I. The Willies
“snow-colored Wilis who waltz pitilessly…in a mist softened by …. moonlight.” Heinrich Heine, 1835 book De l’Allemagne

Veiled in white, clothed in a script, as usual, you came

in a form of an alien touch with the extreme nightly prize
and I read in a moonlight the secret scroll with my absent eyes;
Chaos dreams danced in distilled sweat with too much
Worry spilled over the cup on spread sheets, charts and its horizontal vertices,
Finally the winning smile scratched through skinned layers of my lost past.
You pushed me, and I challenged  “lose more to win big”–
That crumbled logic of stocking leverage risks sent with a digital wire,
Held as a bonus in the artificer’s master hands of already lost empire,
and caught in flawed disarray of run-on money system grids
II. Banker’s Suicide
“Two big, macabre stories came out of Wall Street recently: the rash of banker deaths by apparent murder and/or suicide, and speculation that bank CEOs themselves are behind the trend to cash in on the insurance.” Max Keiser, May 14, 2014
Way back, I set apart reason from the heart;
But stubborn breeze kept hurling through “Wild Palms” velvet night holes;
I couldn’t bear any more lies, silent killings, people disappearing,
reality gaps filled with holograms and their programmed projections
Until two Wall-Street lobsters staged the killing match for equal shares
And I backed off quick from that patchy story,
like a crab running backwards off the shore
Pretending the fight is not a part of my inner core.
After this power bout, and much more,
my piercing ear buzzer worm
banged on that ever recurring acute dream door;
You danced to the noise that woke me up too many times
at the dead moment of every passing night —
we touched, kissed, loved, and never met
until day turned into night, night into day
and tasted from hour to hour, and tick to tick
so raw. So sweet.
Adrenaline pumped a nightmare odor of losing you. I couldn’t
Neither wake up or step out from our game
so I bet with a stubborn fearless risk;
Astonished. I looked back years rolling over my expectations–
all possible bay routes and destinations
collapsed one morning upon the foremast of a carrying bark,
I couldn’t get out of circular currency swaps and global market staring black-holes;
Then I ran day and night through whole of the formulas on tiptoes
to the end of all white telephone encrypted puts and calls sleeting page
but none of derivatives any longer fit any of the balance sheets
And I couldn’t tell was my life a paradox or a redundancy’

 

THE END

 

 

 

Crisis Bigger than the FED, James Rickards, Interview with Dennis Knea

Inspiring Articles: Banker Suicides

Max Keiser: Bankers Killing Suicide Fraud :

http://rt.com/op-edge/158988-bankers-killing-suicide-fraud/

Michael Snyder, Derivatives

http://theeconomiccollapseblog.com/archives/the-size-of-the-derivatives-bubble-hanging-over-the-global-economy-hits-a-record-high

The Guardian on Bankers Lives: http://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/joris-luyendijk-banking-blog/2012/jul/13/former-investment-banker

 

Michael Snyder: Does the Trail of Dead Bankers Lead Somewhere

http://theeconomiccollapseblog.com/archives/does-the-trail-of-dead-bankers-lead-somewhere

Literary Inspirations: The Willies, Heinrich Heine

“In a region of Austria, a tale is told that is (…) Slavic in origin. It is the tale of the spirit-dancers, known as “Willis” (…) maids who went to their death before they could be married. The poor creatures do not lie easy in their tomb (…) caught up in a passion for the dance that never was sated in life. At midnight, do they glide forth to gather on the high road, and alackaday to any youth who comes upon them ! He shall dance, he shall embrace them in unbridled frenzy, and he shall dance without rest until he fall down dead. Lovely in their wedding clothes and crowned with flowers and ribbands, jewels flashing on their delicate fingers, the Willis gambol in the moonlight as though they were elfs. Their countenance, whiter than snow, glows with youth, they smile with such perverse, such entrancing gaiety (…) that no-one can withstand these dead Bacchants.”[1]

In Elementargeister (1837)


What is now known in France as Heine’s work De l’Allemagne, is made up of two separate works: the History of Religion and philosophy in Germany and The Romantic School, and, in some early editions, the aforesaidElementargeister.


The Romantic School, originally published as Zur Geschichte der neueren schoenen Literature in Deutschland, was, in its day, the most daring attack ever penned on Madame de Stael, author of a pro-Romantic pamphlet, De l’Allemagne, and on the ideological underpinnings of Romanticism. [2]

http://www.augustevestris.fr/article69.html

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