IPO's, Defaults and Derivatives.

0647/1738 70/82 Blue Skies NE 10/15 70%H.
DOGS 11203 8151 1353 2751. Libor 23. Vix 18.

Greetings from the Hill.

Another lovely week in paradise,
far away from economic scams
of the master's of deceit
inventing and engineering
new methods to extricate
the masses wealth,
soon to eliminate all cash
replaced by a world debt card
in the age of 'Digitoma'...

another new word.

"Visatoma in a coma!"
laughs the madone.

Imagine the costs of making cards,
patriotic colors with flags,
of each state bank,
a drivers permit as well and voting too,
no balance....no drive no vote.

"All state banks and no Assholes,
eliminate the whores of the Fed,
agents of central banks...
those Masters of the Market
in wholesale swindle who gamble
everyday  the nation's wealth
at rigged tables in a Crooked Casino,
the House never loses
taking fees and commissions first,"
growls the madone
always amazed at trapped saps.

Fred was pissed, the Iceman in Paradise,
wasting money in tourist traps
visiting his good friend Steve...
Norway had a balance of payments
and vast oil reserves,
free health care and education,
english their second language...
american TV with english captions.

Homer Simpson in spanish.

"Imagine being subsidized for a year
to bring up the baby!",
marveled the madone
over a nation that cared
about it's citizens.

Norway's pension fund was soon to be
the richest in the world...
a nation of five million
and no derivatives,
perhaps an honest government.

Oil, shipping and energy
with lots of fish.

"And the Cuban Refugee Orchestra."

Wall Street offers another chance
with the GM IPO to resusitate
the terminal giant,
22 Billion in financial engineering
for electric cars and corn fuels
and Ally Banking...
the dead end alley.

Bill Gross is pissed with the policy
that Senile Al claims a 'mistake',
his former prodigy out of favor
with the coupon clippers.

Barry boy lost in space,
"Yeah, that void between his ears,
fighting a losing race against DEBT
and the DERIVATIVE BET,"
snorts the oldman
ready for a sunday pint
in a blue law morning town.

"What the fuck can Jerry Brown do?"

The state is a hopeless mess,
ignored by the media and government,
vultures gambling on default
with never to be regulated bets,
the pension plan a ponzi scheme
on the dark side of redemptions,
not even legalized pot
for the defeatist lot.

"This place sucks,"
laments Tony,
wanting a ticket home to paradise.

Coumo playing the nasty cop
before taking the mantel of his dad,
inheriting the corruption of Albany,
the swindling of Wall Street,
the mendacity of Bloomberg.

"Hey, dumbfucks, what about that tax,
a little transfer tax on trading,
the 'Warehouse' clears all,
follow the pixels
right into the OTC,"

But not very likely,
unless the world's fastest computer
was bought from the chinese,
goodbye Google, hello Doogle!

"Those yellow people at US universities
comprise twenty percent of classes,
just like Toronto and speak the tongue
 as fluent as 'City of London' bankers,
driving LaRouche nuts",
offers Lovelane Jack
monitoring the irrigation
of the garden.

Bill was downstairs at his computer
worrying over orders and balances,
struggling to survive
and keep his business alive,
"There is no domestic businesss,
orders are all overseas,
the emerging markets",
exporting from a website,
a wizard at expediting,
slicker than shit
and cash in advance.

"A dangerous game of kiting
with manufacturer's money,"
mumbled the oldman.

The thing about 'it' is...
a downshift of human personality
to a thing,,, the consumer,
rather than an expression of creative powers,
the sensual experience replaced
the creative insights of the mind,
sex replacing the customary
with the novel,
fantasy with reality,
fiat for gold,
dreams of debt.

"The Devil came to town
and promised Change and Hope,
then led us down the street
without a sign or light,
could 'it' be Avenue K,"
laughed the voice
on the balcony.

Above the Horn.

Inside the Reef.

All within belief.