Complexity is the Majestic - Book 2

Joy

Summer is making its final moves, coming closer to the end.

Work screams from the towers of misery. Everyone is in the launch- running head first into the fall quarter, gotta get the product out and so goes the story of startups.

Its been an experience my first year working for myself. I've always worked multiple jobs in parallel, mostly cause thats just how it worked out. But this past year is of my own design. I've learned a lot about what i'm good at, what I suck at, and just starting to see how I resonate with those around me.

Karma and the universe make for odd bedfellows. They continually teach me things. Karma is a constant, a concept I really didn't call out by name until the past few years of working with risk, chance, and starting up started to form a pattern around me that I could see. The universe is another concept I rarely wondered about but now refer to often. The universe is always there, looking out for you.

I've been re-watching Mad Men lately, its exquisite- makes me wanna get out of the software business and get into the advertising business. Advertising would be love #1 for me really, I didn't really know what I wanted to do until I was 30 I figure. Then I felt the door closing as too late, but maybe better late than never.

My eye for appreciation grows. I get more subtly. I see more beauty. I see more despair. I see more.

In the episode Jet Set, our focal character Don, the consummate cheater, the biggest brain in advertising, Mister Creative meets a bohemian nomad girl named Joy. She's 20, young, hot as fuck basically. She represents the lust of his universe. She's like a walking ad for Don Draper. He tries his best to deflect her, resisting himself, until she dishes out one of the greatest lines in the whole series.

"Why would you deny yourself something you want?" she says.

Fucking Joy. I love her forwardness, that utter confidence in approach, stating the obvious and reading him like a book. I long for that engagement, that direct slice thru the noise. Luckily Don accepts the invite. Occasionally you see this in the wild, the right atmosphere to present you this moment. The club is often this experience, assuming the gals are up for the game. They aren't always.

Why deny yourself something you want. Working for yourself is a slice of it as well. Why deny yourself what you want, the risk, the danger, the promise of whats on the other side, the reward- reach, take it.

The human condition, accept it, don't deny it. I think of all the times I've denied who I am in the shameful gaze of non-acceptance. I wasted years thinking about what people cared about. Living up to some else's totem of who i'm supposed to be.

Another night in the club. Its been awhile.

Crowded. Summer is strange for club they tell me. The action is off. People stare more than participate in a willing exchange of cash for flesh. I'm a willing advisor to the horde. Follow my lead. Appreciate the beauty in play.

Joe the night manager compliments me on my new Hawaiian shirt. Its not new, its one of my oldest but in this flashing blacklight, it looks pretty groovy. I'll take that. The week has been rough and I'm breaking one of my own rules, and decide to room aka VIP after all. I have no idea where the cash will come from. It goes on the list. I really need to write those books, sell those paintings, make those payments and claw my way out of flesh born lustful debt.

I figure i'm making up for days past. I was simple before. My this is my stumble. Aren't we all entitled to a good fuck up now and then? Could this be it? Is this mine?

Aren't I entitled to a little Joy? A little Vera.. now and then?

Though.. in my own words.. entitlement doesn't scale. Just cause you want it doesn't mean it works.

My room with Vera is a blast. We're stupid together as usual. She's intensely fun. I love her playfulness. She makes me laugh, smile, and want. I feel good. VIPs are funny. They are like moments in time, some whimsical escapade, you get a taste of what could be- my mind has a blast with the sensory experience.

Then its over.

You sign the check, pay the overage fees, and go back to your table counting the things in your house you're going to sell.

The club was much more crowded upon exiting the VIP. The night has picked up. I sit ringside, right on the front lines of HELLO my darlings.

Ringside is a special place in strip clubs. Right there for the whole taking. Always a dollar on hand, I give it to gals as soon as they appear- never delaying that dollar a home. Most men don't do that. They force the girl to do a lengthy tease as if the 10 seconds is a drawn out courtship, representing the hello, the struggle and then end.

I watched Vera do laps around the main stage, looking for new souls, new conversation. Leaving the VIP is tough sometimes. But your time is over, and her time renews and she finds another. This is the girl you know, this is her job, you aren't here to socialize- you're here to fulfill your part, you read your lines, you part with the cash.

My fellow posse hello how ya'doin gals appear. Texas first, she's always cool and kind. Eventually I see Estella, I thought she was outa town, but there she is towering over people. She's like 6'3 or something, tall tall gal. She finds me and just plants herself on me in hilarious fashion. Her on my lap at ringside must of been a sight to see I think to myself. This long legged woman just uses me like a recliner. Estella always makes a splash- its like advertising to other men I figure- I'm fun.

Estella's actually quite beautiful. My original framing of her as a mean bitch has significantly faded. She gives me some of the best one liners of the whole place. She complains a bit, her man is too nice, and that has softened her up, she's not as mean as she used to be. Her and Texas confirm the prior conversation I've been having about what gals want in the bedroom- this is the place you talk about all that crazy stuff. Why ask the questions? Because i'm a talker- and these girls are bored 90% of the time I figure.

Choking, they both eagerly nod. They love being choked.

Sigh. I missed that bandwagon. I can envision it, but my wife would never ever go for that, talk about getting killed at home, its not happening. Maybe strippers are super girls, doing everything on the fullest dark side list. I think they want to be crazier than they are. I mean sure choking, I can see it. I can envision it. Women what that alpha male action. It comes out, but I guess i bottle up my alpha for special occasions or maybe I haven't met him yet- at least in the bed room.

I meet my alpha all the time in the conference room. Often a client pushes me to a point where I destroy them with the reality thats before them and risk they are too afraid to take. I lay it out, the whole business, the whole venture, from start to finish. I paint a reality so sure they shake with emotional flutters. I get compliments for my exposition of energy. I get told to be at every meeting they ever have. I become a cornerstone to their future innovation process. Morale skyrockets when I arrive, my big voice, my laughter, my assurance that THIS IDEA is next, and we will build it, and we will conquer. Thats the alpha male I know in me.

Estella gets called up to the stage and does her dance thing and comes ringside to dance a bit for the guys next to me. She is supremely sexy. I love it when a gal smashes herself down, ass up, pressing her face against the cold marble of the ringside counter. I keep a locked stare on Estella as she goes thru her motions. Never staring at anything other than her eyes, lips, her gaze of submission. The alpha in me likely loves choking them as well. Even if its only on the pages of some story.

For as much as she's alluring I can't help but wonder about Vera. Still making her rounds. I snag her for a 2 for 1 dance, my last and then I gotta split. She doesn't disappoint. Joy after all.