My love of Marx?

We all got the email about the books and the recommended reading to prepare for discussion this summer. I must admit that I am intimidated by the reading. You see, although Marx is a cool guy, I haven't read much of his work.

I know, you're probably getting embarrassed for me right now. Imagine how I feel. Before you write me a lecture on to the importance of his theories, you should know that I have tried to remedy my ignorance--without success. Obviously it's important stuff and it is evident that we will be discussing capitalism at the seminar. I understand.

Let me try to explain the situation. A strange thing happens when I start to read Marx. I will sit down with the text, plenty of time and optimism. At first, the reading seems normal. The words I come across register in my mind, as usual. They are not foreign, they make sense. Sure, but very soon, about a page and half into it, I enter this weird zone where the ideas and concepts pile up inside my brain, filling my head with dizziness and I loose all sense of what the hell it is I'm reading. It's like the bermuda triangle of philosophy. Now that I think about it, I have noticed a similar phenomenon when I read Joyce.

I really wish it wasn't the case but Ulysses and Das Kapital are my kryptonite! I fear the reading might require that I re-visit my old nemesis. Marx has a lot of foes but in this case it's not a result of his critique, I promise. I haven't read the guy enough to disagree with him. Alright, the excitement about tackling the reading for the Summer is tempered by me feeling a bit out of my league. I only hope the volunteer at Left Hand Books is still the guy that can go on for hours about our friend Chalie Marx. Yes, I have nicknamed Karl. I'm hoping it will endear him to me and that this will make reading his work more exciting.

Friday

I want you to get out
And make it work

to get to Oakland

Dear Oakland,

I want you. I want to walk your streets, avenues and feel your saltpeter, just barely, but definitely in my breath. I want to sleep on your floors, the floors of just-met strangers and pack books in a little backpack. Sleep next to it. I want to wake up to ramen and the noises of somebody's house. Someone I do not know, with whom I talk as though we have always wanted to know each other. Someone ten, fifteen, twenty years my senior. Someone kind.

I want to wear the same clothes as last night to the lecture in the morning. I want to end the days drowsy and tired and elated. Thrilled to be talking about the revolution in our notebooks, in our minds. I want to love your trees and trash. Your graffiti and your Ikea furniture.

Most of all Oakland, I don't want money to stand in our way. I don't want money to hold me back. I always have been last, if at all. What do I mean? I mean rice and beef flavoring for dinner. I mean $2.50 per internet article I write about dermal fillers. I mean: I should be with you! I'm belly up. Where are the hands? Who will give me one?

Okland, I am afraid I won't come to you. Our love is for the page and not the real world.

Broken hearted and yours until capitalism crumbles,

Skooler

You Going?

My name is Bajo. I'm going to be attending the 95cent skool, like you. I'm excited and really want to meet and talk with other folks attending. I started an open blog for those of who want to dialog and rant. It's just an experiment. Do you want to participate? If you do, this is your blog. Let me know you want to log on and we can set it up...