Tim Barrus Blog
Posts tagged with art
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Tim Barrus: NYTimes: We Need A Revolution in Art Museums
I work with young adolescent boys at-risk who do sex work and have HIV. Mainly, I teach photography and video art. The traditional museum and the traditional foundation would be appalled by us. Sex work is a crime. That makes the boys criminals. The issue is actually poverty, and that…
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The Black Rainbow You Have Painted
even the sex with you is always dark and to break it with a lack of hope my cock in your mouth and the antidote oblivious of any infinite book of secrets/ your tongue slipping into my urethra, and no i will not piss in your mouth because i am…
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i know who u r
i know your kindness i know/ your scars i have some of those 2/ i know where you’ve been/ i know the smell of your shit/ i know your guts, and/ i know/ when you are giving up i do not want you 2 give up but it’s not up…
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IN A MOMENT THE WORLD
où pourrait-il y avoir/ art dans une toilette/ dans les contours et la rondeur comme un âne, un gros âne blanc, où est l’art en public dans ce qui est public dans une pisse/ dans un moment le monde se retourna à fond les entrailles drainaient à l’intérieur/ mais leur…
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Everyone Has Something They Can Do
adults describe him as He Can’t Do Shit/ He Can’t Do Shit has alienated just about every adult he has crossed paths with especially teachers teachers would like to wring his neck/ cops2/ 3principals/ social workers by the dozens, and every single solitary member of his family/ if you ask…
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qu’est-ce que l’art
l’art seul est seulement l’art est-ce pas vrai que le corps humain est-ce l’art est-ce l’art est-ce l’art personne ne sait Dessine le peindre sculpte le le photographier faire des vidéos de le filmer mais est-ce l’art qu’est-ce que l’art l’art est la poésie mais la poésie de ce qu’est…
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What Is Art: A Manifesto
Art is this unruly animal created by artists. It only is. It has no purpose. But to live without it reminds humanity that humanity itself is an ugly emptiness, condemned by its very cruel structures to live in perpetual grayness, a moral poverty, and humanity is stupid. It only is.…
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If I Make Art
If I am making art, and they see that I am making art, then they make art, and that is the point that they, too, make art, and through this making art, they make themselves, they make themselves through what they see, and while they are making art, they see…
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Life Is Just a Film Clip
adrift in the fetish of excited voices something blinds us stammering stopped & screaming remorse stuck in our throats we have lost all faith in love & have replaced it with venom
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what appears to exist
i am a very dark person/ wilhelm nietzsche was my problematic love child/ reason is impotent/ every moment in life is subject to the subjective interpretation that dominates and prevails at any point along the timeline of history which is mud clinging to a wall not a linear hierarchy or…
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The Bed Last Night
none of my lovers has ever been what you could call the timid type more like unruly dogs who do not forgive each one smells differently i smell their smells in the bed i sleep among them in not unlike the weather fadeaushka smelled of russian vodka and his butt…
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answering letters
i will drown in answering all these letters just the ones written at midnight when the paradox of light slinks in like amber weeping at summer’s end when my rooms of dogs and rowdy children dropped off here by the humane society between the lines i must remember to burn…
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And Shove Toward Us
The light. Or the Darkness. Is there a choice. Or is the choice forced upon you. Mercurial. Having vanished. A full flood of blood lifts itself. Even the most overtly secluded of us can study evil in a small attention’s grace in cups. We are impotent and changed. In an…
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CinemathequeFilms: Les Russes à Paris
CinemathequeFilms did not disintegrate like a melted marsh mellow grimace of 16mm film burned at the alter of my untimely demise. We never did get that license. We just kept making videos. We could pick and choose who saw them. Usually, only people who had cheered them on in France.…
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the tyranny of convention
the marketplace is the tyranny of convention many many many of the artists i know and i know them in their guts a few in their bowels are creating the same fucking images they created years ago or the same fucking poetry they created years ago because feeding the voraciousness…
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Poetry: Bondage of the Foster Parent
U R different yet in many ways u 2R the same having been there U know what U know in decrepitude that this rope both binds U&him &ties U up together his echo cold eyes of death in the land of savages is always rendered moonlight& the wind he only…
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Appalachian Savages and the Stigma
Stigma has its thick-skinned tongue licking out their fastidious shit holes it is a crisis it is a nonchalant devoutness it is inflamed, of consequence, provoked, quivering. Just stick me, God. I am usually far more interested in their reactions to stigma than I am in stigma itself. Run, as…
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GoPro Sky
the driftwood bones bearing down the night will drift and the remorseless sand will engulf the emperor who has arrived in this desert to breed and die the ancient tongues, languages our thieves and errand boys with their long heavy dreams sweat and sink away into thunders like arteries and…
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Or Why The Fuck Are You Here
exactly how does one make any sense of a universe-of-existence that both embraces change and runs away from it/ you either dive head first into the vast unknown, the uncontrollable, death with its chains for every mind/ the secrets you do not yet understand how to translate/ what do you…
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Video: Smashing the Silence
Usually, they are following me. This time, I am following them. With cameras. Three to be exact. We switch roles. They have always followed me if I am organizing. But not this time. I can only write small glimpses of what they do, what they’re about, what being marginal really…
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Video: We Are The Travelers & We Have Returned
We are the travelers whose empty lips have foreshadowed the wolves growling at the door. Some say the strength of twenty men.
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Video: Chinatown, Chinatown
Poetry Performance: by Tim Barrus Poetry Script: by Harrison Camera Work: Smurf I do not want to be a spy for hope. I do not believe in hope. I know this: Life sucks. I want to be a spy for crazy. It’s crazy to be in extraordinary and chronic pain.…
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broken trust
Many things can fade with time. The sexual abuse of kids is not always one of those things. The average male who has been abused, does not begin to articulate that abuse until the age of thirty. At Smash Street, we try to put the pieces back together again because…
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writing about HIV and being sexually abused
I would liquidate my body But especially my ass That is what he always wanted I had to hold still While my mind screamed Squandering depreciation A pull upon the Pursuit of extortion If I told he would kill me It was not a joke He would kill me At…
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Driving Through a Dream: Post 1
You don’t know me. I used to be a Smash Street Boy a few years ago. I left because I had an opportunity and a scholarship to attend a flight school. I have been back to Smash Street a few months now. I am helping Tim. Trig and I are…