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…

he’s feeling you up in public and you like it

his hand will be squeezing my ass often on the long road home leaving me silently incredulous because it’s such overt flirtation no one thinks of him as someone who would do this, he is held in such regard i say nothing, pretending not to notice his fingers pushing against…

when death is best

Your Bride’s White Dress

white people do not think about hunger because they are rarely hungry and there you on the corner and the twisting it’s always worse in the rain and then you ache with sucking old white cock my summary of what is wrong with this picture the lips and teeth of…

his mouth is mute

his mouth is mute the fencing between us like the land of famished dust on the cellar stairs all winter long morning in the woods disguised in hoods the longitude of knowing how fractured grief is buried in the voiceless ground https://timbarrus.tumblr.com

you split

the proper perspective through silence and then to be pulled away naked by the guards in fields you split into the wet wounds a death of fences https://timbarrus.tumblr.com/

if night should come

if night should come to find us in fields the harvest will die in shallows face to face in the quiet dawns turning us away from sleep/ https://timbarrus.tumblr.com