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.

Beatrice the Secretary

Having already described the lobby of my Castle, today we will acquire further knowlegde as to what my lair has to offer. The place that is sacred, where only the most prominent knights in my order are allowed to enter. And of course a lady, but only one to sit at my side and be quiet and condescending. Of course my side, is next to my office, we shouldn't have too much physical contact between man and woman in such a sacred place. I have to admit, of course, that I am as sacred as my office, and as such should never be defiled by any external source. Especially not gender.

As every other day I walk through the lobby, greeting Tom, who is, today, staring feverishly at the entrance with wide bloodstained eyes, in such a manner, one should think they were about to pop. Oh how I love him, and he surely has his moments. Most important of all, is that his cleaning is eminent yet another day, one should think that he never left this building.

Is that sweat trickling down his forehead? If so I know he would never accept a sickday, even if I permitted it, as I know he needs the work as much as I need mine. Today, I had dressed myself to effortlessly slip between the throng of ignorants, by disguising myself as one. Suit all dark, my blue tie neatly pressed against my more than averagely fit body, and 3 times ironed white shirt. What sheer joy there is to blend with such perfection, my Tuesday briefcase spoiled to the touch of other people, to be ventilated through real New York pollution, before returning to the clinical ever so safe environment. Of course, tomorrow, with the weekly staff meeting, I will wear my Wednesday briefcase.

Yes I walked to my tower today, because mingling among these slaves, without the use of any words, but just looks, creates such a glee. It is easy to spot the slaves from the masters. These foul looking, mind deserted spacers, who either stare blankly or look down on the pavement in a 'hurry', crying those unspilled tears inside. Those, who have all the nurture and love from their so loving wife and children, have run away from their true nature. They have run away from truth! from godhood! spilled themselves into the gutters of creation, to multiply by coital activity of the bodies, in the hope of creating true potential, that one day will rise, as I have done.

Those thoughts repeat themselves to me over and over, as I walk to my elevator along the majestic floor, and use my key to summon forth my sun chariot, ready to bring a new dawn to those who still walk in shadow and darkness.
As the doors open I see in the mirrors now surrounding me, a glimpse of the basement parking lot. But with a blink of my eye it was gone. I stop in with my usual straight looking true fact, A grin to match my suit. Oh how the sun shall rise today!

In my praising of my own selflessness to help those lost sheep as the sheepdog I am, there is room to exclaim a "Hallelujah!" and clap together my hands, turning around, to face the exit of the elevator.

The soothing sound of a ping, as my destination on the top of Mount of Olympus have been reached, here I can control the weather and ways of man undisturbed. Or almost at least

In front of me stands Beatrice. A woman, in her late twenties, wearing a long skirt and loosely cut shirt by my recommendation. Letting her shed any light on bare skin would create chaos in the order of work. I have of course hired her for the looks, not for myself, but for my underlings, so I can maintain the image of control. Her body is more than averagely shaped, the female lines marking a well developed woman. Even in the modest clothing I have forced upon her, the skirt is a tight fit, while her top just lightly touches the skin of beneath in the swirling wind as she strides with power to show her status in the firm. She tries, as all devious women would do, to woo one such as me, but I am incapable of desiring anything but my work, much to her obvious regret. I can see it of course, but maintain my fake smile to at least cheer her with that. Bad morale is bad for company, and in the end I would have to fire her.

Women who work, should always be a face of the person who hires them. She is not stupid, luckily, and accepts the minimum wage for women with a neutral true face always ready to do my bidding. She is my desk cleaner, and all the paperwork and indexing is at her hands. Also, she is the one who takes the elevator down on Tuesdays to collect the weekly reports from each of the last top 10 floors. I greet her with a nod as she, on just the right time steps by me, trying to brush lightly against me. I do as I always do, and dodge her in my own powerful walk along my red carpet. I never talk unnecessary to this woman, and my speaker is never used. She has got her orders, and always follow them from one end to the next. It is part of an automated system, where she is my necessary robot to assure everything along the clockwork is working correct. For that I appreciate her, for her instincts as I woman, I loathe her. She must learn to control, if she wants to be in control, especially for us, the masters, and not the ones bound by masters.

The elevator doors closed behind me, and screeching noises as nails clawing to escape, followed the lift downward. I took at slight look behind my shoulder and shrugged. Nothing like mystic sounds of panic caused by inferior beings. No need to be in such a heat, but I have animals who tend to do unnecessary courtship for bonding of the opposite gender.

At last I stood in front of my sanctuary, which none of you shall know of.

Yet.

 I open my mahogany door and step into the lounge giving the full panorama view of the world below and above.

Here I am Being Supreme.