The Life of Edward Choice part 4

had a quick question at my office yesterday, by mail of course, nobody enters a dragons lair uninvited. And I see no Knights, only jesters around me. I invite them to my court to hold a grand feast on a weekly basis. At such occasion I laugh some, I eat some, and I devour most, of the inconsequent words presented at powerpoint, reciting information already in my hand. Of course I am the one who rather laughs than hand-feeds those little birds, chirping away all the day. If not they had their little hats and cowls in different colors to match their stupidity, I would feel it a waste of my general time... Appearances appearances!

They quiver and quiet as I stand tall at the end of the table, hammering my hand firmly to the table, nailing their facts to through every floor of the building, and down into the basement.

The Question; rather surprising, was an inquiry whether I ever sleep or not. There was even a bold statement, pronouncing me a workaholic - The word itself is degrading for one as me, into a status of mindless peon. Workaholic, please. It is not an addiction, but a function to be sure that today's society develops as you wish it. I revere it more as a sacred duty, I am obliged, nay forced to do, to uphold and with such vigor that the pillars of society shall not falter. And this is why I am not a workaholic.
Concerning sleep, yes of course I sleep, every human being need to recharge and be rested. I know that I am sometimes beyond the mere capabilities of the "common" man. But, alas, even sometimes instinct must be in upheld, and sleep must claim me, like it does any other being.

Today I woke up, as any other day, to the sound of my alarm. Unlike others I don't cuddle to my pillow, wife or whatnot, but would rather turn my body from my one man bed, sit up, stretch and go out of my bedroom. My bedroom is rather small, there is no need for the modest effects of design, which the woman imports into the bedroom to show her affectation of objects. I know it lies in her instincts, and as such so hard to suppress, where we as men, are superior and beyond design and exterior looks of a modern home. I have heard many a tales of before and after a housing is shared between those bonded between genders. The man interested on effective function of an object, no matter the looks, where the woman only desires.. DESIRES the looks of the object, second rating the effectively. Oh and some wonder why Eve took the apple, she had no desire for the function, only the beauty, the round shapes, she herself and her body wore. Desire my friends, is what she made Adam do, she made him convinced the function was to the best of both, and cunningly she trapped him out of the garden of Eden, cursing him forever to be bound by her.

From my bedroom I can walk into the hallway, which contains on the left side 1 large toilet and by the entrance, a walk-in closet. When you have as many suits and briefcases as I have, the need for storage where no folds are created expands. Such a closet meets my every need, and the function is fulfilled. On the right side I have my kitchen with an adjourning home office overlooking the streets. This apartment is not so expensive, 11 floors, and easy to get to and from. My driver arrives exactly 1 hour after I have woken, and it takes exactly 15 minutes by car to arrive at the building, and that is even with heavy traffic. My hours begin 45 minutes before the first arrival, other than the 2 at the lobby, who opens the building 2 hours before I arrive. Punctuality is important to maintain control, or in some cases, the illusion of control.

As it is Wednesday I will go to the right heading for the employee elevator, heading up to the 49'th floor - The floor below mine. It is here all the last 10 floors partake in the weekly meeting. 2 from the 49'th floor will be attending - One of them is Brian, the leadership behind a revolution against me inside the firm. Nobody really sides with him, but they have to mark their consent, as he has worked his way from the bottom and up here. He is good at what he does, predicting. I have placed him to my left, as he has the heart, but no brain, only working his way to best others, and like the first Knight of King Arthur, he will at one time deceive the firm, bonding with a new one, to be my newest competition. Easy to outsmart, maybe not in the fight, but the battle he cannot withstand true strategy. One move at a time Brian. To my right is the master of the floors, and the only other important person in this company, Paul. He stands out with his too big, black lined glasses, dark brown short hair braided to one side, a stiff shirt and red tie to match his grey pants, grey pen and black shoes. He is punctual. He requires order. It is him I trust with planning the meetings, delivering a wide array of entertainment through the day. Behind me, Beatrice will sit weighing the words on the electronic screen immortalizing the mortal persons mistakes. She will be my whisperer of any grammar mistake, I can take a cheery laugh at.


In this medieval fare today it seems we both have jugglers, lepers and the women with beard entertaining. The first jugglers pretend that the pie diagrams shows any real statistics, and lies are thrown through the room warning us of competition. As a good jester he drops his balls in the end, to my counter argument and everyone laughs and claps at my command. Our lepers, with news from the bottom floors, crawl up to the front and roll around in the dirt of their own words as I command them to begone, and with them they can take these quotes of people who needs to be replaced within next week. Sheer joy leave more people homeless at my doorstep, may they die so stronger ones can replace them. There is no room in this society for weakness or dull looking, much gloating pantomimes imitating what could be good work.

At last for the kings surprise - I heave my glass and welcome those last entertainers of the fun-fare and toast to their good luck. these metrosexual blenders, who talk until their beards start growing out again. They do prolong the words of strategy, making no true points, but still an interesting hear. I listen, and smile, knowing that there is no doomsday prophet on this day. I accept their plans as they have grown into old wise men after their dubious discussions in front of me. Shake their hand, and watch how their eyes idolize me, from top to toe. Turn off my facade slightly, giving them a wicked grin of power, before turning my back exiting with no fanfares of trumpets in my wake; Rather just the hands in my pockets, leaving them to gaze, open-mouthed, at my back, while I take my exit. Beatrice is just behind me and enter the elevator at the same time. I do not turn, as there is no need. She knows her place, this dog.

Already as I exit the elevator, I sense the time soon would come for closing this day. Hence I would be going to my office until late hours, watching, waiting for every click of the machine to tell me to do my work, so we can control in unison. I walk briskly towards my elevator, and as I raise my head in sure steps I see an unannounced visitor by Frida. She is in deep conversation, it seems, but I register her turning her head while speaking to Frida, paying the poor woman at the desk no mind.

This woman... Unannounced.. That is typical women to come and go as they please, but not in Castle. Discipline is the only works against their works of Desire. I pick up my pace, to reach her as fast as possible, this woman, wearing a red dress. I saw her the other day too! I am sure, that such a woman returning, only is ill boding. Like a ship, no woman should be allowed, at least not uninvited, that is bad luck indeed.
She is turning to leave, I am at an almost run to reach her, but in some manner she is faster than me, with her devilish movement. She is in flight out of the entrance, and as I reach it, gone with the ever flowing stream of ignorant passersby.


I walk up to Frida DEMANDING who that woman was, and she just looks at me blankly, and tells me there has been no woman in here today. It is outrageous that she can do her chitchat with ladyfriends and just ignore my orders. I told her, if such a thing occurs again she would immediately be replaced and set on the street. Then she began crying, and Beatrice went to her. Such an event should not occur within my walls, a woman crying, showing feelings. At that moment I opened my briefcase neatly. Had no other choice than take out a letter of resignation and write in her name. "There is no need of you here anymore Frida, I will write you a small recommendation, and you can go to a womans magazine and cry your tears there. This is a male firm, no tears are shed within these walls, and no lying either".
I left her with Beatrice and the letter and strolled calmly to my own elevator. It felt odd, touched by someone. Ah I saw at that time there was a fingerprint. Blasphemy!

I took out my handkerchief and quickly wiped off the fingerprint just before the doors opened, with their silent pleasing sound. Inside stood Tom, a frightened look on him today. He might have been in here since I closed down yesterday. He stood mumbling a bit and looked to all sides, most of all resembling a religious fanatic. I was in no mood to handle him too, and he was a man of work after all, my true knight. A little mental instability should be no cause of concern.

There was no grandeur in this small prodding of the poor man into the hallway, but he at least seemed more comfortable as soon as he was outside. I leaned against the cold glass, feeling the embrace of my own cold reflection, and my thoughts swam into the deep lake of mathematics, inspiring me yet again, as the elevator ascended, so did I, yet again.

Beyond any thought of man, I stood at last at the top, and would rest here in my true being.

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