Letter to the Bank #72 (Being Jacked and the Beans Talk)

Dear my very own (all mine I tell you! Mine! MINE!) personal, assigned to me, focused on me, concerned only for me and my particular situation vis-a-vis...money—Mr.Bullrider, my Bank Manager,

Guess what? I’m uncovering vats, hoards of letters I’ve written to you over the past few years that never saw the light of day. Writing to you became an obsession, one I might add that has worn off of late as the wisdom, brilliance of my magical thoughts on finance become common currency. What is remarkable is how relevant the same things stated over and over again remain! Each letter more or less repeats the essence of the previous one only in a slightly different way. Writing them feels like polishing and organizing the arsenal so that it will be ready the day we need to bring out the big guns—the perfect sentence that says it all—that sort of thing. I’m sure you’ve missed them so here goes—one such letter with some spontaneous additions. More to come later:

“Dear BM,

Just to be clear now—it is not your piñada I’m bashing when I get all vitriolic and mad at the banks. I’m the first to admit to a terrible habit of conflating all institutions and/or individuals who make obscene amounts of money using cruel, sharp and vicious financial instruments and outrageous numerical methodologies. Smells like middle aged angst! I’d suggest that is perfectly appropriate on the 20ieth anniversary of Nirvana’s Nevermind.

I’m all too inclined to roll the whole kit and caboodle into one big bundle: The Banks (commercial, corporate, community), Wall Street, Hedge Funds, Mortgage Brokers, I could go on and on and on. To me they are all Bouncy Bankers. They all started with somewhat imaginative career aspirations as chemists, philosophers, dancers and even poets but then saw no money (anywhere—not what they’d cal money) so switched to finance and gleefully fell into that big black hole where greed festers and white swans never see the light of day. In that underverse they thrive! They even float. Indeed they fly. Pop them they patch themselves back together with ease. Bash them with your pitchforks and clubs until all the candy falls out, they’ll still find a way to syphon it all back in and fly. Their balloons cannot be popped. They may wobble but, as I have noted before, they will never fall down. The basic assumption is that somebody has to handle the money preferably an expert who can make it grow. These days these magicians will not give you magic beans for your scrawny cow. They prefer to throw the beans through the window and reap the rewards to be found in the giant’s castle for themselves. They might lack the courage or the cunning but they don’t need either. They have massive unregulated instruments to work with, financial tools so big they can even make a giant feel small and, because they are unencumbered by scruples, they can come at him from behind and stab him in the back with small print that proves the chicken that lays the golden eggs belongs to them and take everything. Criminal right? They argue before Congress that they are being unjustly maligned. They look aggrieved and are affronted by a public that fails to comprehend the burden they carry but somehow the pain in their eyes carries no weight.”

Again I should stress that as you are my bank manager I keep coming back to you and I trust (as I must) that you are one of the sensitive ones. Why else would I trust you with my finances, you who are in essence the mortgagee of my children. And why else would I share with you my magical financial thinking?

Sincerely,

Kristian Witherkay