Tim Barrus Blog
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Tim Barrus: Quantum Field
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Even his teeth were an apprehensiveness like loudspeakers crank it up in secrets because they are conflicted.
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Tim Barrus: The Bright Burning Orphan In The Front Row
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And we do hope to find perhaps oblivion.
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Tim Barrus: What Has Night Got To Do With Sleep
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I got lost in the hotel. It was a big hotel. Sometimes, I do not know where I am. I am not always aware of who I am, for that matter. Wearing the skin of someone else. I sat on the stairs waiting for someone to come by. Hopefulluy before…
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Tim Barrus: We Burn Daylight
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True, I speak of dreaming in the afternoon and reading out on my cabin’s tin-roof, I can stand and see the otters back again. The otters are haunted. The demented truth which cunning time assumes Say This is a cold decree rotten to the snake who lives and dies inside…
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Tim Barrus, My Appalachia
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Imagination flows now, a great constancy and the beggermaid.
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Tim Barrus: The Palm Tree’s Name Was Romeo
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Romeo was witness to a thousand things a day in that chicken-scratch yard it seems to want to escape from Get Me Out of Here. This palm tree is the moon. I am the man in the moon. This dying house is my dying house. This book, my dog.
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Tim Barrus: If Sexuality Were As If
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If by what degree history itself represents, mainly motal armies as they sleep. Even their bones come from wounds. I have made mince meat from a strange and bitter world.
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Tim Barrus, New York Times
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Different personas. Don’t think for one second, you will not be punished. For that. There will be no redemption. I was h-i-m for well over a decade. I can hear his voice. I can touch his grief, his tongue, and none of it involved telling me what to do. It…
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Tim Barrus: Do Not Let Them Break Your Heart
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Our days there were grim. Bedrolls and the Gypsy whose someone is the cups and is after you.
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Tim Barrus: Crows Again
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The best part of that trip was Waffle House.