Take Notes. Leftists? The term is a lie that journalists use in their hypothesis of the definitional political boundaries. Those leftists. But. Who are these so-called leftists. I know this: You made it up. God help us. Who are these people. Who shakes the hand of a Marxist and says: I Am A Leftist. Who runs a leftist campaign. Who throws leftist cocktail parties. Who buys a leftist house. Who has leftist babies and more babies and leftist babies. I think I drink in leftist bats. My dog is a leftist. I catch leftist fish. I am so tired of how the New York Times prostitutes the idea of whatever a leftist is. I am in favor of Head Start proving breakfast. A little box of corn flakes. And I apologize for that. Forgive me, but I am not a leftist. I am a radical. Leftists are too vanilla, and lame as sheep. The more you make it opaque, the more it makes them disappear. I am invisible. I do not not count. Some guy on a bike, Mom. The New York Times will not allow a leftist voice. Period. You should hear the laughter when I say: you need a radical voice because we are not tolerated. All columnists get away with the word because it has no significance. No leftists. No radicals. Radicals are made, not born. Mainly those ideas are in comments. I want to be in comments because there are, real people with actual ideas. I am tired of reading suit manifestoes. I want a radical (not me) who fights (politely), and do not want anymore suits representing suit ideology. Because it lacks courage.