Tim Barrus Blog
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Icon
Iconography is the Jack Russell chasing its crazy tail. Stripped down to what is important but probably not to the dog. To the dog, you either feed it or you don’t. Icons seek an audience. A holiness beaten bitter by its complete failure to find a god. Anywhere. Anywhere.
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Everything is Boxes
You are not listening. You are not looking at me. The whole angry eye thing is disingenuous. Mickey Shivers tells me there are so many second selves in there, beyond your stubborn skull, the only way to make you listen is to glue your booboo to your ear. Yes, it’s…
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I Stole the Camera
I did not know the neighborhood. It was more a village than a town. 3 traffic lights. We will stone you, too. Most of my friends wound up at the wire factory. Where they all became beaten men. Forgotten men. Blue veinsd across your forehead. The identity of a stoop.…
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Rain on the River
“Rain on the River” was a huge project for any sixteen-year-old to tackle. I learned far, far more working on the film than anything I learned from a high school I never attended anyway.
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Emerges From the Darkroom
We fabricate fictions not so that the false will seem true but to tell the most salient unspeakable truths and all of this will disturb the horses. You need a new light on the door that says you are occupied in there. Code for: I am jacking off in the…
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RED
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Blue Ridge Mountains
The only way up here is you take this path or go home. I have a bunch of signs that said: Radiation Zone. Any of the horses around here will know this path, and they also know that they will be well-fed. I am getting hate mail again. I am…
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Shake Your Kitty
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Good Ideas Hit a Brick Wall
https://www.symmetrymagazine.org/article/encouraging-a-new-community?fbclid=IwAR2lRkfHZ9Lv0fnRRPOKSBMYJmRJY8nJo29vuP2MYm-rh-i2Mn_I_KnGSwQ SPED? Are you kidding me. Look around. At what we have now. It’s criminal. We are talking inclusion here. The scientists need to study a bit of history. At one point, we all thought inclusion would work. It didn’t work because no system wants to look at the symptomatic…
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This Is Not About a Cult
Bus Stations are often places of the swirling dust. Some bus stations were gas stations. Liquor stores. Laundromats. Church parking lots. Diners. He would arrive at the bench and sit for hours. No one thought that talking to his voices on this bench was odd. He had a lot of…