Paganistan: Notes from the Secret Commonwealth
In Which One Midwest Man-in-Black Confers, Converses & Otherwise Hob-Nobs with his Fellow Hob-Men (& -Women) Concerning the Sundry Ways of the Famed but Ill-Starred Tribe of Witches.
The Curse on the Burners of Minneapolis
Cursed be the burners.
Cursed be they.
Cursed be they, forever.
They really should think twice before they start setting fires in the Witch neighborhood.
In the four nights of unrest following the death of George Floyd at the hands of a Minneapolis police officer, assholes came to our city to set fire to buildings: assholes from the Right, assholes from the Left, and just plain assholes.
Cowardly-wise, they came here to do their morth-work and then ran away, back whence they came.
Well, we can do morth-work too. Hit us, and we hit back.
Here in the Witch neighborhood, we rebuild, but we do not forget. Whenever I pass the site of a burned-out building, I renew the curse.
Cursed be the burners.
Cursed be they.
Cursed be they, forever.
Their ill-work will dog them, wherever they go. To their graves, it will hound them.
There's only one way out: remorse. Remorse, and it better be public.
For we, we are of the Witches.
We don't believe in cheap forgiveness.
Cursed be the burners.
Cursed be they.
Cursed be they, forever.
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