Quarantined

Being quarantined is not as easy as people think. The trick is your inner being. If you have one.

What Is Art

Art is something usually degraded into a sickening effort to spruce up the aesthetic of the living space with something that reflects corporate consumer values like a pretty picture of a sunset your mom would love on the living room wall. Art is usually dreck, and it is rare. Art…

For Anna

we tried shocking people out of the religious family and tribal rituals (like christmas or the 4th) of complacency, but we mainly failed/ we do know we failed/ we are not stupid people/ skin gigs exist all over the planet/ we wanted to be someone we were not/ identity was…

JUXSTAPOSITION

adding context to the trade-off where the real plays off again, the unreal unreal/ you decide/ my job is not to decide for you/ i could, but that renders the photographs more mundane than i can tolerate/ especially when the mundane among you, the ordinary, who have buried any creativity…

Rogue Photographer

Timothée Barrus Photography timotheebarrus#gmail.com

ferris wheel of rust

we were insomniacs who played on an abandoned ferris wheel whose pendulum in appalachian rain was one blind eye and sullen just like you and weary where your skin leaked raw and your bones in the dark were soup inside your nerves to be so high such as we were…

toward whose delirious repose

you in your distance toward whose delirious repose suggesting structures of scars i have seem them all i have touched them all i have followed them with my lizard’s tongue i want to thank you for teaching me a  huge, huge fucking lesson/ never get arrested/ https://timbarrus.tumblr.com

Memory’s Machine

après la fête le reste rages de poussière resté derrière se masturber à l’intérieur du cerveau enregistrer plus tôt tragédies désorientées par flou si parallèle événements https://www.instagram.com/timbarrus/

Memory’s Machine

lost afternoons justly placed each mirror could be manifest beyond sex work is still work and sweat and humiliation just like any other form of work an arrangement of perspective sheets, walls, scrubbing floors in unison our lips in full abundance we brought along our gods from the pawn shops

Memory’s Machine

et sa ceinture quand il fouette tu es nu vous autorisez seulement lui baiser toi dans le cul quand il y a pas de nourriture et ton ventre grogne comme un tigre bleu a sauté à travers la fenêtre à ton lit vous dites à votre agresseur te baiser dans…

Except Sometimes

except sometimes your whispers tell us what you think it is we want to know and you are as always right about a lot of things/ like how pain and loneliness are often the same thing and your books of wandering arms outstretched have brought you here/ https://timbarrusart.tumblr.com

Your Photographs

beneath what photographic darkness does your panic ride and makes no promises to return, in fact, i have never heard you promise shit/ like some kind of human contract with anyone on the planet might elude your perpetual despair/ an exile in the innocence of graves/ how many tombs have…

The Attic Gods Came By Today

the attic gods came by today from behind time where they like to be concealed/ bearing the imprint of the din, the attic gods of history’s bin/ taking out what had been thrown away, and terrorizing us to explain it/ https://timbarrus.tumblr.com

Julian

the grinding gods

et dans cet abandon dix fois tout voyage implique un mouvement nous supposons gonflé de but certains d’entre nous sont simplement debout gelé au sol où le patrimoine est un chien errant parti faim et boite loin de les dieux broyeurs dont stationnaires ailes colorées en jaune par la nicotine…

After Wandering

after wandering some through America, land of the umbilical alone, you begin to see fungal family graveyards infected in a different light people just staring at the rain in a parking lot cuz they were in it https://timbarrusart.tumblr.com

Mainly The Lot of Us Are Puppets

pretending no one pulls our fucking strings we cannot be manipulated baby, you are so manipulated your spcks glow

SomeNightsSlipping

pretending no one and nothingcan pull your puppet stringsyou, stumbling on bridges, you a moving target look at whathappened to us, the skygrew dark the skygrew light, the sky despite our farburning flame of delusionaldream palaces free of strings

feeding the lion

it’s like feeding the lion the ferocity of bone/ there are no other beds for him to sleep in/ his brother’s cock is a hardening of the weight he carries in the gravitas of the secret whips he knows he cannot speak to or for or of/ thin-framed and the…

THESE APPALACHIAN HILLS

ginger is never here/ he tends bar in asheville, and he’s a drug dealer/ like i give a shit/ people make their own decisions/ consequences come and go/ he’s a great fuck, and we spent two weeks here a long time ago/ appalachia is about many things/ a long time…

and hovering

i belong in that  place with the sacks of seed spilled upon the fallow ground salted with milkweed and armed with cameras and hovering

dazzled or enough

https://timbarrusart.tumblr.com

The Nights At Large

where some eternal blue glistens and snarling hauls its streets with the lips of whores hey bigboy gotta cigarette and you woke up there too exhausted to sleep among the stars or slices of the sun the concrete sidewalk had been jabbed into your mouth of boots where no half-broken…

leaving you

https://timbarrus.tumblr.com

Tim Barrus in the New York Times

We begin this video in a graveyard. We end the writing part of this in the same graveyard. You will not get it. But then, we don’t make jack shit for you. So what IS mainstream art. The video (above) has no name. It has no stars. It has no…