Self Portrait: Musings of a reluctant venture capitalist
I’m a poet whose light is caught in the blizzard of venture capital.
Like Lady Fate flattening my clouds with the pressing heat of her irony, I so happen to captain a boat of yes that sails on a sea of No. This sea is unforgiving, she teems with an unyielding radiation that eats away at my pirate resolve deal by deal at every valuation’s end.
Is it any wonder that the word No is also the symbol of Nobelium, a radioactive metal not naturally found in nature? Are we creating more chaos with our capital and over engineered financial models than we are igniting sparks of entrepreneurial engines to terraform this earth? In whose image are we terraforming the world? For history is a morgue collecting extinct species, drowned ice bergs and fallen blue skies. Our capital, a reaping scythe and harvesting sickle.
I’m a poet whose sentimental legato is caught in the aloof staccato of venture capital. I’d rather be dreaming the dream of spectating clouds commuting over no fly zones like a soiree of judges, free from paying taxes to the sun, free to calibrate the comedy of human greed but here I am, pulled like rain towards the earth in a dramatic shower across the Sahara, just enough to satisfy the shifting winds with a promise but never enough to fill the canyons.
