Tuesday 31 October 2023

Gekko Grundgesetz or Weiß Erlaubniselite A play for Entrepreneurial Children Child #2 (draft)

Gekko Grundgesetz or Weiß Erlaubniselite

A play for Entrepreneurial Children


Child #2



Dear Future employer,

I started my career with 3 years in a call center,

& have been in my current role for just under a year 

as a financial advisor. 

I have been strongly considering the

Certified Financial Planner since 

I was young and trying to kick start my career.


I really LOVE this. 

I was excited to move from a call center to a ‘financial advisor’.


Moving up has made me more of a business development representative doing cold calls to businesses. 

I've reviewed a few existing clients' portfolios

to help find gaps in their retirement needs,

but it doesn't feel like I'm getting enough hands-on experience

to excel soon enough.

My ideal job is one that focuses on maintaining high-value client relationships, where I can be a trusted advisor able to give honest, beneficial guidance wherever they are in life. 

I've seen a lot of praise for fee-only advisory firms, and I can imagine myself feeling most fulfilled if there wasn't pressure to push specific investments like I see with some companies. 


Since I'm early in my career,

it seems difficult to break

into fee-only without more years under my belt and the Certified Financial Planner.

My current boss has said that it's perhaps too soon to consider the Certified Financial Planner and offered me to seek other designations first. 

I'm worried that I could be more productive towards a better career.

I've read that paraplanning is a solid path in, since it's focused on the actual planning rather than solely grinding out sales.

I'd be able to get the technical experience under my belt while earning my place as an advisor. I've been looking around and applied to a couple remote paraplanner roles but haven't heard anything back.


Other in-person paraplanner jobs are too far, and I don't plan to relocate since my partner can't follow yet. It seems like I need more time

and applications to find an opportunity.


Meanwhile, I was contacted by a recruiter about the Merrill Lynch Financial Solutions Advisor program. I was surprised they were posting the salary at what would be a 25% increase for me at their base offering, not considering expected bonuses. That made it feel like a no-brainer. I spoke with the local Merrill branch manager and he seems like a nice guy with decades in the business, so he could be a great mentor.

It's clear that this isn't my ideal path, but if I can't be in my dream job today, it's very tempting to go for the higher salary and the promise of more fruitful opportunity. 

Plus, after 6-12 months (I need to confirm) I can go after the Certified Financial Planner too. 

They say it's great for someone early in their career, gradually moving towards being more independence with my own book.

Monday 30 October 2023

FYP ps. (misneach) DRAFT


The teeming dartboard 

is me, salvered at the end of 

every accusing finger

of my tongue the briefings of lineage

& summerhouses incomplete by moonlight,

Listen my heart is begging for friends 

of starres right on time


is the Poetry Society tag you forgot

for death is death 

until you’re Inside this poem

like a poet.



Margate ii (DRAFT)



Aged 15, x’ed the patted divan 

from the converge of Swale council 

to the Death of Serpents tail,

the laurel over hard mortar & 

Sanctuary Lodge is laminated 

with CV’s on piloti buried podiums

mixed pounded pebbles

with scrim coinages & TC’s

near Garlinge dirge.

Nothing really is nothing here

its cranked glazing calcined 

DREAMLAND soft in asbestos 

holding aloft all the  

Stephen Christopher Yaxleys

like old panoply of grimoires

& We Are Inside 

Regeneration Project, 

its Formica Stagecoach Souter 

gleams it’s finale 


on Nayland Rock Shelter, 

in stage whispers facedown 

eating floret patrons 

with pilled lunar shards

to be nowhere.

Miles & Barr Boys swilling linctus 

acres of briefcases & toeboxing 

Paul Weller's all shirebussed, 

tucked & milkfed from Mum to Bed,

dropping Bollinger after Bollinger

on natural PowerFloat Concrete floors, 

Estate Agency Award Ceremony 

is my nature, & I chant advocates names

like an incant over cockle rot tables

seawind hard creamed

what beckons archfiends

the gilt-hearted RIBA Architects 

maker of maps, gutter of towns, 

as Arlingtons floodlights a failsafe, 

the meaning demicurls a clique 

cash coloured chubs New Jerusalem, 

Skincare Branded 

Victorian Bathing Machines 

in Farrow Ball Terracotta Rich Colours

the body gyres whisperless prannets 

encircle the cold of this crap flat

& coke starved noses harropdown 

bloody staircases in spastic crosses 

paid by Canters of Tory England,

‘soil taken from it 

to any place whatsoever

kills snakes there’ holm-oaked 

inverted the petal torch is theta

said Thanet council spokesman.

Thursday 26 October 2023

CBUS (darft) mort pour la patrie



In Buckeye plain endowment patio 

is on fire in this nether Hell

unbar planar stretches from Shrum Mound

to steel gavel the largest in the world, apparently

the law underlight schisms 

Silver Drive Kentucky Bluegrasses

alone to spelling & unspelling

new Euclids.

Irish blood stuck on Gingham plastic tablecloths

closed for to-night

so roll up on goldenrods with Black-eyed Susans 

& the rust on toolheaded river beds,

stealing garden chairs for only God knows why

my best slacks are in a dustbin bag 

& I sleep on Duckfeather mildewing Winters.

Cardboard box house blackiced

Octogenarians outside Giant Eagle dead

or sprawled in Dirty Dungarees

schizoided sat at the bar don't drink

talk to washing machines in red-grey tinsel

instead how Gun Envy stokes

the New Catholic Church.  

Cbus trails camhead of hazed children 

into a nigh vision touching nub-end

la mort pour la patrie of High-Capacity

this JumboLand Air Conditioned Nightmare

slips caves of iceboxed ribbons in

Red, White & Blue.

What of protections magazine

like property in life blood 

from air in Clorox Pine Sol® 

to clean the tops of Mama's Pasta & Brew

watch whos snuffed it first from

a flag the Mandalay Bay Hotel

Hell is Real its sickly golden trickle

says so. 

Walk back in daylight to an empty room,

toxinjuice with mixtempers

but Laguna Beach lawning starres

raise a thirst, pourer Phil deartháir

my ampersand every time I ring

we are poorer still

w/ you making guacamole 

in Graveyard tilth &

me making the most of my humifaction.

Nose-Thumbing at Kupfter, 18th Octo-10 Nov 2023 Curated by Antoine Schaforth


Wednesday 25 October 2023

O your Colonel,, as a father (final)


O your Colonel,, as a father 

indemnified the door from Salisbury plains 

to stamping an interspace of whispers 

stricken voiceless Inside Praepostor Business Class,, 

a brig that sensation masts 

another Earldom, ancestries past

a carousel hologram of a boat race appears

all foppish fair haired boys 

in oak quad sculls, singing: 

‘O What is a Stephen Christopher Yaxley?’

Dreadnought, Britannia, Thetis, St George Prince of Wales 

& Ten Logie Leggatts leading the line 

chalks over thinly whose clear body 

was so pure, & mine

after a moment looking out at the roaring sea, 

you ask what lies outside the White cliffs for me?  

to a single reply; 


Blue Boys swilling on the beach

brisk’d my cheek the heraldic bleed,

undernight-air claps &  

                                                                                            Cooee! Cooee!    

 a boat as good as brains! & so und so weiter 

                                 that one man was much like another 

on this vast floating army cum laude,

there are perks in chains of lead 

you can feel it & chasten the colour, 

in England enterprise our armada

its ladened wraith a dodo skeleton 

in the morning you lay down

in a Recruitment crawl space 

of its office carpet broadloomed,, 

a June morning together. 

It is dark now along the rim & always now dark forever more. 

& We never kissed…..

Bricklayers. Investors. Antecedents. Warfares.

hanging from a steel pergola, 

that yawning feeling comes over

the working-catharsis hiccups 

& collapses glitches of sweat or blood to nothing.  

Not even a coat of arms.  

& What will you do if agency workers cross the picket line?  

Start again. 

& so what lies outside the White cliffs?

a fallen head glued to a mansard roof

eating Chartwells Free School Meals 

milligram by milligram 

Good over Evil, Life over Death 

depopulated centres enterprise children,  

under no boss in Jack of Plate 

toxing bed stiffened hard-ons 

to chartered hails & God is here 

on little screens above the concourse 

Sky News Broadcasts a perpetual loop

 of Dark Justice & you 

bleed in a line 

or switch in disguise & what army? 

in the morning emulsifying under sunglass, 

a beating heart to a raging quiver?  

Good over Evil, 

Life over Death

starbursts reflect non-permanent futures 

a crown of tapered pilasters 

crony parvenu crawls out of each 

in melamine Yellow plaintive 

5 year chembinge & the city wall is hell, 

as if in a mould 

where the lid or stopper turns grey-silver 

chrome chainlinked 

the multitude on the beach sings

take back this lonely song,, & beseech 

the unnameable bodies of hectares 

old panoply of grimoires

now in venerated sprigs

over chalk breaks like Dover Straits

& listen to quarter peal 

of Stedman Caters ringing

as though sounding the tocsin 

on hearthrugs fading 

an English light curls up my back 

to tap on the hypercondensation,,

the window sneaks a think-tank 

                                  a translucent yew tree,

a coup operation; 

the Nationwide Festival of Light 1971

a berry for later, snaps Peers 

as the poverty lobby is galvanised underneath 

gradients of eternal bliss to crypt it, 

& bury falling through the stairway 

at Bevins Court, 

a Vladamir creaks out 

it's whispered slue 

your name is bleach, 

moral standards the abolition of suffering 

the abolition in the central linking drum 

my eyes now glue weeping on the gallery floors,, 

you watch from the rooftop canopy, 

a tapering & thinning air, 

What is to Be Done with Hopton Wood Stone, 

clipped now painted?

To move at night near anti-pigeon spikes 

inside pressing up against vulnerable white skin, 

the skin of a living boy, the skin without blood gradually, 

a chest without air, a slackening thin stomach thinning 

Yaxleys in the area

& return to us that aching feeling, 

under this bluelight to meld all bleating 

strong people's blood, that is good & not shitmud! 

& I can see from fits of burning rubber 

ever glowing, never receding 

a line of fealty choke,, s sublime well-being 

destined to be 

a Yaxley hidden 

pickering to tilth 

O your Colonel,, as a father, 

& the fairest hushes of the wettest lips 

& uppermost purpose clangs like the jip of a needle 

under the State, 

a strike for your life! 

a painless bite, a mother's love, 

the profoundest peace,

& logarithmic pulses imp-

lore us; spectral Keith Josephs radiantly falling

abolish this pain below hedonic zero 

& make all hearts to emulate 

caustic preening the lumbar straits 

the baseline Sir Keith's 

scolded Schlaraffenland 

eating through a cloud of rice pudding; 

on the other side of the fence an empty apparition, 

basted in votives 

the gene code is Generation Merit,

undog your living twilight.