Letter to the Bank #49

Letter to the Bank 50


Dear Bullrider,

Art here. That is what I’m sticking with these days, Art.

Kristian, my first name, despite being spelt with a K, feels too burdensome, too high fallutin’, even a little dishonest. Though I do put you through the ringer on all that moral stuff like having scruples and actually using them I never pretended to be perfect myself. But I am just an artist. What I do effects nobody. I can be immoral because I can be ignored. You cannot. If I mess up my finances I now understand it is my problem and the ripples caused will barely register on your radar. What you do or don’t do has consequences for everybody and these days, don’t argue, you are causing pain. I’d call you a sadist except I’m still not sure you see it. I’m not convinced it is intentional. You’re just callous, blind. I’m Art. I see all so watch it. I’m everywhere but so elusive. Just when you think you have caught up with me I disappear around the corner. Go ahead. Foreclose on me. My home is in my heart. Trouble is that is also where you’ll find my family. That is where you get to me. You hurt the children. This is why I can’t let down my guard. I might lash out. This is why I must bone up on finance. I warned you about this in my last letter because I am never anything but upfront. I’ll read “Investing For Kids”,and Money For Dummies” and then I’ll come play with you! I can’t let up but I can be lighter. Light interests me so much more than the darkness of your turgid world, the darkness I refuse to let you pull out of me.

I may not write many more letters to you because I can safely say that the only letters I ever receive from the bank are the least poetic, least enjoyable correspondence I ever have the misfortune of receiving. I had hoped you might respond with real advice. I hoped you’d make human your institutions, accessible your world but honestly we are all shut out who do not spend a quarter of our life times joylessly balancing our check books. It is only because I feel I’d be in a position to act on your conscience if (having relentlessly chipped away at your cold granite facade) I eventually find something in you I can relate to. Then I can hold you to account. I write to you as a last act of defiance, defense and hope.

My time would be so much better spent writing to the people I admire in this world, the people who truly make this world a better place. Just the act of writing to them would be uplifting. This would surely be a better use of my time.

Yours sincerely,


Art (Witherkay)