Tim Barrus: Dirt Bike Town

Dirt Bike Town, a novel, by Tim Barrus

Dirt Bike Town: The Dunes

Tim Barrus Art

Hands Behind Your Head

Hands Behind Your Head tim barrus

DO NOT DO THIS NAKED

http://tim-barrus.format.com/ DO NOT DO THIS NAKED

Paris

Year of the Hyena

Tim Barrus Art

Night Beach

a moment of memory

lost in that place again and it’s sleet bleeding through that window of battering, embrace of the dandelion, snap 2///  

Swimming in the Snow

Swimming in the Snow. – tim barrus

Tim Barrus: Through Windows

There Lurks a Darkness

lurid 155

Tim Barrus: It’s Just a Kiss Away, Kiss Away.

War, childrenIt’s just a shot awayIt’s just a shot awayWar, childrenIt’s just a shot awayIt’s just a shot away, yeah wrong number

Tim Barrus: Please stop thinking. Something will break.

Something did break. I just know it.

Tim Barrus: It Went Something Just Like This

Mad hatters just like this.

Tim Barrus: Spring Break

I am told – that cannot be done – oh, Sugarbutt. It can be done. Ride shotgun. I’ll take you to France. I drive really fast. I never go over a hundred. You can fuck me but I would not recommend it. Also, I’m just dull. But I do shoot…

Tim Barrus: Lovers and Thieves

I would never use your real name in a novel I am writing where the main character is demented. Why would I do that. I might do that. But I didn’t. If you got it if you got it you go boom boom. And my runaway eye eye. If you…

Tim Barrus: I bought the car for a dollar.

I’m afraid to drive it. It makes very strange sounds like somebody is trying to kill it with their bare hands.

Tim Barrus: In the Thick Dust Our Village, the One Convicts Scratched To Salt, and From It Corn Whiskey Trickles Down the Logging Road

The one thing we know is that the death of light has turned inside out, and the riverbed changed the diversion of sound, sight, and memory. Time itself was another Irish priest slipping beneath a little boat that carried the vaunted authority along in scant excess among the vultures because…

Tim Barrus, New York Times

Composedly Trembling

Tim Barrus: The New York Times

I do not know why the New York Times is. I have nothing in common with suits. But I do know how to make them fucking cry. I have to brace myself if I see the thing. Usually, it makes me vomit. I do not know why I do this.

Tim Barrus: I Don’t Always Wear a Helmet I Have Been Driving Dirt Bikes Since 1962 And No Accidents No Helmet Means I Can Get Away With It

Spilling from their numbers, their throats were their throats. The swallowing. The wisdom of the fools has no secrets having been limited to blood at first, and then a tongue in my mouth is to sweets as a special name day, but as pictures, the moon is down, and it…

Tim Barrus: But the Pictures of Us Provoked a Dark Desire

We would jump the night to come. It meant travelling ahead in time. The tendency towards a state of equilibrium is entropy. The entropy of a system will always increase as systems unwind, cool down, wear out. Thermodynamics. Statisitical inevitability.  

Tim Barrus: Give Me The Daggers The Witchcraft Of Boys Seems Dead And Whose Dreams A Demon’s Face The Moon Is In Repose

Desire is another sleep’s oblivion.

Tim Barrus, New York Times

I don’t get why the New York Times hates me. Are you kidding me. Most of the people I know in NYC, and I have my unwavering spies who surveil the lot of you bare naked and we can see your junk, are of the opinion, the New York Times…