Tim Barrus: Minimize Your Risk

We lived upstairs. We did not go out much. We kept the place fully stocked. Wichita whores chill. Crystal sing just sing. Coal free. Keep your shoes on. It was a mistake to have just have left me standing alone. Go. Go. Take yourself home. I am home.

Tim Barrus, Play With Light if You Can

Single Lens Reflex Cameras are fine. For the people who want that. You can only make so many travel brochures, postcards, and Kardashion’s ass combined. GoPro is marketed as an action camera. But sports is not the only terrain a GoPro can be used. This is an underused (marketing has…

Tim Barrus, Cottage

I would never ever ever ever ever never never never sit on the porch steps drinking moonshine. Never.

Tim Barrus: Stop Judging Me

I don’t live in your world. We do not share any values. The blindness box set you free.

Tim Barrus: Quantum Field

Even his teeth were an apprehensiveness like loudspeakers crank it up in secrets because they are conflicted.

Tim Barrus: We Burn Daylight

True, I speak of dreaming in the afternoon and reading out on my cabin’s tin-roof, I can stand and see the otters back again. The otters are haunted. The demented truth which cunning time assumes Say This is a cold decree rotten to the snake who lives and dies inside…

Tim Barrus, My Appalachia

Imagination flows now, a great constancy and the beggermaid.  

Tim Barrus: The Palm Tree’s Name Was Romeo

Romeo was witness to a thousand things a day in that chicken-scratch yard it seems to want to escape from Get Me Out of Here. This palm tree is the moon. I am the man in the moon. This dying house is my dying house. This book, my dog.

Tim Barrus, New York Times

Different personas. Don’t think for one second, you will not be punished. For that. There will be no redemption. I was h-i-m for well over a decade. I can hear his voice. I can touch his grief, his tongue, and none of it involved  telling me what to do. It…

Tim Barrus: Do Not Let Them Break Your Heart

Our days there were grim. Bedrolls and the Gypsy whose someone is the cups and is after you.  

Tim Barrus: Crows Again

The best part of that trip was Waffle House.

Tim Barrus: Scratches In This Story Are the Story

Tim Barrus: The Man Who Would Be a Box

Everyone I have ever met all around the entire planet lives in a fucking box. Time will take you out. Cups carried bends in the plan. I put his fingers in my mouth and warm spit and I sucked this life on the outside sings like the bike is all…

Tim Barrus: Secrets Are Illegal

I live out of one bag. People can barely believe it. I am not telling Other People (Hell) what to do. Frankly, I don’t give a fuck what Other People do, think, sliced thin on the night shift.

Tim Barrus: Sex Cures Cancer

There are no wizards. Just old fat white men and the afterdeath.

Tim Barrus: Burned At The Stake

Some people are ticking, and ticking, and just ticking away their time. Some people are burning through it even as their eyes glare back a ravashing emptiness dry as sorrow in the summer.

Tim Barrus: The Case for All Things

Tim Barrus: We Could Join the Circus

The crows were let loose upon you. Gone without a word. The shiney objects were the swords in your eyes.

I Could Not Find My Voice Or My Blog

You Have Blinded Me This entire missive has been written on a phone. Kinda like as it happens because I simply cannot look people in the eye. I appear to be typing because I am writing a book and I know where all the ATMs are. If you haven’t ridden…

Tim Barrus: My Mouth Is Weed And Apples.

Riding The Corkscrew

Tim Barrus: The Dude Is Out

They were lots of fire, dust, and behaving as if they travel through the astonishing two-split experiment where electromagnetic radiation – photons – came to fall into your earth of second selves.  

Tim Barrus: The Dark In Dirt Bike Town

Photos with too much light blind me. The white escapes. It feels like an adventure film is pushing me aside to disappear from existence with a snap. I seek something darker to look at. And I seek to make all darkness my default. Just going about my stupid day. Taking…

Tim Barrus: You Were A Beast Of Burden

i drag those memories across any stage that would have me and let me explain/ my bar stool, if you’re going to have a bar stool, but no bar, you can at least have one refreshing cocktail and I explain to you that I did not know who I was…

Tim Barrus: Checking Out

You suck off the Motel Night Clerk so there it is. One room, one night. And who is there to make sure we really leave. It had a shower which is why we were there. She had those black fingernails.

Tim Barrus: The New York Times Steadfadstly refuses to “Publish A Known Radical” Which Causes One To Wonder What The Fuck

Drop this into any mailbox, it will find me with keys and spies and code where women with real tits take off their shoes and light a cigarette. Now what.