ROUGH DRAFTS FROM A CHEAP HOTEL

The Gilbert is around the corner from the Wilshire Country Club. I stay at the Gilbert when I have to. Although I hate Los Angeles. This place with it’s fetish for concrete soaks up the sun, and the starring performance is a radiant heat that pulsates inside your eyes. I…

The Little Bitch Was Miss Sugarnut

I had been his teacher. Just fuck me. It was a small farmer town Farmer Town. We never were the boys on farms. The whole dog and pony show. Stop. Backup. Tony Lama’s. You mean, what happened. No one knew. No one knew them, and they had no identification. They…

throwing rocks

Yes, it’s only poetry. Poetry is an only child. I know the text is too small. Stop reminding me. Obviously, i have failed at dealing with the Homo sapiens again. What I want to know is when does it all end. Where are all the naked old men with long…

still, he does have a gun in your mouth

The Red Army and you are the diva of the whiskey pool table times ten. You said you knew what you were doing. We are so much past that, now. No one knows what they are doing. Not you. Not me. Not French TV. The Old Incarnation Ritual. And then…

Going Rogue

fellow travelers

A Tour Through a Pandemic On a Bike. Protest to Protest. City to City. Riot to Riot. America Is a Culture in Crisis. I have no idea if this is fiction or nonfiction. I have RAVNHPB4. One Of The Symptoms Is Neurological Hemorrhagic Dementia. Internal Bleeding Of The Brain. I…

Maps Are Us

I Could Read Him Like a Map We all have one. A map into our ideology. A Map into the easement of a nonpossessory piece of property that one man holds, and another man holds, but not really.  A rag-eaten shawl as map of skies and skies. Moths and graveyards.…

Going Rogue

The rumors of a great impending darkness were overplayed. The numbers of Homo Sapiens who now lived on the planet plunged just like everything that failed all of it, all of it, every death from every plague. What could possibly come back for you to sleep inside yourself.

Deranged In The Wire Trap

After all of this, I came inside the slog of a tent to sleep. Hug My toes.

presque endormi

Going Rogue:  A Novel Tim Barrus

Kansas

Necromancer

In Going Rogue, I’m writing some about how as a writer, comments are the only thing I am allowed to touch. It’s the comments that facilitate such publications as the New York Times to become more than a publication, but now we dabble in social media platform. Because those of…

Every Universe Has a Twin

There was a barn. We could hide there. He would come looking for us. He would have his whip, his ropes that he would tie you with. He would strip you. Then, he would rip your flesh clean off your back. There was nothing he could do to make it…

SKIES AND SKIES

The sunrise of the animals and whose human tongue of languages we tell the dream stories not unlike a silver chevrolet outruns the cops playing let us just stand here with our cocks in our hands whose ceramic bones are shattered at the ends of skies and skies. One of…

Mojave Motel

I never knew him to not be armed. Heavily armed. His “the Life” guns were the Big Girl guns that were always on sale if you wanted to go that high which was kind of ridiculus because now you were in the territory where this shit was kept that could…

U HAVE CLAIMED WHAT WHAT DO YOU HAVE A COVEN MEETING TONIGHT

i know all the fucking secrets the poor down the dirt road are running out of wood again they are hoping for an early spring it’s cold today it never freezes in the how cold is it cold as a witch’s tit mother’s arthritic hands moved like bats and their…

Everything I Own Fits Into One Bag

I do not want a house. OMFG. Never, ever. What would I do with a house. I live on the road. The bag is packed at all times. The house I live in does not belong to me. My vehicles are stolen. What stolen. Stolen stolen. I am still teaching…

My Ass Was Jesus Numb

Riding long distances on a dirt bike is kinda crazy. And… And nothing. We stopped at a church. It was more a ruin than a church. My VaVaVoom. We collapsed on two wooden pews. “People still come to church.” Andrew is observant unless his dick is hard. “Yes. People still…

Bolivia, We Were In Bed Again

Excerpt: Going Rogue      Bolivia      We were in bed again.      I was on my phone writing comments for the New York Times. Juanita wanted to know why I was typing on the phone and what was wrong with me. “You are always doing that. I don’t even know what the New…

The Four Seasons

GOING ROGUE The private sun was slipping quietly across the private timeline of the bed. The space-time sex-continuum. This would require emergency room service. All Georgetown beds have a timeline. All covens have a timeline. A private timeline with a private jet to whisk us all away. The Four Seasons…

Tim Barrus, the New York Times

DC was not my riot. We joined Antifa after a close friend and I were chased down by what appeared to be soldiers who were shooting at us. Portland was a war zone. I cannot say that they were soldiers, they had the drag, and guns. We didn’t stay long…

Going Rogue

We felt pretty safe hiding out at Samuel’s because Samuel, himself, was hiding out. ICE really wanted to bust my fat white ass. At least, that’s what Samuel said. I could never tell if Sam was holding all the brick walls up, or if the brick walls were supporting Sam.…

Tim Barrus New York Times

I am one of the people Ross Douthat condemns. I have attended protests. Ross feels those demonstrations should never have happened. “…protests go forward amid a pandemic was justified by redescribing their motor, antiracism, as a push for better public health.” I haven’t heard that one, but it sounds right,…

Going Rogue

Post-apocalyptic cultures are supposed to be the products of fiction. Failed states. Failed people. Failed economic structures. Failed religions. Failed institutions. Failed individuals. Failed public policy. Or all of the above at the same time.

Back On the Chain Gang

Photography Riding Shotgun From the Back of a Bike While Waiting for the Storms to Pass. Oohhhh, I see the pictures of you…