Complexity is the Majestic - Book 2

All That You Are

Embrace all that you are because you're not stopping.

Another interesting week. Started off losing a job only to gain one by the end of the week. A door closes another one opens. You could say, at least you're up. But I hate losing. It should of been double goodness. But I'll take what I can get.

The first job was complicated. Four mobile applications, compressed timelines, strange proprietary backends- it was a recipe for a potential cluster. When you do yer own thing the first skill you learn is how to compromise yourself to stay alive. Sure you say something like "I'll never drink cheap beer!" only to realize that cheap beer is really great when you can hardly afford anything.

We avoided the cluster on that gig by not winning it. In reality I figure we didn't have a chance. The client mentioned state funding, and state officials always want multiple bids. I shouldn't of gotten my partner's hopes up too high. It was a surface level proposal though. We didn't kill ourselves for it, I kinda knew our odds were low going in.

We supposedly lost the gig over the perception of work force allocation- ie, my international friends cost me the perception issues in that we outsource, we're alien, we're wrong, un-american. Meet any rich american and he or she has an army of foreigners working for them- cheap labor, high profit, the american way.

I suck at my transparency really. But in truth, we don't "outsource" we acquired our team and they do the work.

Error on the side of audacity so you can look in the mirror knowing you gave a shit.

This was written in one of my notebooks. My words, always enjoying my words.

Stand out, cause standing in sucks.

Realizations lately. People want technology to be their friend. Do they know its cheating on them? The internet is a memory medium with no moral compass. Technology cheats by design. My phone, attempts to pick up every wifi it can find. Its not constrained by some monogamous understanding. Its literally fucking every data feed it can find, searching for compatibility.

Back to the club the mind wanders.

Staring the floor of the club in my mind, I see its simplicity. Men gather in clusters, we're not hunters, the girls are. I can see them with their spears, fanged hooked maces. Humans are a derivative of technology, engineered to reproduce by design.

Gia a relatively young new dancer complains she can't turn a trick, no dollars pouring out where needed. She and her friend started some 3 months ago, only Gia remains.

"What happened to your friend?" I question, curious.

"She talked about money all the time, we talked about money, we got mad at each other, who made what etc, got nasty..." she says looking off into the distance, not that the club had any real distance but she tried to look beyond the stage, booth and into something else. I could tell it was a sensitive thing to talk about. I gave her a hug and tipped her. Tipping her like this- will she associate it with the stripper or a payment of thank you honesty. Hmmmmm.

Girls and the rivalry. Women are likely masters at the art of war when it comes to rivals. They are hunters after all.

I see Chase on the main stage. She is a husky sexy woman. She's basically a body builder. She competes. She cut her hair, and is a dead ringer for the chick in Ghost in the Shell. Wow, never thought short hair would get me, but between that, her body and her smile and her attitude, and its wildly apparent.

Vera says people say she looks like a man. Hmmmm I could see that. Course not really but yeah I guess. Again the rivals and their complexes. Vera would testify that she has no true rival here.

My posse finds me. Girls crackle with various news, usually 'can't make a dollar' news or he said she said bullshit. In a flurry for gaggling laugher two arms hug me from behind. Vera has arrived.

"Parker.." she says, claiming me. The posse disperses quickly, each nodding to me as they leave the scene. Vera smirks with her victory. She relishes in the way she can part the red sea when it comes to me.

"I love that..." she smiles. "I love that I can show up in the middle of gathering.. mine." she laughs.

I don't mind. She's not always there and of course who doesn't like a bit of attention. Maybe a bit is all i'm due in the end.

I'm just a spicket in the end, a river of cash. Who will claim it tonight?

The club fades.

I've noticed a pattern lately.

When i'm backed in a corner, when I'm angry, challenged, questioned, my confidence races to the front, my brilliance gets shiny, my words are precise, careful, aligned. I get aggressive. I get offended, and it brings out the best part of my delivery.

Everyone wants to fight these days. Usually over the wrong thing. I see too far ahead. Not just the corner, but the valley, the curb, the winding path of fuckery. I get tired of games. My precision gets aggressive. I get short. I see justice in the wisdom that is mine. I'm arrogant. But my arrogance will make decisions faster, giving me more room to win or fail and get back up afterwards before the average decides on maybe.

Intuition is insane. Its predictability dangerous.