Tim Barrus, The Places Where We Used to Live

I used to sleep in a grey sleeping bag with cowboys on the flannel inside of the sleeping bag with my pistols and plastic soldiers and one guy had a sword. I still wish I had a sword. The bad kids didn’t live down the dirt road. We were the…

Tim Barrus, Dirt Bike Town

Softer in those rooms of sleep, the demon has arrived to lick you clean.

Tim Barrus, New York Times

Both readers and writers hate this, they will try and pull you into the rope-a-dope of rope-a-dopes. Writing is supposed to be Being Virginia Woolf’s Best Friend Forever. Woolf had to be bipolar. Mania is not your friend.  The New York Times kinda lives in this golden bubble they have…

Tim Barrus: Get Up And Go To Work

Tim Barrus: Work It Out Before I Do

Solve this.

Tim Barrus: Why Should I Care About What You See As Light

Your dirt bike in a subvariant. Behaving badly. It was the light and not the overty it was the poverty.

Tim Barrus: The Speed of Light is Not That Fast

The Photon The human eye takes in rather little relative data as to what is going on. Our eyes are squeezed to only be used as a constraint. We are able to reach out and can see infinity is there is one. It depends on the number of photons, the…

Tim Barrus: What’s That Sound

The one who was staring at you wears a chain of dog’s teeth.  

Tim Barrus: That Fire He Sings About Is Real

The sad omen that opens in the blood. Rendering you clear as syrup.

Tim Barrus: In This Cold and Bitter Air

The charade of stones by themselves might create a fence of rocks but butchery will arrive tonight.

Tim Barrus: Most of Life Feels Haunted

I was there when the everyone had left you. And your stunned What Did I Do turned to What Exactly did you think would happen. When the whispering stops. And your eye that has been watching this dream of all your second selves who claim they will now walk into…

Tim Barrus: You Were Lost Again

Je ne peux pas continuer à te chercher quand tu es perdu alors arrête ça, petit garçon, arrête ça.

Tim Barrus: Karma’s A Trip

You probably shouldn’t have left me standing alone.

Tim Barrus: If I Push Him Too Hard About All The Fucking God Stuff He Breaks Down He Is Way More Fragile Than You Can Know

He prays in public. How can you becomed so vulnerable as to allow the public in. Bars, bus stops, skate parks, a basketball court. I will not go to church with him. We’d never come out. He’s more naked in prayer than he is naked. Jesus Fucking Christ, he thinks…

Tim Barrus: Walking Concrete

I see you, I hear you, but to crack nature’s codes, the art of neccessity makes such wretches an archive of reprobation.

Tim Barrus: To Make Me a Fixed Figure For the Time of Scorn

Still soliciting. It’s a buyers market. Times ten.

Tim Barrus: Photography Can Focus On A Stereotype and Imbue It With Fear On A stick

They told me to jump in the back. But I have no ribs. They told me to jump in the back. But my tongue already burned in him. And falling through the anger when we are told we have nothing to be angry about. Lets a lot of people off…

Tim Barrus: The House of Usher

The shadowed well the demons drink from in the back where their traits were what their parents built.

Tim Barrus: The WhirlWind Is Gaunt

Seeing as how the circumstances had us sliding out any number of windows and one we broke. Damn, we must be like those video stars on Survive This.

Tim Barrus: New York Times

“I spoke with” means you were on the phone. But journalists want you to think they were there. I would rebuild it. Journalism. By the end of the day, journalism with its antiquated rules and regulations, its sacred rituals, the temple priests, get real, journalism walks and talks like a…

Tim Barrus: What Is Identity

I know people who think that identity is something you decide around the age of nine. Grow up. And keep asking.

Tim Barrus: Self-portrait or Selfie

It’s selfish. I interact with people to learn from their second selves. The part of them that just is.

Tim Barrus: The Aside of Horizontal

What do you really glimpse in a collage of horizontals. Little electric shots and then, it’s over.

Tim Barrus: It Isn’t Going To Take A Photograph By Itself

Your lucid moment has not risen to the level of ourselves. Endless grief. What does it mean. Nothing. A rusty pickup stopped. And we got in. You misplaced your camera in that empty house.

Tim Barrus: It Had 2 B Done

Divergent moment. Stand still, Raven.