Paul Lojeski: In this dungeon of thick, sweating, concrete walls, in the rank stench of slaughter, traders bark out numbers while bankers twitch with every transaction, with each breath sold.
Paul Lojeski: Our voluntary killers loving the hunt far away, doing the muscle work of profit and pride.
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.