Tim Barrus Blog
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Memphis and the Bluez
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If I was your boyfriend. I have tried to photograph Memphis for decades. The bluez will slip secretly between your fingers. I am a failure as a writer, a lover of those jaded eyes, and I have failed Memphis as a subject. Failing Memphis is like failing love. It’s the…
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Bada Bing
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[image-slideshow: fingerprint-]
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Incendiary Comments
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Comments are not unlike Sumerian Literature. Figures embedded in clay. Or Egyptian hieroglyphics. In that these things tell the stories of the species.
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Putin Wants a Little Piece
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We get up and go to work and we get up and go to work and we get up and go to work. What would Americans do if suddenly, Putin brings up the historical reality that Russians (Fort Ross) ruled California, therefore California was part of Russia, and deals or…
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Writers Should Plan Their Escape Now
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If I was a journalist who wrote this, I would look for a quiet place where I might hide from the Night of the Long Knives. The Night of the Brown Shirts. The Night of the Executions. The Night of the Long March. The Night of Old Suitcases. The Night…
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window shopping
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Tim Barrus: New York Times
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Is Maureen Dowd Irish.
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Tim Barrus: What Is a Slaughterhouse
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The inside of a slaughterhouse. Humane. No one knows because no one wants to know. A nail in the head. These companies rammed through laws prohibiting any journalistic investigation, and absolutely no pictures. What are they afraid of. They’re afraid that if people saw what goes on in there –…
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Road Trip Swing
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I can sit on this swing and I swing (usually with the dog), not too hard. I can sit on this swing and make any number of road trips. The steller moments come after you pee. The leaves are an orchestra of disclosing the miracles, we live like wretches in…
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Tim Barrus Cabin Xray
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It’s cold up the mountain. This morning, Jump Off was covered in a white erie frost. I can’t spend winters up here because at night, it’s easily below zero. My avascular system (an extreme form of arthritis) kicks in, and I literally cannot move. You have to keep the fireplace…