Tim Barrus Blog
Posts tagged with road-trip
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Little Mermaid Town
It Always Pours on a Road Trip This one comes straight out of Dodge. I am writing about Dodge, now. There is on the le road, and there is off. The le road. People have to choose, and that is the way in. Into what. That downpour — Motel Find…
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Tim Barrus: Dirt Bike Town
Selling Film and Book Rights
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WE WERE PRACTICING SCENERIOS AROUND GETTING OUT OF DODGE
The grit that goes inside your mouth like eating flies and gnats and sand and dust. Cat’s Breath is the name of a stripper who lives outside of Vegas in a trailer park. You have never met anyone quite like Agnes. She has other performing names. Cat’s Breath is just…
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That Moment U Hear Sirens In the Distance
A Tour Through a Pandemic On a Bike. Protest to Protest. City to City. Riot to Riot. America Is a Culture in Crisis. I have no idea if this book is fiction or nonfiction. I have RAVNHPB4. One Of The Symptoms Is Neurological Hemorrhagic Dementia. Your bones dissolve inside you.…
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whore hotels
unhinged, i am sucking his cock, he is sitting on the toilet/ the disenchanted bed we slept &fucked in smells soft like the sleep of stones/ it is the bike that sings &pings in the parking place outside the motel door/ death cums in my mouth, &we know we will…
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GOING ROGUE
So dope. Last night we had to stop the bike, wrap ourselves in space blankets, smoke weed, and sleep on the ground. And then, it rained Of course it rained, of course, it rained, of course it rained. And it rained and it rained. We were too high to get…
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Memory’s Machine
road trip with the dust and weed smoke in the car so thick, our eyes were the gas stations in the full gasoline noon/ the small town street lamps had once been crows, and all the motels had been rolling hills whose With Nothing To Return To was solid as…
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One Trip To One Clinic
The CDC is developing new projects “to defeat AIDS once and for all” they claim. Not one of those programs is destined for Appalachia. Not one. We are left with a world of breathtaking indifference. We do not exist. We are not important. We can drive all day and all…
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Tim Barrus Poetry
his solitude was the soft breathing of a morgue everyone in morgues breathes like that our road trips together had us following the grateful dead whose heroin bones had that damp smell of honeysuckle just outside the farmhouse door https://timbarrus.tumblr.com/
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Grants, New Mexico
that day in san francisco you picked me up on the bike after work/ i still had a normal job back then/ editing a magazine/ the entire staff went quickly to the windows to see you, 2stare/ you had consciously chosen to not wear a shirt good for you/ tits…