Mine's Eye Bank Letter 1

Letter to the Bank #21

Dear Banker (That is a little more personal),
You wouldn’t believe the number of letters, the piles of passionate scrawl I’ve come across of late—in my garage, in the basement, on official letterhead and restaurant napkins—that all address financial anxiety. I’ll bet if you multiply this by one of those huge numbers you’ve been bandying about, you’ll get close to the extent of people’s debt grief. It will not be a number in the usual sense, the numeric sense. It will look more like a mysterious blip on your screen, a strange sign the populace is hoping against hope you’ll finally interpret. The numbers are ambient but the feelings are very real and probably worth addressing. If you could help alleviate the distress out there, leaven the pain, you might be surprised at how much comes back to you based on your emotional investment.
If it is okay with you I shall begin sharing this rediscovered gold shortly but first you and I need to come to a better understanding. When people come to you ripping the shirts off their chests and so baring their souls I’d like for you to agree, in writing, to drop the stony face, the inscrutable smile, the professional mien and share in their grief. Let the healing begin!

Yours sincerely,



K. Citizen

DGR described the picture in the following terms: “The incident is just before Hector's last battle. Cassandra has warned him in vain by her prophecies, and is now throwing herself against a pillar, and rending her clothes in despair, because he will not be detained longer. He is rushing down the steps and trying to make himself heard across the noise, as he shouts an order to an officer in charge of the soldiers who are going round the ramparts on their way to battle. One of his captains is beckoning to him to make haste. Behind him is Andromache with her child, and a nurse who is holding the cradle. Helen is arming Paris in a leisurely way on a sofa; we may presume from her expression that Cassandra has not spared her in her denunciations. Paris is patting her on the back to soothe her, much amused. Priam and Hecuba are behind, the latter stopping her ears in horror. One brother is imploring Cassandra to desist from her fear-inspiring cries. The ramparts are lined with engines for casting stones on the besiegers.” (quoted in Marillier, DGR: An Illustrated Memorial , 108-9.).
for more on Dante Gabriel Rossetti

Letter to the Bank #20

Dear Mr. Banks,

I know credit is frozen! I know! But can you throw me a bone here? Something! I don’t mean to air my dirty laundry but it does need to be cleaned. How can I show myself in public? Surely you can appreciate my dilemma? I’m perfectly happy to clean it myself but could you see your way to loaning me, at the very least…a stick of quarters? Oh whom am I kidding? You always look good. You always look so spiffy, so spic n’ span in your starched whites or your fancy designer shirts (things are loosening up a bit these days I noticed). You guys (it is mostly guys) probably don’t even know the meaning of dirty laundry. Correct me if I am wrong.

Yours currently naked but thoroughly decent,



K

Letter to the Bank #19

Dear Banks,

Do you remember when I'd send you a letter that began: Dear BM, and you could be sure it was an expression of my affection? I came across one of these the other day and thought you might enjoy it. To me it is something of a curiosity. Is it possible that I once felt this way?

Dear BM (you old goat you),

Do you know how comforting it is to have one’s very own Bank Manager, an individual dedicated to the guarding of one’s assets, whose only concern is to see them grow and flourish? To know that any time I need you I can be sure to find you at your shiny, dust free desk (god I love the smell of Pledge), and can count on you to direct my accounts, manage my portfolios, and guide those assets to their full potential, and that you will do so with a dedicated, personal touch that is light but ever reassuring. To know that my money has been cosseted from the cradle and so will be all the way to the grave. Let me tell you nothing brings me greater peace of mind. That warm sense of security, and of trust, that I carry within me is fully shared by my family, and the appreciation we feel is heartfelt.

Yours most sincerely,

K

The letter isn’t dated but then none of them are. It is one of a large bundle I came across, each of them, believe it or not, hand typed and signed in fountain pen in that beautiful aquamarine ink it is so hard to find these days. Some I believe were sent and I kept copies, and others I know were returned. I guess personnel changed, and banks got bought up by other banks—and so on and so forth.

One thing is clear—the personal connection has been lost! But I for one will not give up! I’ll shake you by the shoulders, or pour cold water over you, whatever it takes to make you notice me once more!

Sincerely hoping there is someone home,

K