Tim Barrus Blog
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There Is Hunger In America
Americans want to pretend that there is no such thing as hunger in America. There is hunger in America. Not quite a skeleton. Take his shirt off. You’ll see it. It will be in your face. He will not talk to you about it. Watch him eat. Watch him eat.
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already patching memories
like a roof that leaks fixed with duck tape and bones spinning and dripping and waiting for the test results/
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Tim Barrus New York Times
Tim Barrus New York Times An Open Letter to Dr. Fauci https://www.nytimes.com/2020/06/30/world/coronavirus-live-updates.html#commentsContainer&permid=107865923:107865923 In the beginning of the pandemic, I thought Dr. Fauci would definitely become front and center as our defense against covid. But he was outfoxed by power and Trump. Now, he stands behind Trump with his hands folded…
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Appalachia That Pretends It Is Not Appalachia
West Asheville is still Appalachia, and always will be. -
The Idea of America Should Be Euthanized
The Cultural Nightmare That is America Needs to be Put Down Like a Dead Dog
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their music is a silence
today, their music is a silence which means they’re usually pissed off at something I did or said what the fuck it’s always something/ as yet a distance between who else themselves/ they are in love/ with one another/ what do they know of loneliness and my wonder at the… -
The Only Time
the only time in my fatigued, hollow-eyed life/ that i have ever felt good about or exhilerated/ to be living my life – another world for a threadbare existence – such as a gaunt survival deteriorates like radiation leaves a telltale trail of half-lives wrung out, and drained was when… -
Tim Barrus: New York Times
I am never shocked. But I am shocked to see the photographs. This is called denial. This is called Nothing Happened. This is called death. Cultural denial begins with leadership. He’s steering himself. Only himself. He’s floundering. We did this to us. We must take responsibility for it. We bought…
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For Kirk
i let you make your own films with your blondness spilling out like cum/ my cups completely full/ you and your life from underneath by moonlight sweeps and turns in whispers/ the fragile bed sullen in the tangle of your clothes upon the floor, sleep is an isolated body like… -
crowded by the sky
dragging your mind across the sawdust floor/ all your southbound ships are tombs of cries crowded by the sky/ your crippled wings are rusted, and your amputated bones have been thrown into the potter’s field of savable parts/ https://timbarrus.tumblr.com