geek
made whitefolk ghettos
out of suburbs,"
growled the madone
hating the Joker Clown.

FCIC to understand what caused the theft
of wealth and assets, the fortunes
of middleclass masses without cable,
for the Super Bowl...
a month to go before outrage
"And outage."

The Consumer Cow is out of Milk.

Curdled and girdled on wobbly legs,
too weak to eat green shoots.

"Sell your stock, take the walk,
or is 'it' all in name
of Cede and Company,
the shadow holders of all,
the bogus trust of DTCC,
a game one cannot see."
growls the oldman not blind.

The classics get static at sunset,
grey skies and palm leaves,
Angora squeezing through the louvered door,
cat food in the President's room,
Tony finished in the garden,
Alger at his computer,
this house not for sale.

"Make 'it' a home,"
said Mrs Albury,
when the oldman was young.

Viola jumps through the empty pane
broken by a raving rooster,
the attacks from unwanted birds,
pets of the indian woman,
rejected by Hollywood
and the neighbor on 'The Lane'.

Perhaps a star is needed,
a quarterback
not an Ombumboy
for George Soros
and the Moniests

Above the Horn,

Beyond the Reef,

On the Hill.

.

Bankers at the White House.

0712/1758 50/60 Blue Skies NNE15/20 75%H
DOGS 10598 8025 1136 1846.

Greetings from the Hill.

Blue skies and fifty degrees at ten o'clock,
cats taking the sunbeams in chairs,
classics from Havana in the blogroom,
windows and door closed...
Tony's special chili simmering
in the microwave,
palms swaying outside.

"So this is the big meeting of the minds,
the leaders of corruption and fraud,
the innovators of financial engineering,
the creators of wealth management,
caretakers of the commoner's currency,
manipulators of mortgages,"
snorts the madone always curious
of swindles and lies,
moreso the gullibility of the conned,
those believers of something more
than what they are getting,
those wannabees in SUV's.....

Imagine if Obama asked for answers
not explained by journalists,
not argued by commentators,
not wondered by pundits...
"What the fuck are derivatives
and how could there be
a quadrillion dollar market
in insuring default on debt
in the trillions...
and why were counterparties
paid with government monies?"


The current crop of crooks
had not the experience of politics,
being part of Change without Truth,
deregulating tiresome interference,
technoregulatory arbitrage...
financial fraud,
innovation allowing the forbidden,
getting around the rules,
bending the law, fixing a ticket,
"Get a good lawyer, hofuckingho,
if you want to keep your house
and find your pension funds,"
shysters and shylocks,
Citibank at thirty percent
Zero percent from the Fed.

"Duh duh, 'it's all beyond me,"

Imagine 'this shit' started
with Reaganomics when the president
was a convincing fellow in a time
of peril and financial worries,
a man of delegation, he allowed
his advisors to execute and effect
administration policies ....

"Sounds good to me, Olly,"
a little trade here and there,
"Good David, Nancy likes 'it'."

And Stockman still lurks about.

"It is all about Efficient Market Hypothesis,
intellectually sounding phrases about
managing risk by turning volatility
against 'it'....
the Theory of Heterogeneous Expectation,
longing an exchange trade and shorting the OTC,
and Madeoff ran the Nasdaq.....
pink slips for jew lips..hohoho,"
the madone was learning his lines.

Back at the White House the mulatto
had on his thinking cap wondering
about directorships and speeches,
he had a way with words
but was never good with numbers,
he could learn fedspeak...
but would there be a Federal Reserve,
even if he retired after one term,
'that fucking Ron Paul',
and that bald headed little jew
makes sixty million in salary,
god knows how much hidden everywhere,
grinning at Blankfein to confuse him
and frowning at Dimon,
his finger in the FRBNY,
fingerfuck, both hands.

This new guy at the Bank of America,
a little too agreeable...
the monster was a wreck like Citi,
and too many of those things,
fucking derivatives, bets on bets,
and now death, air, and our roads.

"Is nothing sacred from your gambling,"
the President posed to the banksters
who as one sat silent.

"The Fink started 'it',"
sneered the man from Mellon,
the Ten Trillion Dollar man.

From First Boston to Lehman,
to Blackstone then Blackrock,
ML,PNC,Barclays eighty percent
and still in the chair.

Runs AIG's collection of shit
for the Treasury and Tiny Tim,
where was 'he' today.

"Brrrrr ohfuckingbrrrr,"
laughs Tony with cold beer
and a sandwich from BO's,
joining the oldman at noon.

Chores in the afternoon to repair
the damaged plants from roosters
scavaging the balcony beauties,
his precious cuban oregano.

"No one tells the Truth...
does anyone really know anymore,
is 'it' all offshore
beneath an invisible island
in a carnival cavern
run by the pixelman,"
muses the oldman coming alive
with chilibeans and beer,
a grouper fish sandwich
with french fries.

The media is controlled
by senile old fools,
Murdoch and his chinese spy,
a pussypipeline to the Reds,
hahaha, an anachronism...
but maybe not.

"Whatever, whatever, the dorks
watch FOX while dudes read WSJ
and the DOW keeps records...
Roger Ailes makes 23M making FOX
700M, more than the others combined,
kind of says it all,"
sniffs the knowitall madone.

And Redstone is not the
daughter haters real name.

"Mr. President, sir, wakeup....
Derivatives are rational instruments
for unlocking latent value
in financial transactions
through mathematical logic...
a net value creation derived
from an underlying asset
exchanging cash flow
or equivalent assets
over time based contracts..."

"Without leverage,
the Derivative Ballroom
will have no dancers,"
echoed a voice in his mind.

It was time for Lincoln's room.

Above the Horn.

Beyond the Reef.

Inside the house.

A Quadrillion Here or There.

0712/1753 50/60 Blue Skies N15 70%H
DOGS 10511 8176 1129 1804.

Greetings from the Hill.

Shoes, socks, sweater and coat...
closed windows and cats inside,
no heating in this old house,
two comforters and no spouse.

Classics from Havana and swaying palms,
"You lying old dog, you have a heater on
in the President's room,"
laughed the madone,
sipping hot chocolate.

The oldman was studying derivatives again,
Barry Obumboy promised to intercede
on this perplexing problem not understood
by the oppressed masses and horse's asses,
those elected officials.

The very idea that someone could conceive
of such a scam to circumvent debt
seemed beyond fair and honest accounting,
more likely a limey plot by City of London...
and American investment bankers,
to perpetrate one world currency.

"Hey asshole, a Visa card does that
with a higher net profit than banks,"
laughs the madone amazed
at a public gone dumb.

The bitch was now running the commodity racket
for Jamie Dimon and the Cap and Trade
beyond imagination ripoff...
"Could anyone believe this scam,
Greenhouse Alfucking Gore,
dumb as they come,"
snorts the madone,
pissed with another asshole
speechmaking for Goldie Sox
and the Wall Street pimps.

The media has enough whores
flashing thighs eying the camera,
interrupting shrill cunts,
talking over emasculated dicks
who weakly concede,
not a man left standing.

"A K Street whore,"roars a man
still shouting from Florida,
a dissenting man who resents
the Federal Reserve System,
the private company of Thieves,
Liars and Cheats, twelve disciples
of economic deceit.

"This Robertson slut was in the bag
with the Gramm's , Rubin, Summers
and Blowjob Bill...
deregulation on the Hill to save Citi,
and now Obama sucks tit,"
growling in the dark,
the oldman was mad.

Little Ben, the pathetic academic
who pretends so well to try,
suckass fuckfaces using words
of excuses for failures...
worse than a preacher.

"Pump the printer, buy T bonds,
stash them in the Funny Bank
with F and F's toxic waste
and the Big Twelves shadow debt,
leveraged bets gone bad,
while the Hedge Hogs wait
to change the signs,"
muses the oldman
as the cat shits in the corner.

A savior to this calamity, this outrage
to the believers of goodtimes for all,
supporters of optimistic futures,
comfort and decency in old age,
small fortunes to pass on....
"Hofuckingho, asshole,
get a grip on reality,
there is no heaven or hell,
jews run the CFR,
and you have AIG on your face,"
snorts the madone
hating that kike Greenberg
who caused 'it' all.

Of course 'Tiny Tim' will save the world
from the imaginators of wealth,
engineers of financial products
that promise rewards beyond before...
and of course protection from loss,
the age of risk management
when the largest company in the world
"Goes fucking bankrupt....
Up up and away in your new Chevrolet."

The oldman was disgusted with the gutless.


The sellout started with cheap goods,
the power of a world reserve dollar,
military intimidation and information,
spies went to the skies
and no man went to the moon,
since then every president
has been a goon.

This one merely educated,

Beyond the Reef.

Enjoying the Hill.