When people who aren't Banksy are the subjects of investigation, and often spending time in jail for their trouble, what possible benefit is there for us to know the real name of Banksy?
Some of us are old enough to remember Portland Bottling inviting rattlecan artists to fill the back wall of a building on NE 12th Ave.
"TRUST JESUS" guy in Portland evaded capture for years, and the "IN BOB WE TRUST" person was never caught.
Nobody was mad when The Wipers graffiti popped up. IYKYK.
Your regular reminder that Powell's Books is owned by a real estate speculator who only tolerates the bookstore.
No qualms at all about shutting down the Henry Weinhard brewery when developers came calling.
We haven't even discussed the anti-labor nonsense.
It's okay to really enjoy what is left of the Powell's experience, but it's important to understand the long game.
Some of us are old enough to remember when the bookstore was still obviously a converted car dealership.
Hearing the rain coming down in buckets and sheets for yet another night. Thinking about how Portland has never really figured out housing.
A few days before the atmospheric river paid us a visit, a person transitioning from living on the streets died of a fire inside their tiny abode.
Remembering Vanport and the flood of 1948.
Thinking about houseless people in this downpour who didn't hear any of the magical thinking nor the wishful pronouncements of a spreadsheet cult.
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