My First Battle

Aaron Lozier/ October 1, 2020/ Anti-Hero, Excerpts

It was an icy cold morning in D.C. I awoke on the floor of a stranger’s basement, exhausted after only a few hours sleep which had been preceded by a 20 hour bus ride. My body ached from sleeping on the hardwood floor, and I craved coffee. But despite the physical discomfort and exhaustion, my heart beat with excitement the moment I opened my eyes and remembered where I was.


Aaron Lozier/ September 29, 2020/ Anti-Hero, Excerpts

From Chapter 20 of Anti-Hero: Memories of a Black Bloc Anarchist. It is important to understand that in my mind, our actions were not intended to be symbolic. The most common question or criticism I received from other activists was how violence could possibly change people’s minds? But I was not trying to change anyone’s mind. That time had passed.

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True Voices

Aaron Lozier/ September 29, 2020/ Poetry

voices inside my head
are just voices inside my head
forgetting this has been my mistake
again and again

Drunk Sunset

Aaron Lozier/ July 3, 2020/ Excerpts, Miles Peak

From Chapter 12, Florence The train took us to Naples, where we then caught a smaller, inter-city rail to Castalamare. From there we were loaded on to a bus that took us along winding roads to Sorrento. By that time we were completely disoriented, and it was quite dark. But the directions Paula had left us were clear, and we

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Rough Night

Aaron Lozier/ July 3, 2020/ Excerpts, Miles Peak

From Chapter 11, Bum King That night, however, my luck caught up with my preparedness. After having an hour or so of a deep, alcohol induced doze, I awoke to the sobering sensation of cold, Swiss raindrops falling on my cheek. Once awake, I looked up to be reminded that a mesh screen was all that separated me from the

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The Last Supper

Aaron Lozier/ July 3, 2020/ Excerpts, Miles Peak

From Chapter 9, Heeding the Call At the end of my meal, all that was left was a few pieces of crust on the plate, and half a glass of wine. I thought about the Lord’s Supper. I took a small bite of the crust and recited the scripture in my mind. “This is my flesh, he who eats of

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secret language

Aaron Lozier/ May 19, 2020/ Poetry

there is a secret language we all speak
but pretend not to remember
it’s easier
to just use words

narrative disorder

Aaron Lozier/ May 14, 2020/ Poetry

humans are narrative creatures
we tell stories to explain the world around us
but soon we forget they are just stories

morphic fields

Aaron Lozier/ May 14, 2020/ Poetry

morphic fields
transcending space and time
guiding monarchs to their great,
grandmother’s home
which they never knew existed


Aaron Lozier/ May 14, 2020/ Poetry

I was left the legacy of a pile of stovewood
split by a man in the mute chains of rage
The land he loved as landscape
could not unchain him