When I walk past the storefront
I catch wisps of teatree oil and lavender.
In Austin that’s the smell of money
laundered through hippie recuperation.
Here the bourgeoisie want you to know
they’re cool. They’re just like you.
They walk and talk and eat food
just like you. They like the bands you like
and they eat at food trailers like you
used to before the rent ate up all
your expendable income.
(but they don’t tell you their food trailers
are small plate artisanal eateries.)
In the early oughts you could live here
on $10/h. If you didn’t care where you lived
you could get a 1bd for $450.
Then people with money found out this place
didn’t suck, and they made sure to make it
suck. hard.
You see this all over.
San Francisco, Portland, Seattle, Nashville,
Minneapolis, Santa Fe, Madison, DFW,
San Antonio, etc.
Moneyed people see something authentic
and beautiful
and they synthesize that energy into some
vile capital slurry that feels like
a Disneyland edifice of a real, true thing.
There are a few enclaves where the tendrils
of capital haven’t tainted everything.
There are viable cultural happenings.
But I won’t mention them here
in case the bourgeoisie are scouting
for their next spoilings.
For now I have to pretend I like the smell
of teatree oil and lavender.
I have to pretend the bourgeoisie are like me.
I have to let them appropriate the authenticity of
the proletariat, lest I ruin the party for everyone
and find myself in the place
where a job can never happen
and nobody will let me snort their coke.
