A landowner taking pride in their manicured lawn has origins tied to Marxist communism, these property owners hired peasants as landscapers, typical duties like hedge trimming, lawn clipping and planting flowers occupied their day. But it was another task which prompted Marx to take notice and begin his philosophical analysis of labor, the collecting of twigs. Instead of discarding them as trash, like instructed, workers took them home and used them as kindling to heat their shanty. Once the landowners caught wind of this activity they began removing the peasant’s fingers and arms, replaced them with gardening tools to remind them of their purpose in life.
Marx was strolling about on a sunny fall day when he witnessed a man organizing leaves into piles using a rake fastened to a stub where his forearm should be. Befuddled, he approached the man and stammering his words asked what happened to his arm.
“Mr. Rothschild took it from me…said he needed it to feed his hounds, ‘Something delicious.’ As he put it.”
Marx was gobsmacked. He felt faint and stumbled a few steps, caught his balance on a fence, bordering the Rotschild’s estate. “This…I have no words…no words…”
After he regained full awareness, set off for home where he filled his inkwell to the brim, dipped his quill in it and began writing what became known as the Communist Manifesto.
White Suburban Man grunts as he plants his hands at his sides for leverage, lifts off the couch and waddles to his living room window. He leans forward, his beer gut presses against the glass, preventing his facial features from doing the same. He surveys his lawn, salutes it and watches while a neighbor walking their dog pauses to allow the animal to piss on the lawn. He attempts to open the window to shout them off, but he’s too late. The animal is finished and down the block, away from earshot.