Warpigs

Monday £0.87

Tuesday -£18.50

Wednesday £0.61

Thursday -£44.50

Grand total for the week -£61.52

Not some Thoreau/Walden-esque listing of my expenses, but rather the sum total of my trading week so far. This profound feat was managed with a (reasonable) 67% win rate, which (at least) speaks to my prowess to fill in some of the holes I’ve gone and dug for myself every day so far. Yay me, I murmur with a sardonic snort.

In the parlance of the everyman, ‘I was a greedy pig’. And as much as I hate the phrase, “Bulls make money, bears make money, pigs get slaughtered”, this is what happened.

I make this my background picture on my ultra-wide. A petit rappel of my injudiciousness, which will hopefully motivate me to do better.

Its AI generated art. Which is a box-of-deeply-disturbing I pried the lid off recently… and now can’t (or won’t) close. This particular piece (as part of a series) was created when punching in the lyrics to Ozzy Osbournes (or perhaps Black Sabbath is more accurate), War Pigs. In fact, if you haven’t seen the psychologically-abrasive stuff AI creates when compelled to make art, google “War Pigs AI”, should be the first thing that comes up. Just be prepared for the wave of machine-learning angst that’s going to roll over you and then dump you face-first into the sand.

For the moment I’m choosing to compartmentalize my… eh… misgivings. (Lets go with that). Besides I have bigger fish to fry right now. Like finding someone to blame for my current trading waywardness.

Actually I know whose fault this is. Tom Hougaard. A Danish day-trader whose book I recently read.

I’m pretty sure I have rules. And consuming ‘work’ related media is definitely on there, as something I should not be doing. Trading, finance, real estate… investing, its all the most awful, spurious and wicked content out there. It dangles hope in-front of the disaffected but takes no responsibility for selling them snake oil or kicking them in the teeth. People who posit financial-guru-ness on social media are (in my mind at least) the worst of humanity.

Actually, this all started because I went back onto Twitter. (yeah… my life is a litany of poor decisions, that I then spend years trying to fix/atone for). The thing about twitter is, chances are pretty good you’re going to end up despising anyone you follow. The obvious way to get round this is to follow people in your political echo-chamber… that way they can just reinforce your already iron-clad belief-system and it helps you with the dopamine you so clearly crave. Problem is, I’m broadly libertarian. And libertarians hate each other. Ha ha. They also whine A LOT. Which… well, I have a three year old and a six year old… I’ve pretty much hit my upper limit on mewling and grouse by 8am. I’m not sure how much more I can really take before I blowout my retromandibular. (he says whining about how grim Twitter is)

Let me pad out my follows with some Fintwits I decide (now in hindsight I should have rather stabbed myself in the leg with rusty winnowing-fork)

How does that saying go.

Those that can, do. And those that can’t teach.

This is doubly true for people espousing financial advice on twitter. A truly awful caste of people. The ones that postulate stock tips and trading are the worst of the worst though. The sort of people that make me want to believe in a hot-place… where you know, chaff is separated from the wheat with a winnowing fork. Whatever that is. (I google it) And… then go back and update my farming implement of choice. (with which to mutilate myself)

Wait, Jo… you were an MMA instructor for like… ten years? Is that because you were actually really rubbish at mixed martial arts?

Eh… short answer, yes. I probably was (like with everything I attempt) fairly average. But I also exited my metatarsal (in a very jagged exposed bone marrow kinda way) through the top of my foot in my very first competitive BJJ fight. It really put a damper on my career. Not that I really had it in me. Mostly becoming an instructor was a way to train for free. And also kick the stuffing out of noobs who’d never sparred before. Which obviously ticked my Standford prison guard check-box. (We are all one degree away from a sentry at Birkenau right?)

Hmm. Where was I. Oh yeah, Tom Hougaard. Whose book gets recommended by one of these Fintwits. Which I then buy. And read. And then allow to live rent free in my head for a bit while it runs around upending water bowls and exercise wheels.

I end up watching a couple of his ‘live’ trading clips on Youtube. He takes positions I wouldn’t touch with a barge pole, gets stopped out… and just moves on like its nothing. Ha ha. I mean, I have no idea if its real or not. He makes a big deal about it being real… But in all honesty, the demo-account on my brokerage looks EXACTLY the same as the real one. Even gives you P&L statements for the day. Zero-way to tell the difference… unless maybe you’re looking at the URL. He also has a telegram account with followers that he sends trading tips to. This is usually a massive Red flag for me. If you’re making a $100 dollars trading (for example), but you’re also making $1 on your subscription side hustle… and maybe some money in ad revenue off off your channel… why… eh… do you bother with the Subscription stuff and the Youtube. The economy of effort doesn’t add up.

In any event. He espouses a very aggressive style, bets the farm and lets his trades ride. Something I’ve taken a stab at this week. With clearly not-great results.

I can’t decide which picture is worse. (or better, if you’re measuring it on its disturbia)

*shudder*

Today its back to what I’m reasonably-okay at. That’s not to say his ‘system’ isn’t right for some peeps. Maybe it is. For me its just banging a square-plug into a round hole. Just stick your knitting right?

Of course now I’m down for the week already… which is an added layer of pressure in the performance department. And that sometimes doesn’t work out well for me. *has a sudden flashback to one particular hot… but very mean ex-girlfriend* (Ha, ha, she triggered such a bad bout insomnia that at one point I actually thought I was going to die)

I’m pretty sure there is a German-compound word for memories that come back to haunt you on a random Friday morning.

I’ll probably be okay. Margret Thatcher naked on a cold day.

Which as mantras go… probably belies your age (more than anything)

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