Tim Barrus Blog

Posts tagged with my-appalachia

  1. Tim Barrus: I Lived Here Because I Liked How The Light Slipped Through The Window

    Not everyone in Appalachia lives in a hollow in a trailer. Fuck the stereotype. There can be an archive of poverty porn in your face if you are attempting to see Appalachia the way it actually is. There are a lot of old Civil War era brick buildings and people…


  2. Appalachia Town

    The county fairs in Appalachia are important events. Mainly because they are often the only time during the year that everyone is having fun (and food). So much fun, in fact, it’s spontaneous, and people are apt to put old grudges, feuds, disagreements, arguments, and politics away. For a time.


  3. Appalachian General

    the appalchian sky made cheap as if standstill was attracted to a fading sun and the miles of parking lots scattered once again like the dead chain of emptying pilgrim souls who have arrived in the lower reaches of the hollows from the civilized east burning wood for warmth https://twitter.com/timbarrus


  4. My Appalachia

    cautionary bones/ we could climb the tree to get through your bedroom window/ even winter’s scalpel cold, and the fireplace was burning oak, and that warm scent would hibernate under your sheets and quilts like caves where your tongue inside my mouth was not unlike walking through the fields with


  5. Toilets of Appalachia

    the truck stop down the highway from the coal mine used to buzzsaw with the traction of the action/ today, it’s kinda like getting fucked in the ass in a graveyard/ the walls of the toilets are a literary subterfuge/ call joey has been dead for twenty years/ people still…


  6. My Appalachia


  7. My Appalachia

    I do not know of a single individual in Appalachia who fishes or takes what is seen a food – not an experience – from either the woods or the water. It’s to eat, not to catch, and then release. It’s about survival. Picking wild herbs from the Appalachian hills…


  8. 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


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