IT IS THE PAST THAT IS PROLOGUE AND OUR LITTLE LITTLE LIVES ARE BEST ROUNDED WITH THE SLEEP OF RUIN NEVER TO HOPE AGAIN

Tim Barrus: Dirt Bike Town

THE WHOLE SOUTHERN LITERACY THING DOES NOTHING FOR ME. IT’S MEAN. NONE OF US ARE WILLIAM FAULKNER NOT BECAUSE WE CANNOT WRITE LIKE THAT – WE CAN – BUT WE ARE NOT WILLIAM FAUKNER BECAUSE WE ARE OUR SECOND SELVES. THE SELF WE APPEAL TO FOR INSIGHT WHICH IS RARELY…

TIM BARRUS: BACK THEN, WE JUST BROKE THE GLASS TO GET THE BIKE. TODAY, WE WOULD BREAK THE GLASS TO STEAL THE BIKE.

I know my thieves. They are like knowing Beethoven on any car radio or the smells of opening the doors to a grocery store you have never been in before. Thieves are like potatoes. They never fuck in church. That I know of.

TIM BARRUS: IF YOU HAVE NOT DEFINED YOURSELF, THEY WILL FIND AN IDENTITY FOR YOU AND IT WILL BE ILL-FITTING

THE POMPOUS PEOPLE TELL ME THEM OLD POMPOUS PITIFUL PEOPLE WE WERE FORCED TO SCREAM FROM THE TRAIN TRACKS THE TRAIN TRACKS THE TRAIN TRACKS I WOULD TIE YOU TO THAT THERE IS A TENDENCY TOWARD A STASTISTICAL (THIS WAS WHY I STARTED MY PHYSICS BLOG) STATE OF EQUILIBRIUM AS…

TIM BARRUS: HOW TO CREATE DRIVE INSIDE THE THING WHAT THING THE THING

TIM BARRUS: THAT MEMORY SHOULD CLING TO ALL THE DISMAL BEDS BUT ONE

AROUND HERE IN THE BLUE RIDGE, WE REALLY GET THE FOREST’S FADING ECHOES AS WE PASS ANOTHER CARNIVAL THAT WAS ALMOST OVER

WHO PUT THOSE IDEAS IN YOUR HEAD, BLONDIE

WE JUMPED UP AND DOWN IN THE ANCIENT AMPHITHEATER WE RAN IN CIRCLES SCREAMING FUUUUUUUUCK AND WE LAUGHED AND LAUGHED TYBALT INTO BANISHMENT AND TRAGEDY ITSELF HAS NO VOICE AND EVERY MALE WE PASSED ON OUR WAY TO THE BEACH STARED AT YOU HARD

VULVA AIRLINES

WHISKEY AND THE ANGELS OF DEATH

to wish with an autumn yawn the communists. feel that the milkman pounding up their clumsy wooden stairs our daddy made from oak. and fetching it so we had somewhere to live and the dogs will jump up to sit on our laps because that is what a dog does…

WEST VIRGINIA IS A SHITHOLE

ESPECIALLY IN THE FUCKING WINTER IN THE MOUNTAINS THIS IS APPALACHIA IN THE FUCKING BLUE RIDGE AND IT CAN TIRE YOUR SOUL WHEN THE WIND SLINGS ITS TEETH AT THE RIVER AND THE NOISE AND THE WHISKEY AND THE BOYS AND YOU ARE SHOCKED YOU DO NOT APPEAR TO BE…

WE THOUGHT THE FIRE WAS WAY IN THE DISTANCE BUT WE WERE WRONG

I have lost my ability to do many things. But not all. But not all things. Far from it. Most of my bones are ceramic replacements. My eyes are fake. So is my heart. I am now hooked up to a battery that, like most batteries, will run down. My…

SHOPLIFTING. SURVIVAL.

CUNNING APPEARANCES OF MADNESS AND BAPTISTS WERE COMMON

CARNIVAL WAS ALMOST DONE

An Ever-Wider Range of Phenomena

I WOULD NOT HAVE GIVEN IT FOR A WILDERNESS OF TERRIORS

BY WHISPERING TONGES

By whispering tongues, sleeping in the woods, smells of moss and I am cold, fucking cold up here. This sleeping, this woods slips the soul like the light of photons whispers blood. Each one turned his face to fear, dread, fishgut, one side, hidden brooks, sleeping in the woods all…

EACH TURNED HIS FACE

SLEEPING IN THE WOODS Slips the soul like the light of photons whispers blood. Each one turned his face to fear, dread, fishgut, one side, hidden brooks, sleeping in the woods all night. ANOTHER VERSION

WHY ARE YOU HERE ON THIS EARTH