That said, perhap Poetry and Theory Since the 1930s was not the best choice of course for me. I have been sitting in Reckers for almost an hour, reading two pages of Karl Marx from The Grundrisse (nope, no idea what it means) over...and over...and over...and over. I haven't felt this stupid in ages. I am not a fan of this feeling.
Thing is, I don't think it's really a reflection of my intellect that I can't understand this piece of work. I don' t mean that I'm brilliant, though I am in many ways. Mostly I mean that this man's grammar is so awful that I have no idea what he's talking about, not because it's difficult subject matter or illogical argument, but because I can't see which verbs go with which subjects or objects in which senteces. AND MY GOD, THE SENTENCE FRAGMENTS! It's bloody ridiculous, is what it is. I wouldn't pass Marx in ENGL 111, let alone allow my life to be influenced by him. Honestly, I think red is the color of communism because of all the corrective marks that must have appeared in the drafts of Marx's various papers and manifestos.
Then again, it's probably the translation that's doing it. Perhaps in the original language, which I think must have been either German or French (I'm leaning toward German, due to the title of the work) sentence fragments are a sign of unplumbd intellectual depths. Right now, though, they're plumb pissing me right off. Almost to the point where I might have to go buy a lamp, just so I can have one lightbulb moment today. And I still have another 65 pages to go before I can go to bed. This sucks.
Remind me of this moment the next time I talk about how little work I have to do, or if I ever--EVER--again mention the possibility of getting my PhD before retirement.
Song of the moment: "No Creo"~Shakira, because of the following lyrics:
No creo en Venus ni Marte
No creo en Carlos Marx
No creo en Jean Paul Sartre
No creo en Brian Weiss
Solo creo en tu sonrisa azul
En tu mirada de cristal
En los besos que me das
Y hablen lo que hablen
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