Tim Barrus Blog
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Tim Barrus, New York Times
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We dance a fancy dance all around the issue of deep poverty. Because deep poverty is doing its bloody dance all around us. These constants – deep poverty, abortion – beg an irony that has babies no one wants. No one supports kids in crisis anymore because there is no…
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Tim Barrus, New York Times
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I can only speak for myself. The idea that we are required to spend our lives in adulation for a court well-versed in economic ideaology. Pack the court. Make it bigger. There is no law that says the court must be composed by lawyers. And while you’re at it, give…
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Tim Barrus, New York Times
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Articles on fine dining are a bur up my ass. How many poor people are going to read this piece. Five. And they are all from midtown.
Eat the rich.
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Tim Barrus, New York Times
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I love this stuff where the act of writing remains a theology. Black Mountain is just a few miles from where I live in these same mountains. This year, the green rolling hills are breathtaking. These guys at Black Rock were the parents and grandparents of the counter culture itself.…
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Tim Barrus: Midnight Thrift
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Karma’s a trick, now. You probably should not have left me standing alone.
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Tim Barrus, New York Times
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The term – health insurance company – means a big brick wall, taller (just) than publishing tall, it’s not going to pay although you will receive. Stratospheric bills for the insurance itself, and co-pays times twenty. There are many reasons why this paradigm does not work. It’s called greed. The…
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Tim Barrus, New York Times
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Push through the air with your palm extended facing a knock-out sand of the witches’ wind. How much air did you misplace. Only the Great Karnac knows, and he’s not talking. Less than zero. It’s coming. It’s here. It will define who we are as a species. Migration is bigger…
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Tim Barrus, New York Times
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It’s all in your head. What you need is LSD. We need more LSD. More LSD. Boom boom dope. I call that hope.
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Tim Barrus: On The Way Home
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Playing along with other languages, what marks these words and separates time from the sealed boxes of etertnity and even that is audited by monsters where we petty men in the depravity of the dust bowl, depravity. Inquisition. Fate. Razzle. Dazzle.
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Tim Barrus: Dirt Bike Town
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We rode trains for fun. You run. You hop in. You hope there are would be no desperation among the desperate. Men in the car you leaped into. There they’d be. In the margins. Like shadows. Red-eyed devils. White men sunk down into themselves. Black men in a corner. Seperate.…