Tim Barrus Blog
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Tim Barrus: The Great American Novel
Tim Barrus: The Great American Novel
Tim Barrus: The Great American Novel
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TIM BARRUS: HOT
HOT
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Know When to Hold ‘em
Bells. Whistles. Smoke. Screens. Lawyers. The lawyers win. Americans are famously attracted to the back porch light of conflict. Google invented it. Google wrote the script. Do no harm while you strangle other trade homo sapiens engage in. Are we giving it to you now.” Yes, Google. Yes. Until you…
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Ross Douthat is Wrong
There is a tinge of bitterness here. Let the old man go. Give him in a plaque on the wall. A ribbon. A bottle of Jack. Lunch. He could knight himself. Much ado about much ado. Why. How about because it would be nice. Aren’t we the nice people. We…
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Tim Barrus on Ezra Klein
I can’t take this stuff seriously anymore. All I see are suits and suits and suits. The New York Times is the great-grandpa suits of suits. Your grandfather’s paper is still your grandfather’s paper. What one suit says to another suit. That’s always news. Not a single new idea. Some…
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My correspondence with the New York Times.
The women who act as moderators at the New York Times fit comfortably in the media and the nasty little editorial congregation that goes so far out of its way to fuck every writer they can fuck. School hallway monitors possess intelligence. Comment moderators are developmentally delayed. And they pass…
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All These Babies Are a Burden
I do not understand how anyone would bring a child into this sad and exhausted world. Some people have to have it all, when no one can have it all. The house. The cars. The kids. The job. The credit cards. Food. Food. Food. And school. And school times twenty.…
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The New York Times Is Stupid
If I see one more list from these people, I’m going to stick my finger in my mouth, and gag myself.
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Tim Barrus: The Great American Novel
A Novel Inside A Novel by Tim Barrus
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Tim Barrus: The Heat Is Killing Us
I live on a remote mountain in the Blue Ridge. We have been losing our squirrels in this intense heat. Coyote pups born in the spring can’t walk or run. Deer struggle to get up. Where I could count the number of cat birds per acre on two hands, today,…