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This Bastard
Jul. 11th, 2018 08:42 am
(The first girl I ever kissed went here. Her name was Heather but at that time she couldn't pronounce her 'r's so Heathew)
This fucking place. I think a lot about the events of '08 & '09 - how ruinous & bad they were. I was reading back, actually, here in my diary & somewhere at the edge of things I actually did prophesy 10 lean years. The ten starving cattle of your dreams, eating up all the beautiful colors of your coat. Within the last 10 years I've been factually homeless, frequently unemployed, chronically underemployed. It's been a whole actual, factual depression. Nowadays things are alright. Kind of.
I still hate to go to my parents' side of town. I hate the west side & seeing all of the buildings I kind of used to own and actually did construct - some of them more than others. Big Fun is closing & when we walk past there's a pressure to feel loss and nostalgia. I claim this is impossible for me. You can't feel this way about another shop when you've already closed up your own. I've closed up a lot of shops & today I'm thinking about the video-store as a business & how much I really liked doing it. In a way that I don't think other businesses actually appeal. Selling people leisure is... probably okay - but renting it to them? Beloved neighborhood institution - someplace everyone goes & knows & where you sagaciously can comment & help. "You'll love this movie. I'll hold this one for you behind the counter." Just knowing the people & having a kind of specific relationship with them - I don't know if there's another work you can do that has that same sensation. Maybe the library? But my experience of libraries says that most of your work is watching after latchkey kids & rousting bums.
Anyhow - I estimate that in my family's time the crisis of 2008-2009 constituted a redistribution of wealth to the tune of about $12 million from the upperest middle-class to the actual upper class. I think about that a lot, with serious anger. The main reason that it all got stolen was the equity. We were way ahead on all of our buildings - paid to their value & just a few years from knocking out the interest. So being late once or twice - the bank didn't hesitate to TAKE - because there's no loss to them, pure profit.
When the receiver is assigned - this is a person who functions as the landlord and collects rents & splits them with the owner - this is a person who is simply given these things to operate for some period of time, to profit from them as he sees fit - and this person (infamously) was knocking on my sister's door on Christmas to demand money. No one could believe it. And his credential for having this job was to be friends with bank executives. That's it. All the value taken away at once. People in similar situations who were upside-down in their loans - those people were able to hold on to their toxic properties - at least a while. But being in the black painted a target on us. That's the thing I can't stop thinking about. Mainly I wonder about which people actually had equity in their real estate investments then - or, substantial equity anyhow - and I keep coming back to immigrants, and keep thinking about theft.
But 10 years later - and can you believe I've been on the bus 10 years? And that I'm still on the bus but more or less middle-class. The bus is a raise, a big one, so I do better than expected. That's all nice. People keep pointing me to other options: "Here's a house you should buy, here's a car that's a good deal." I can't help but think about how there was a self that had that in him & how I eventually realized that the entrepreneur is in fact nothing more than a contractor for their lenders, an employee without much in the way of benefits or assurances. I get kind of mad about it too. I think often about this. In this town. I wonder if I leave it. When I leave it if I'll have another transformation - if I'll change again.
This fucking place. I think a lot about the events of '08 & '09 - how ruinous & bad they were. I was reading back, actually, here in my diary & somewhere at the edge of things I actually did prophesy 10 lean years. The ten starving cattle of your dreams, eating up all the beautiful colors of your coat. Within the last 10 years I've been factually homeless, frequently unemployed, chronically underemployed. It's been a whole actual, factual depression. Nowadays things are alright. Kind of.
I still hate to go to my parents' side of town. I hate the west side & seeing all of the buildings I kind of used to own and actually did construct - some of them more than others. Big Fun is closing & when we walk past there's a pressure to feel loss and nostalgia. I claim this is impossible for me. You can't feel this way about another shop when you've already closed up your own. I've closed up a lot of shops & today I'm thinking about the video-store as a business & how much I really liked doing it. In a way that I don't think other businesses actually appeal. Selling people leisure is... probably okay - but renting it to them? Beloved neighborhood institution - someplace everyone goes & knows & where you sagaciously can comment & help. "You'll love this movie. I'll hold this one for you behind the counter." Just knowing the people & having a kind of specific relationship with them - I don't know if there's another work you can do that has that same sensation. Maybe the library? But my experience of libraries says that most of your work is watching after latchkey kids & rousting bums.
Anyhow - I estimate that in my family's time the crisis of 2008-2009 constituted a redistribution of wealth to the tune of about $12 million from the upperest middle-class to the actual upper class. I think about that a lot, with serious anger. The main reason that it all got stolen was the equity. We were way ahead on all of our buildings - paid to their value & just a few years from knocking out the interest. So being late once or twice - the bank didn't hesitate to TAKE - because there's no loss to them, pure profit.
When the receiver is assigned - this is a person who functions as the landlord and collects rents & splits them with the owner - this is a person who is simply given these things to operate for some period of time, to profit from them as he sees fit - and this person (infamously) was knocking on my sister's door on Christmas to demand money. No one could believe it. And his credential for having this job was to be friends with bank executives. That's it. All the value taken away at once. People in similar situations who were upside-down in their loans - those people were able to hold on to their toxic properties - at least a while. But being in the black painted a target on us. That's the thing I can't stop thinking about. Mainly I wonder about which people actually had equity in their real estate investments then - or, substantial equity anyhow - and I keep coming back to immigrants, and keep thinking about theft.
But 10 years later - and can you believe I've been on the bus 10 years? And that I'm still on the bus but more or less middle-class. The bus is a raise, a big one, so I do better than expected. That's all nice. People keep pointing me to other options: "Here's a house you should buy, here's a car that's a good deal." I can't help but think about how there was a self that had that in him & how I eventually realized that the entrepreneur is in fact nothing more than a contractor for their lenders, an employee without much in the way of benefits or assurances. I get kind of mad about it too. I think often about this. In this town. I wonder if I leave it. When I leave it if I'll have another transformation - if I'll change again.
