I was laboring in heavy industry when this country’s brief history of shared prosperity started to fail like a piece of fatigued metal, fracturing between the class to which I was born and the one to which I...
Margaret Sanger did the first one, I was awake and felt terribly sorry for myself, then when I didn’t learn my lesson for I was dumb and hazy about how babies were made and girl, I needed love, I set up...
I drew a stick-fetus leaping in a womb—the letter O in the “pro” of “pro-life”—silk-screened it, keeping the dozens of T-shirts for show and for sale at our speaking engagements. Red, of course...
Scoundrel Time’s Robert Anthony Siegel talks to Roxana Robinson about her new novel, Dawson’s Fall Roxana Robinson’s sixth novel, Dawson’s Fall, is based on the lives of her great-grandparents, Francis and...
A sick scene of financial corruption, secret videotapes, spy rings, rigged voting machines, cocaine, political purges, easy as lies, trafficking, industrial waste, and always white supremacy —a coup— so it seems, and it is true, but didn’t democracy...
…facts aren’t the opposite of lies. Questions are.—Jennifer Kronovet Shouting, stammering, or dousing with vinegar, what can unhinge the vaults of belief? Pluto, full-fledged, is still round, still orbits our sun but doesn’t dominate its path...
1. JK The guy down below us in the valley is working his angle grinder. We are all immersed in the new kind of heat — the heat above the heat of a hot place, with dry grass bending towards the sparks, and flammable a diacritical over every letter of...
Agenda Machine Thing Mud faltered downahole halfway thru presenting (airloss lightdrain wordstick wormegg burrowing deep into screensavior) -10 sec break- skincrawl over&above turntalk beak- blurt swallow sling whatever you have to say far so...
Scoundrel Time’s Robert Anthony Siegel talks to Xu Xi about her new essay collection, This Fish is Fowl: Essays on Being Xu Xi’s new essay collection, This Fish is Fowl, is a wry, self-aware journey through a globalizing world where borders...
“I do good work,” I said “That’s why we keep you,” he said. “I’d be hard to replace,” I said “Not impossible,” he said. “The amount of work I’m doing at this level, I feel my position warrants a higher salary,” I said. “We pay you a fair market...
/invite @you You joined #lgbt by invitation from Them Them: Welcome! You: What is this? Them: Aren’t you gay? You: No You left #lgbt *** You introduce me to your Family One-by-one This is my lovely sister. This is my punk-ass brother. My perfectly...
Oh, I’m no Roman emperor. Kingdoms aren’t for me. My house is my corporation, with no room for mistakes, each outcome calculated, each cost projected, each bread loaf home-baked. Artist and statesman both was I, a poet who also played...
A hush fell over our class, as Mrs. Mofid, the principal, boomed, “What is the meaning of this?” Her voice petrified us, like the wave of the wand that turned the heroes of our beloved fairy-tales into stone. My hand, reaching for Mina’s braid...
Scoundrel Time: “[I wish I still smoked so that I could sit outside in the dark]” feels candid and personal; it flows with the rhythm of private thought and then, at every turn, unsettling meditations sizzle just beneath the speaker’s cool...
[Yes, I saw them all, saw them, met some, Richard Hell] Yes, I saw them all, saw them, met some, Richard Hell, Lou Reed, Basquiat, Warhol, Burroughs, Kenneth Koch, and it all left me feeling invisible or fucked, fucked sideways, fucked by a john who...
When I was nine years old, a woman came to our house. I was alone. My parents were at work, or on some obscure mission concerning allotments or storage units. Our house was piled with junk, which they described as temporary, just until the building...
We are overwrought and underpaid, understood to be over-sensitive, we the underlings of the overtures of overrated undertakers, overcooked and ovaried; we are understudies of our overlords, gathering undergarments to make overexaggerated accusations...
As a young child in Sweden, I was a bold, free-spirited girl; I was at home in my world. I roamed as I pleased in our small fishing village on the west coast, where I was raised by my grandmother, aunt, mother, and cousins. In the summer, I sprawled...
Jimi Hendrix Plays the Star-Spangled Banner For a Crowd of Skeletons Du Bois said there would be days like this: when we must admit That we the People have decided to abandon heroics for the sake Of something more American. We must admit that there...
January: The President taunts the other idiot with nuclear weapons. 🔪🔪🔪 🔪🔪🔪 🔪🔪🔪 I lose my wedding ring because I can’t stop taking it off and nervously playing with it due to the state of …well …everything. Husband doesn’t divorce me. Doesn’t get...
The bananas were rotting on the factory floor outside of St. Petersburg. In early October, the temperature inside the nearly abandoned building held at just above freezing, too cold for the tropical fruit. Banana skins were greying, developing dark...
Letter to the Woman Who Carried Me on the Plane You must have transported hundreds of small squirming packages from one country to another, but of course, you only remember me. I was delightful. I didn’t holler the whole way on that long...
An Atlas of Reds and Blues is a novel that spans a handful of critical minutes—as well as a lifetime—for its protagonist. As she lies in her own driveway in suburban Georgia, bleeding out from a gunshot wound inflicted by an officer of the law, the...
