We are trapped in an unhealthy symbiosis of woke overreach and anti-woke reaction. They need each other to exist. They feed each other. They function as a closed system that’s not outwardly oriented. Their interaction can’t generate new ideas, new solutions, or any meaningful action at all.

Woke and anti-woke are in love with each other but the joyful, orgasmic union they keep experiencing is sterile. They are too similar, too closely related to be able to procreate. Their pleasure is masturbatory and as such never quite satisfactory enough.

We know woke and anti-woke by different names. We can call them progressives and MAGAs. Far left and far right. BLM and January 6. Rachel Maddow and Tucker Carlson. Taylor Lorenz and Douglas Murray. The name doesn’t matter. What matters is that their passionate embrace is choking all life out of our public sphere. Their enthusiastic coupling is so loud, showy and boisterous that we are constantly duped into expecting some progeny to pop out. But there will be none. They’ll keep providing each other with opportunities to scratch the itch of outrage. They’ll keep competing who is the biggest victim in their dysfunctional lovefest. But they’ll never move on from each other.

Klara and her cousin, a boy her age, created a game that feeds both her need to take care of small, helpless creatures and his need to go to battle against ferocious enemies.

In the game, he’s an abandoned baby tiger that she brings home and nurtures. He grows into a huge, strong tiger and rips apart the enemies who threaten her.

Nobody suggested the game to them. They wanted to play, discovered that their needs were very different, and found a way to accommodate both. Adults should learn from kids how to do this elegantly and easily.

Parents create their child’s personality. Willingly or unwillingly, consciously or unawares, but they do it.

Adulthood comes when the impact starts moving in the opposite direction. Adult children (but only those who actually grew) begin to mold their parents.

On the positive side, the pelmeni family from Tuva is making N feel better about his parents.

“At least, my parents wouldn’t accept the pelmeni!” he says happily. “At least, they wouldn’t stoop that far! I’m sure they wouldn’t!”

His joyful face at discovering a family more screwed up than his is painful to see. I’m not entirely convinced his parents wouldn’t accept the pelmeni but I’m glad he’s happy so I’m not saying anything.