Tim Barrus Blog
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Tim Barrus: The Iron Grip of Winter
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But Call Forth Thundering Or At Least Recapture It.
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Tim Barrus: The Chemistry of Decay
I have been working Appalachia Town. It’s a little cold on the bike.
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Tim Barrus: Even the Weather
I am a communist. That alone will push me down a thousand paths. I do not tell people about it. They laugh at me. Everyone hates me. I have learned that without support, you become autism’s slave. I like the phone because I can arrange the apps around how they…
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Blood Has Poured Forth Here
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U Don’t Know Fer Sher Anything About It
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Tim Barrus: Either U Have a Skateboard or U Don’t
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Your Truck Smells Like Dead Animals Watcha Gonna Do When He Comes 4U
No one ever leaves, and returns, to find the places you had left. It has disappeared. The people all around won’t even look at you. Because they remember. What they knew even as the past took you to the cancer in your eyes, and sometimes you wished you could be…
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don’t look at me don’t look at me
Even beauty forgets the scraping of the wolf wind into whose frosted windows were only half of what the Old Man, married as it were to rust. Was What Old Man. My Old Man. The Old Man with his women and his Canadian Club. Something for at night to suck… -
tim barrus: tout bien ou roen
The Ice-Flow Drifts – and one of the raw sounds – as the oppulence of drifting is not a blueprint for the future. The beaten but what are the winds to sand, seas in seas, nightship eyes, whose strength was like a lover I had, the status quo of Him…