Global Crisis: "Worsening and Deepening"
by Alan Sondheim
Guy in Belgium hacks his hedgefund, turns securities into Japanese pass- alongs, convert fast to Thai currency. Meanwhile Indonesia banks on Bra- zilian Amazon rubber; there's none left where this investment lies. New York City cancels World Bank loans to Kenya; key men in Afghanistan hold the landmine market in the hands of four, count them, Southern Indians.
The markets creak, corrode; everyone skims from everyone else. There are no cracks, none, where everything is cracked, falling apart. It's a thick crust sliding everywhere across the rest of the world - not that they wouldn't loanshark if they could. It's an avatar crust, loaded with get- rich schemes, internets, intranets, movements of goods and currencies hard and soft, ploughing under whatever's left of wilderness. Everything turns towards management; management runs riot with Australian uranium, South American oil, Antarctica coal which has just finally burned the Ross Ice Shelf past the point of no return. Slaughter of the guilty takes the last remaining penguins; portfolios grow in the Hague, collapse in Norway, ex- pand in Belgrade. Russian stockpiles fuel Saudi hopes; missiles will take out the rest, but there's money to be made in charred remains. The Net creaks with deals gone bad, collapsing markets, currencies hitting rock bottom; starvation's kept out of it.
The crust turns cancerous; cracks spread, whole chunks crash to the ground taking everything in their path. This is rough substance, violent, tumors raging within it, churning everything in its path. The crust leaks and topples; the rest of us would die for the same leprosy, local gangrenes begging for full-fledge suppuration.
Maws open up; breath stinks of decay as Malaysian death squads swallow Eurodollars on spec, transform yen into Canadian dollars collapsing Peru- vian banks. New York wallstreeters gouge eyes, street-fight for World Bank loans passed on by baby crack whores sold by Serbian traders working out of Scotland. The British make the drug hard for Chinese merchandising; everyone swallows Vietnam. Bamboo run by avatars crosses the Atlantic and Pacific; Albanian finance terrorists are hung by their tongues from it. Colombian savings and loans fortify, warning off Greek mercenaries looking for an easy buck. The crust heats up; lava flows like shit from gaping crevices; French bankers lap it up, their faces burned to a crisp. Sales are up on the Net; Finland creaks, fucks itself, dies in ice, drowned in semen worth big bucks in Mali. Insane Mexican pilgrims carry gold from Fort Knox into North Korea; starved teeth break against hard yellow. It's worth it says the Web page.
The crust shifts; Americans explode Bali, sell pieces of flesh to starving Israel and Iraq. Cash flows in big money veins; there's nothing stopping it. The crust turns incandescent, swallows the silver supply. Gangrene chews out arms and legs, cocks and cunts, chews breasts, tongues, blinds and deafens. Bodies for dividends are shoved into the shit. Crust burns everything. Planets wobble; the world splits, returning two for one.
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