Friday, December 9, 2011


It's been just a few days, hasn't it, since I last cared to gaze at a chart of the busty bosom of FAS (in the concupiscence of the banking beasts) nor at the languishing carcass of FAZ, which appears to be drawing its final breaths.

Naturally, this is wrong. FAZ has been at 35 before, and at 39 currently, I'd be a buyer rather than a seller if I were prone to fits of stupidity. How else to explain an attempt to outswim the sharks who run the global ponzi scheme? And yet, the pilot fishes survive, don't they? They eke out a living, an existence in the ecosystem, by pandering and gliding through liquid jet streams, mirroring the great white shark.

I haven't lost a single hour of sleep in two, almost three weeks. All because I've focused on a heavy workload, moments of peaceful bliss near and far, and the simple harmony of friendships. Fuck this market. When it's time to return, I'll be ready. Until then, life beckons. And life, as you should know, is too damn short to fuss over the whims of chimps holding puppet strings.

Carry on.

FAZ is cranky as a teething baby, but giving a good fight.

A huge move from 38 to 41 yesterday, but dipping in premarket.
The trendlines are at the same degree of ups and downs on this
chart, which tells me nothing more than the severity of emotion
from a wickedly fearful market.

FAS remains a roller coaster. As with FAZ, these trendlines
are identical up and identical down going back to early Oct.

Narrow, yes, but completely trending with every
shift of the bandwagon.

Staying clear. All cash. Bleacher section ZZ, Row A, Seat 5.

As always, whatever ails you and furrows your brow, step back, sit down, breathe . . . it's ok to relax for a minute. At least a minute.