In the office I used to work in, which was that of a fund manager, we used mystical language and our boss was a priest — which made us templars, or attendants or something grand like that. Following the market was like working in silent contemplation of universal movements. The mystery unfolded the public got its eschatology. There was only one God and it was the God of Mass Turbulence, that was what I called The God of The Market.
A giant litter was drawn across our cities and we all fed from it, even the broken and the hungry, bless them. Even the broken and the hungry could afford the basic hamburger, the basic clothing on street display all hours.
There was only one God, and I knew it because I worked in that God’s temple. We weren't greedy about money, we were merely worshipful. We wore the temple uniform and worked under the rationally legitimated worship of the One God. So what if everyone in the industry were heinous shits? We had our world and our business was joyful worship of the illuminating and ever rolling God of Mass Turbulence. And that is the story of myself, working in Fund Management.