Thursday, February 28, 2013

Restaurant of the Trinity

Another ailment I must suffer from, as any other man, is hunger. Not desirous satisfaction to be upheld by self-loving as well as coidal experiences. hunger for food, for survival, as long as a body needs its own drive, we must attend to it. Some, caught in their own sexual tensions would already have derived that intercourse is an actual hunger we need to let our bodies fulfill the actual purpose. That, however is not the case and I cannot point that out enough. We have reached many scientific breakthroughs, some of them even deeming the need for women unnecessary. Especially cloning and the idea of having foster parents, as in mice, where you remove the egg from the mother and inject sperm into it. The ability that we can make test tube children, is delightful. I will be able to let my genes go forth and conquer without even having to work for it thus will create an heir without letting myself delve deep into the Id, and burn up with the long diminished passion I so have neglected, some would say, for those of the opposite gender.

Today must have been the first day of the week, where no such events as earlier occurred, slowing the slow progression of my lobby, into a madhouse. It must have been the stagnant air, which Frida carried with her, that caused the slightly mad tendencies in Tom. Today I could greet him, and he even SMILED at me. In a blissful way, as he had seen an angel. That must be my true power which radiates beyond my mere human body, envisioning my closest staff to blissful life. I will have to find a woman who can work as an obedient dog, as Beatrice, in the lobby. It will be hard. My ever watchful eye in the top of the tower, has a burning clear path to Beatrice, assuring none of her woman's guile turns a revolution against me. I have not handed out cake to the poorer, but I imagine the wrong words still would put me in the guillotine, and out of this place as fast as any royal family wording their true opinions to the wrong persons. That decision must come during the weekend, where I might find the true inspiration, or in the elevator. Now is the time to get to the office.

After a long day at work I tend to go out eating, especially after a long calm day, there is none better than going out to Restaurant of the Trinity. It is an interesting name, father, child and holy spirit combined with a godly serving of dishes no other restaurant would be able to bring forth. As I am the god of this place, always lined first in any queue, the waiter addressing me by name, I would say the food is the holy spirit brought forth. My inspiration on numbers, tenfolds, goes binary and closes on itself in a collapse of fractals I cannot even start to imagine at this point. The exterior of this quite expensive restaurant, is not anything you might think it as. There is no holy trinity. The restaurant is placed in a crossing of 3 roads, a giant building inspired by Chinese in design and symmetry. inside it, every table is placed in it's own stall, to create a comfort zone for each and everyone. They have a V.I.P. lounge where several zones are fit as one, originally thought as a zone for socializing in the different circles of businessmen. It happens on occasion I find someone there and have a quick talk with them, hiding myself well under my facade, cracking his little secrets, creating yet another set of strings to puppeteer such a firm around on the great stock market.

The trinity actually refers to the owners, which are a trinity of corporate firms  funding the Master chef to hire any staff he prefers. My firm is among one of them. I pay nothing for the food, since I have direct funding into the place from my monthly revenue, a hospitable amount.
Today, a minestrone soup as first course and a great red steak as the main. I never eat desserts, as it activates our more dark sides, and desires. I do no desire, and therefore am not tempted by such. As I was on my way out, I received a receipt. Signed with a red kiss....

"What is the meaning of this" I blurted out to the waiter.

 He looked at me as he had never seen the note before, a quizzical look for anyone who just delivered such a timebomb into my hands. Already it had infected my with it's touch, and placed itself deep into the sockets of my retina as well as memory. I marched into the kitchens, yelled at the master chef, who stoof stary eyed and apologized to me ensuring that this man, this bastard of a man, would be fired immediately for his intolerance to the founders of this place.

This apology was enough to resettle my mood, for the day, and as I walked out, the waiter approached me, this time at least, not holding a note, but instead looking perplexed at me.

"A woman have been here to leave you this note" a monotone voice for such a man, but I got the idea, that the joke was on me and ignored his now empty hand automated to show me where the note should have been.

I am not a violent man, and the rage which I had had before, had subsided back into the deeper depths of consciousness where it resides. I simply gave the poor man a nod, satisfied with his destiny soon to be. On the streets of the city. I crumpled the note I had received and threw it over my shoulder to the front doorstep, before taking my walk home to rest after such a day as today.


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