We are a commune of inquiring, skeptical, politically centrist, capitalist, anglophile, traditionalist New England Yankee humans, humanoids, and animals with many interests beyond and above politics. Each of us has had a high-school education (or GED), but all had ADD so didn't pay attention very well, especially the dogs. Each one of us does "try my best to be just like I am," and none of us enjoys working for others, including for Maggie, from whom we receive neither a nickel nor a dime. Freedom from nags, cranks, government, do-gooders, control-freaks and idiots is all that we ask for.
"Whoo-oop! I'm the old original iron-jawed, brass-mounted, copper-bellied corpse-maker from the wilds of Arkansaw!--Look at me! I'm the man they call Sudden Death and General Desolation! Sired by a hurricane, dam'd by an earthquake, half-brother to the cholera, nearly related to the small-pox on the mother's side! Look at me! I take nineteen alligators and a bar'l of whiskey for breakfast when I'm in robust health, and a bushel of rattlesnakes and a dead body when I'm ailing!'"
the link --nice writing over there --the poet Michael Robbins finds the blogger's crit of his work, and the two of them have a jolly fracas on the topic of Marxism. It got me to thinking about the why wherefore Marxism endures despite its clear and proven fraudulence as 'economics'. So i wrote over there, the below (slightly edited from there to here, on reread saw a better clarity in two or three spots), and now if they read it they can snort at a doofless bystander's gropings toward some explanation of the real question --not was Marx right or not, but "what the hell is he doing still around?"
I think Marx gains a lot from the human life cycle: A person studying Marx is already acutely aware of mortality, and this foundational truth reflects on the Marx economic sequence, which can be seen as a reverse allegory where a man, Capitalism, wrangles through an arc of power on a mutually exploitative space/time journey with the elements of his own self, with say, utopia as superego, the proles as ego, the plutocrats as id, and so forth.
As time limits the man, time limits Mr. Capitalism too, and for the same reasons and in the same energy/entropy declination, with a man's years and a Marxian economic system's historical inevitability being functionally the same sort of eventuality.
As Communism and Capitalism seem utterly at odds, a man (or woman of course) is utterly at odds with mortality, not so much that death is the end of life but that death is the objective of life --the clue, as so often happens in English, being in the language itself, in the facets of the word 'end'.
Marx exploits the latent and from a person's POV entirely justifiable anger towards entropy itself ('if I didn't have to know as a baby why do I have to know now?'), with this circumstance where the intrinsic pointlessness of life is at once a silly sophomore indulgence and a too-fast-becoming-explicit terrifying world-annihilating monster from the mind's surrounding swamp of innocently accidentally self-induced nihilism.
Marx created the effective barrier of words to stand between a person and --not his savage universe, but his savage knowledge of his universe --and for that Marx endures even despite the unending reality-contravention of his attempted objective science-like, word-sensible, emotion-derivations.
Marxism the organization of the everyman's barbaric yowl into the infinite void. Not a force to be trifled with, as history has already demonstrated. It does not need to make sense as economics --it's not economics.
I could go on and on, haven't broached God vs the atomized person yet so I leave a triad wobbling on the two legs Marx vs not-Marx, but this is just a comment so it ought to stop short enough to attract someone to read it.
Thanks BD --the topic does lend itself to hard-thinking --and the putting it into writing is an everyday miracle of revelation --what you don't know, and what you DO know, it all appears in the glyphs rarther ruthlessly --