To All Cryoport Shareholders:
As most of you know, I have moved to Banker Hill. I moved here because I was told to "head for the hills" for even thinking of an investment in a wildly speculative stock, such as CryoPort. My neighbors in Banker Hill are mostly conservative, sensible and honest investment gurus who consider CryoPort to be much too speculative, risky and irresponsible. I think most of you also know that my communications with the world below have been limited, for the past few months, with messages flown in to me by my falcon, with me as the falconer. Tuesdays and Thursdays are my regular delivery days and, this being Tuesday, I received a delivery. However, something serious has occurred this time around and I don't know what it is.
I am very sorry to announce that my falcon has become very very sick in the past few days. I am not sure what has happened, so I asked one of the intelligent, honest, conservative, prudent and honorable bankers what his analysis is. He looked at my sick bird and thought that it might have had some kind of heart attack or seizure or some sort. He leaned over my messenger, examined his beak and feathers, got up from the ground and muttered something like, “Goddam. I haven’t seen anything like this since the time I gave that Enron speech at the Citibank-Merrill-Bear energy analysts’ convention, back a few years ago. Guys were passing out at the prospects for the company. There was nowhere to go but up. Guys just Lay there, doing nothing, speechless, almost brainless and disconnected. But that was Enron. Wonder what’s going on here? This is weird. Tell me again what happened.”
So I told him what I saw. My dear falcon suddenly started flying upwards. Up, up and away with great speed and strength. He turned and turned and went up so high that he could no longer hear me, the falconer. And then, suddenly, he looked sick and bewildered, as though dizzy from the height. He faltered in his flight and came down slowly and landed at my feet. “Something was going on that I couldn’t understand”, I said. “Some revelation is at hand. I don’t know what it is. I need a healthy falcon so I can stay connected to the world from my perch on Banker Hill.”
I looked down over the Prairie below. For the first time, I realized that the animal down by the river, crouching in the weeds while moving its slow thighs, was no tiger. It was a cat. A big, smart Tom cat patiently waiting for the revelation of news, of cold facts about something. I could feel it. I could feel the Second Coming. “But about what?”, I said to myself. What is it that my falcon senses? What is it that the Tom cat knows is coming? What deep secrets shall emerge from these strange events?
AI
