Mr Roy G Guzmán, whose tweet appears below, describes himself as “a marginalised writer,” and an “artist and influencer,” thereby signalling to lower beings both his suffering and his modesty. He’s also, it seems, a tad sensitive:

Note the gratuitous use of white woman. Perhaps that tells us something about Mr Guzmán’s poetic soul. A sample of Mr Guzmán’s creative output, titled Queerodactyl, is reproduced in full below. But before we venture further, you may wish to grip the arms of your chair:

“Everyone deserves 8 hours of sleep,” say Georgia Tech’s branch of the Young Democratic Socialists of America.

Apparently, the students are struggling to reconcile their academic obligations with the need for rest, expectations of free time – eight hours of it each day – and their own socialist activism. And perhaps the students have a point. Socialism is tiring, what with the protests and psychodrama, and the relentless, almost daily, issuing of demands. In this case, our fatigued intellectuals “reject the hostile culture and severe working conditions that pervade Georgia Tech,” and a curriculum that is, they say, “far more difficult and demanding than is necessary.” “All professors,” we’re told, should “implement stress-reducing policies,” including allowing more absences from class without consequence, dropping quizzes and assignments, and generally making lessons “more forgiving.”

The Young Socialists also insist that the university hire more counsellors and psychiatrists, with fees for psychiatric appointments being “eliminated.” “We need more relief from the… emotional burdens of higher education,” say these warriors of tomorrow.

When I became an anarchist, I was 18, depressed, anxious, and ready to save the world. I moved in with other anarchists and worked at a vegetarian co-op cafe. I protested against student tuition, prison privatisation, and pipeline extensions. I had lawyer’s numbers sharpied on my ankle and I assisted friends who were pepper-sprayed at demos. I tabled zines, lived with my “chosen family,” and performed slam poems about the end of the world. 

In the pages of Quillette, Conor Barnes, a woke apostate, recounts his time among sad radicals: 

Radical communities select for particular personality types… They attract hurt people, looking for an explanation for the pain they’ve endured… However, radical communities also attract people looking for an excuse to be violent illegalists. And the surplus of vulnerable people attracts sadists and abusers ready to exploit them. The only gate-keeping that goes on in radical communities is that of language and passion—if you can rail against capitalism in woke language, you’re in…

Abusers thrive in radical communities because radical norms are fragile and exploitable. A culture of freewheeling drug and alcohol use creates situations predators are waiting to exploit. A cultural fetishization of violence provides cover for violent and unstable people. The practice of public “call-outs” is used for power-plays far more often than for constructive feedback… Having somebody yell at me that if I didn’t admit to being a white supremacist her friends might beat me up, and that I should pay her for her emotional labour, was too much for my ideology to spin.

You can imagine my surprise.

Update, via the comments: 

“Are you willing to die for YouTube shit? That’s what’s gonna come, man. Death is coming to you, dude. Real shit. Feel that energy? That’s why your heart’s pounding.”

At an Antifa gathering in Seattle, Andy Ngo makes new friends.

“I’m known to do this shit for real,” an antifa protester said to me. “Are you willing to die for Youtube shit?…Death is coming to you.” pic.twitter.com/bhK2wWkMBD

— Andy Ngo 🏳️‍🌈 (@MrAndyNgo) December 2, 2018

The clip above is from this longer video, embedded below the fold:

Or, The Orange Man Wrecked My Marriage:

By now it’s a truism to point out that the election of Donald Trump… [has] prompted a wholesale realignment of American politics. But it’s also sent shock waves through heterosexual romance.

In the piously left-leaning New York magazine, Molly Langmuir invites us to sympathise with the inner turmoil of activist ladies who are blaming their unhappy marriages, their divorces and estrangements, and pretty much everything, on the continued existence of Donald Trump. There’s quite a bit of mental jungle to hack through, so bring a packed lunch:

29 percent of respondents to a May 2017 survey said their romantic relationship had been negatively affected by Trump’s presidency. And even people ostensibly on the same side of the issues as their partner have run into challenges, with the climate exacerbating or revealing new fault lines. 

Ms Langmuir introduces us to several pseudonymous couples and singletons – people for whom the merest deviation in thought has proved too much to bear. First up, we meet Kirsten:

Growing up, my parents were very liberal. My dad’s gay, he’s been with his husband now for over 40 years. That was my normal. My mom remarried a guy who’s very liberal.

Okay, then.

In high school, I also had a major drinking problem,

No. Don’t. We mustn’t rush to judge.

I was an art major at this big university…

Though, admittedly, she’s not making it easy.