Topic: The Triangle (Read 170 times)

Do not take trading seriously. Some of them ended like this:

4 a.m. Tuesday, and the shape is finally forming. The triangle is there. I wipe my eyes, they feel watery and my bet´s they´re red, but they are not lying. The triangle is there, even if it´s taken a few hours and few Red Bulls my eyes are not lying. A sophisticated console, all the oscillators, volumes, theoretical supports, prices and correlations with the rest of the exchanges, other assets, a relentless follow-up of the markets, the news and several nights of sleep lost lead to this moment - the moment of truth - where the questions are answered... "Do you trust yourself?", "Do you have the balls to do this?", "Are U fuk*ng crazy?". And I key in the order. There is no compromise in keying the price and the amount, is there? Nothing happens when you do it, because it is still waiting for you confirmation, so it is all right. But it is the third time I say that to myself and I am no longer believing it.

I click. The click is like a 2000 decibel sound, like an mini-nuke launched inside my TFT screen lighted room, or at least that how it feels to me.

[ORDER PLACED]
...
[ORDER EXECUTED]

And triangle is now alive, while I wait for the tendency to break up or down, and drag my life where ever it goes. I am lucid-dreaming of an army of bulls wearing stupid suits of armors is pulling the Sisyphus stone up a hill while the enemy, bears carrying bags of paper lit these in fire and launch them to the bulls. And it´s been less than sixty seconds when I see as clear as a high definition 4K monitor, above the triangle, daiquiris, sunny beaches and the gift of time, with Hawaiian girls dancing, I see a couple of Ferrrari - never been into "lambos" really - and I see a rocket and a moon and a credit card built in iridium alloy that laughs as it dives in a glass of Dom Pérignon Rose in a club in Mayfair. And below the triangle there is darkness, there are half a dozen guys in gray unbranded suits, with grey unbranded briefcases filled with the scariest red marked evelopes - "LAST NOTICE", "DO NOT IGNORE", "TO ALL INHABITANTS OF FLAT 5",..  - and I see dust and pain and unforgiveness.

A drop has fallen on my keyboard. An I wonder if sweat and tears are made of the same substance because I don´t know which one´s the drop.... The triangle has broken, my life, for this time, has not. I breathe deep and close my position with a click, this time soft as the sands of the Caribbean Sea.