Scoundrel Time

My First Friend

Drowned. That’s how I liked to think of my parents. Ironic, as they were competitive swimmers. But this was how I imagined it. I am four years old. We are vacationing by the Caspian Sea. My grandparents are...

Neo(Trump)ologisms for 2017

  1)    Trumpe l’oeil: When you can’t believe the shit you’re seeing. 2)   Trumple: To stamp all over with the jackboots of ignorance; e.g., “The reporter was thrown to the ground and trumpled.”...

Dispatch from Mexico City: On the Relación of Cabeza De Vaca, from Coyoacán, 2017

Such is my axis in the Theater of Space-Time: On this mid-January day of 2017, Donald J. Trump has just been sworn in as the 45th President of United States, to the uneasy consternation of every Mexican I...

Holding the Blue Line: Dispatches from a Swing State

  Roanoke. Population approximately one hundred thousand. A small city nestled at the foot of the Blue Ridge Mountains. An island of blue in an angry sea of red. The Democratic Party of Virginia’s...

“In the increasingly convincing darkness / The words become palpable…" —John Ashbery

“Let us go forth with fear and courage and rage to save the world.” —Grace Paley

Subscribe to Scoundrel Time

Please sign up for updates here.


Thank you for helping artists keep the scoundrels at bay.

Scoundrel Time, Inc. is a 501(c)(3) organization. We welcome your tax-deductible donation.

After the Election, in a Semi-Barbaric Land

After the election, I stare at a door. What’s behind it? Scylla? Charybdis? Maybe a tiger. Or else, a tiger. After the election, witch hazel, stubborn, electric, bursts yellow over Wolf Creek. I’m too sad to get drunk. Gold needles tumble all day...

Any Humans Here?

Earlier, in a bar on La Brea, some kid had stared him down. Six-thirty on a Wednesday, not quite (not yet) the dinner hour, and rain flecked the small square windows of the place in dots of light. He’d been with an old friend, small mercy of the...