From HSBC Investment Banking, gone from death. Terrible passion explodes within Luc Bachy. We all know, children, he is close to the gods. Taken to a new life, a senior capital adviser! Who could ask for more? I would ask that my body be wrapped in flames, to get off to a flying start, above Paris; a drifting, whirling, sliding astral body, in a sticky sky with red sun or pale moon and stars higher, far away.
If we had to report to men such as Jean-Baptiste Douin and Xavier Baudusseau, our eyes would show the pain of life. Luc Bachy will have to control himself. He must not fall. The skulls he buried will come back to haunt him. Just heads they were. No one knows the whole story, but I am looking deeper. His colleagues will not have travelled to the region I am about to explore. To enter a man's soul like this is dangerous.
Echoes and shadows but nothing solid, nothing you can touch. This is Luc Bachy. The real person. Not the shell. Not the skeleton with the flesh, like his victims. I have seen this with ghosts. I have seen this with other financial workers on the edge of life. The pain of life is on the edge of life. All greatness can be found on the edge of life. If you want happiness, you must stay in the centre. It is safe there, and boring.
Has money touched the soul of Luc Bachy? Or has it stained his soul? And what does money mean to him? Is it something he can leave behind, as he searches for greater meaning? Money does not make us wise. But the wise man is rich. Even the fool has something of value. Is Luc Bachy a wise man or a fool?
I have never been to Paris. One day I will go, to visit Luc Bachy. I will see with my physical eyes the man I only know through my dreams and visions. Will I be disappointed? Can anyone live up to a dream or a vision? This morning I saw Gillian Tett with her endearing lisp, speaking from the other side of the world. What would she be like in reality?
If we had to report to men such as Jean-Baptiste Douin and Xavier Baudusseau, our eyes would show the pain of life. Luc Bachy will have to control himself. He must not fall. The skulls he buried will come back to haunt him. Just heads they were. No one knows the whole story, but I am looking deeper. His colleagues will not have travelled to the region I am about to explore. To enter a man's soul like this is dangerous.
Echoes and shadows but nothing solid, nothing you can touch. This is Luc Bachy. The real person. Not the shell. Not the skeleton with the flesh, like his victims. I have seen this with ghosts. I have seen this with other financial workers on the edge of life. The pain of life is on the edge of life. All greatness can be found on the edge of life. If you want happiness, you must stay in the centre. It is safe there, and boring.
Has money touched the soul of Luc Bachy? Or has it stained his soul? And what does money mean to him? Is it something he can leave behind, as he searches for greater meaning? Money does not make us wise. But the wise man is rich. Even the fool has something of value. Is Luc Bachy a wise man or a fool?
I have never been to Paris. One day I will go, to visit Luc Bachy. I will see with my physical eyes the man I only know through my dreams and visions. Will I be disappointed? Can anyone live up to a dream or a vision? This morning I saw Gillian Tett with her endearing lisp, speaking from the other side of the world. What would she be like in reality?
