From Casey Research
An in depth interview with prominent money manager Eric Sprott.
Showing posts with label Eric Sprott. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Eric Sprott. Show all posts
Thursday, October 27, 2011
Friday, August 26, 2011
Gold Margin Raised 27% on COMEX
Bloomberg
By Debarati Roy and Pham-Duy Nguyen - Aug 24, 2011 6:32 PM ET
CME Group Inc. raised the margin requirements on gold trading at its Comex unit for the second time this month, after prices surged to a record above $1,900 an ounce and then plunged today by the most since March 2008.
The minimum cash deposit for borrowing from brokers to trade gold futures will rise 27 percent to $9,450 per 100-ounce contract in the speculative Tier 1 category at the close of trading tomorrow, Chicago-based CME said in a statement. On Aug. 11, the increase by the exchange was 22 percent to $7,425. The cost of one contract after today’s close was $175,730. The maintenance margin will rise to $7,000 from $5,500. LINK...
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Why bother with margin in this volatility? Just buy the physical metal fully paid for and aviod the stress. Eventually if they keep raising margins we will have a strictly physical market. BK
By Debarati Roy and Pham-Duy Nguyen - Aug 24, 2011 6:32 PM ET
CME Group Inc. raised the margin requirements on gold trading at its Comex unit for the second time this month, after prices surged to a record above $1,900 an ounce and then plunged today by the most since March 2008.
The minimum cash deposit for borrowing from brokers to trade gold futures will rise 27 percent to $9,450 per 100-ounce contract in the speculative Tier 1 category at the close of trading tomorrow, Chicago-based CME said in a statement. On Aug. 11, the increase by the exchange was 22 percent to $7,425. The cost of one contract after today’s close was $175,730. The maintenance margin will rise to $7,000 from $5,500. LINK...
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Why bother with margin in this volatility? Just buy the physical metal fully paid for and aviod the stress. Eventually if they keep raising margins we will have a strictly physical market. BK
Thursday, August 4, 2011
Gold is Laughing at Us
By: John Carney
Senior Editor, CNBC.com
“Gold has proven to be a superman investment. It can leap over buildings and do things that investments aren’t supposed to do. And it’s laughing at us," I explained.
A more analytical take can be found today at Zerohedge. If you love charts, you'll love the post. Here's how it wraps up:
"As a percentage of assets, gold ownership remains negligible vis-à-vis assets such as equities and bonds. Ownership of gold is likely to be less than 2 percent of global investable assets. This is in marked contrast to the end of gold’s last bull market, when gold and gold stocks accounted for over 20 percent of global assets.
Gold remains badly analyzed, under-owned, and under-appreciated. This will change in the coming months and years, when the importance of gold as an investment and currency diversification and as a store of wealth is appreciated again." LINK...
Senior Editor, CNBC.com
“Gold has proven to be a superman investment. It can leap over buildings and do things that investments aren’t supposed to do. And it’s laughing at us," I explained.
A more analytical take can be found today at Zerohedge. If you love charts, you'll love the post. Here's how it wraps up:
"As a percentage of assets, gold ownership remains negligible vis-à-vis assets such as equities and bonds. Ownership of gold is likely to be less than 2 percent of global investable assets. This is in marked contrast to the end of gold’s last bull market, when gold and gold stocks accounted for over 20 percent of global assets.
Gold remains badly analyzed, under-owned, and under-appreciated. This will change in the coming months and years, when the importance of gold as an investment and currency diversification and as a store of wealth is appreciated again." LINK...
Friday, July 29, 2011
Times Redux
From a client who would make a great writer:
Times Redux
Something I'd written earlier, perhaps in another lifetime--they seem to pass by so swiftly. Perhaps apropos to the madness that confronts the sane:
I've had much time lately to think, slicing and dicing the economy, watching the latest movement of this financial index or that, trying to find the meaning within the meaning of words uttered by too many CNBC liars who utter words which purposefully have no meaning--which hence become so meaningful.
The news, when not so blatantly manipulated, comes across as drab and dreary as the dusty shuffle of soldiers in defeat.
We try to find our economic heroes--our doctors of digits and decimals who can rearrange the numbers and orchestrate a cure, stamp out the sickness with spitting needles that pierce a body too sick to move after a binge of greed and over-consumption--but there seems to be a glut of experts, all prescribing pills of different sizes, shapes and colors. I have to escape it all sometimes.
Recently, I took a walk with some new friends along the Detroit River, on Riverside. Horses and apples. Marble and metal. Plants that can spell. It was fun, and kind of sad, too: We're getting older, we understand what's happening around us.
We paused at the rail, looking across the river at Detroit, it's shining cityscape hiding the rot that eats it from inside.
An old man was there, not part of our crowd. No one paid much attention to him. He sat alone on a bench, muttering quietly to himself, watching the river as it flowed serenely toward Lake Erie. His clothes were dark and heavy, ripped and soiled. He looked to be in his mid-sixties, with a lined and weathered face the color of old wood just before it turns grey.
Evening approached, and a comfortable lull had settled over our group. The old man was still there. Slowly, so as not to startle him, I walked to the bench and joined him. From where I sat three feet away his odor was strong, as if his armpit held the mystery of a mollusk dying on the sand.
Under his breath, I could hear his words. They were spoken in a low and gentle voice, almost melodious.
"Water sparkle, don't you know. I know the water. Everyday day it speak and shine. Jimmy know. Birds fly, and fishes crawl under the shine...June, December, all the same to the fishes." He fell silent, working his jaw as if chewing something.
"Is your name Jimmy?" I asked. He seemed not to hear me.
"People smile and cry like sun and rain," he said. "Damn angels don't care for Jimmy. Clouds fall and they all cry for Jimmy. I know. Jimmy know."
He turned and looked at me. I noticed his eyes. They were an almost feline blue, really that startling. Unreal. But he wasn't looking at me. He was looking way beyond me, at a universe with a population of one.
"Bird flap, then steal the fishes. Like little clocks."
He turned his gaze back to the river. I slowly rose and rejoined my friends.
I'm sure that Jimmy wasn't scared. Not anymore. Not like the people in Detroit. Not like me.
Detroit is where my sister lives. Professor at a Michigan University. Absolutely clueless. I've tried. The tenure teat is too strong. Obama will cure all which ails. So it goes.
My wife and I may be closer to making a move in the PM arena. Take care, and God bless you and yours.
--Anonymous Client
******************************************************
Rather poetic that GM headquarters is now downtown Detroit. BK
Times Redux
Something I'd written earlier, perhaps in another lifetime--they seem to pass by so swiftly. Perhaps apropos to the madness that confronts the sane:
I've had much time lately to think, slicing and dicing the economy, watching the latest movement of this financial index or that, trying to find the meaning within the meaning of words uttered by too many CNBC liars who utter words which purposefully have no meaning--which hence become so meaningful.
The news, when not so blatantly manipulated, comes across as drab and dreary as the dusty shuffle of soldiers in defeat.
We try to find our economic heroes--our doctors of digits and decimals who can rearrange the numbers and orchestrate a cure, stamp out the sickness with spitting needles that pierce a body too sick to move after a binge of greed and over-consumption--but there seems to be a glut of experts, all prescribing pills of different sizes, shapes and colors. I have to escape it all sometimes.
Recently, I took a walk with some new friends along the Detroit River, on Riverside. Horses and apples. Marble and metal. Plants that can spell. It was fun, and kind of sad, too: We're getting older, we understand what's happening around us.
We paused at the rail, looking across the river at Detroit, it's shining cityscape hiding the rot that eats it from inside.
An old man was there, not part of our crowd. No one paid much attention to him. He sat alone on a bench, muttering quietly to himself, watching the river as it flowed serenely toward Lake Erie. His clothes were dark and heavy, ripped and soiled. He looked to be in his mid-sixties, with a lined and weathered face the color of old wood just before it turns grey.
Evening approached, and a comfortable lull had settled over our group. The old man was still there. Slowly, so as not to startle him, I walked to the bench and joined him. From where I sat three feet away his odor was strong, as if his armpit held the mystery of a mollusk dying on the sand.
Under his breath, I could hear his words. They were spoken in a low and gentle voice, almost melodious.
"Water sparkle, don't you know. I know the water. Everyday day it speak and shine. Jimmy know. Birds fly, and fishes crawl under the shine...June, December, all the same to the fishes." He fell silent, working his jaw as if chewing something.
"Is your name Jimmy?" I asked. He seemed not to hear me.
"People smile and cry like sun and rain," he said. "Damn angels don't care for Jimmy. Clouds fall and they all cry for Jimmy. I know. Jimmy know."
He turned and looked at me. I noticed his eyes. They were an almost feline blue, really that startling. Unreal. But he wasn't looking at me. He was looking way beyond me, at a universe with a population of one.
"Bird flap, then steal the fishes. Like little clocks."
He turned his gaze back to the river. I slowly rose and rejoined my friends.
I'm sure that Jimmy wasn't scared. Not anymore. Not like the people in Detroit. Not like me.
Detroit is where my sister lives. Professor at a Michigan University. Absolutely clueless. I've tried. The tenure teat is too strong. Obama will cure all which ails. So it goes.
My wife and I may be closer to making a move in the PM arena. Take care, and God bless you and yours.
--Anonymous Client
******************************************************
Rather poetic that GM headquarters is now downtown Detroit. BK
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