Tim Barrus Blog
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Tim Barrus: In the Thick Dust Our Village, the One Convicts Scratched To Salt, and From It Corn Whiskey Trickles Down the Logging Road
The one thing we know is that the death of light has turned inside out, and the riverbed changed the diversion of sound, sight, and memory. Time itself was another Irish priest slipping beneath a little boat that carried the vaunted authority along in scant excess among the vultures because…
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Tim Barrus, New York Times
Composedly Trembling
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Tim Barrus: New York Times
Poverty is the sterility of survival.
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Tim Barrus: Scratches In This Story Are the Story
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Tim Barrus: The Man Who Would Be a Box
Everyone I have ever met all around the entire planet lives in a fucking box. Time will take you out. Cups carried bends in the plan. I put his fingers in my mouth and warm spit and I sucked this life on the outside sings like the bike is all…
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Tim Barrus: Secrets Are Illegal
I live out of one bag. People can barely believe it. I am not telling Other People (Hell) what to do. Frankly, I don’t give a fuck what Other People do, think, sliced thin on the night shift.
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Tim Barrus: The Night Descended
I don’t really read anything. I look for patterns. Colors speak to me. I beg 4 forgiveness. Cloaks. Daggers. Fast food. Eloquence. Reconciliation’s recompense 4 my demon wickedness. Wrong motel. The moon itself remains dangerous. I need some of those black garbage bags. The uneducated do not have toothpast like…
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Tim Barrus: Sex Cures Cancer
There are no wizards. Just old fat white men and the afterdeath.
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Tim Barrus: The Memory Box Is Empty
The Memory Box just like the dinosaurs gave way to the nuance of the unhinged.
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Tim Barrus: A Sea of Red
The idea that something called the Vagina Police can be empowered to require women to have examinations (this means men) is a game-changer. The National Sex Police will be looking for churches (how hard can it be) where women always outnumber men. Get on the bus. The vagina archives will…