Robbers In the High Fortress

There once was a time when the smug patriarch actually wasn't as repulsive.
But the pressures of wealth errode shreds of morality on the sweaty nights of accumulation.
Rockefeller would blush and his tentacles didn't quite reach as far and as deep in modernity, but penetrating they were.
While socialism is painted on his ceilings, the demons of capitalism guard the doors like sentinels.
It's too easy to strike a chord of paranoia and point toward an insidious plan of complete control, but it's so apparent on the smirk across their faces. They're annointed to play that role, and a scorching performance they deliver.
The CEO's spit out words like "blow jobs" and "great piece of ass" to initiate the new company blood and send some sort of sick relation down the ladder...that's it ole boy...appeal to their unbridled youth...bring them under your wing...soon they'll be suckling the poisonous milk...etched in your image. Give them the booster-shot of confidence to swagger their way up the ladder. Grab a rung and pull themselves up. Crawling over dead bodies if they must. The self-styled sons you never had. Steaming ahead to mastery...ascendancy conquering the Matterhorn.
That tone...that tone...when you talk to her...the young professional trying to break the glass ceiling. Headstrong to go where no woman has gone before. It's funny the door you open to her to find that lighted path. That tone. Ever wonder why feminism gets hostile sometimes? That tone.
It's hard to swim in a life this shallow.
The threads. The tailor, well tipped, makes you shine. Tunnel vision. Royalty. Gordon Gecko. Greed is good, bud. BMW 7-Series. Mercedes-Benz S-Class.
Framed pictures of the wife and kids. Smiling at Lake Tahoe. Honeymoon in Tuscany. Amusing anectdotes for the dinner deal. Company cards. Ice breakers. Closers. Closers. Close it. Can you close it? He can. Can't...can...can't...can...which are you?
Plaisantez-vous?
Cave dwellers eating by candlelight, scratching fingers to the bone, melting their brains, throw a smile from ear to ear when you walk by. The octave of the voice rises when revelling tales of weekends in which you have no care.

"How are you doing guy?" "All things considered?" "Well when you're not too busy hitting your budgets, we should hit the course." "Oh................well it's not for everybody I suppose."

My cigarette cherry burns as white hot as my malcontent and aversion. Luckily, the sun is out. My sunglasses conceal what would otherwise be easier to read than a warning label.

While he fingered the long stem of his champagne glass, he couldn't help but notice his reflection in the side, and he felt affectionate towards it.