Paul Lojeski: No bodies splayed out on TV, flesh torn, eyes but bloody holes, guts flowing across busted concrete, only acres of crushed, empty buildings in the ruined cities of Iraq, Syria and Yemen.
Paul Lojeski: They beatin and killin dark peoples and foreigners and I truly feel bad but see I got a pass with this white skin.
Paul Lojeski: Once more, the living dead have risen to steal the beaten, bloody land, to plunder history, to despoil the one true mother for coins and capital, for power’s poisoned love.
Paul Lojeski: This unfriendly winter, especially dark and rough heralding in, as it will, a change in kings: one quiet, suave killer replaced by a loud, fist-swinging would-be-thug emperor always yelling, threatening blood curses upon his enemies, any wicked souls who dare disagree with his sour bloviations.
Paul Lojeski: Anger strangles light before those cursed eyes like red lava smothering warm hearts, the hate they hold tight in soured souls their guiding angel.