Tim Barrus Blog

Posts tagged with tim-barrus-blog

  1. Sitting in the Car Alone

    I see shadows. And they move. Time itself is a choreography. I still cannot believe he’s gone. I only get kicked like this if there’s rain. I have no idea why. I had to break the door down. He was so glad to see me. I realized, he was probably


  2. Tim Barrus: Running Mate

    The word “mate” implies one or more than one, agreement. The whole standing together nonsense. On into the breach.


  3. Tim Barrus: The Woods of Cleopatra

    On Ponies Whatever nature is in its just causes, the winter will arrive. There is no such thing as an alignment that men do not stand still. Next to looking inward at what is interpreted as tragedy, I do not buy it. The last of the cringe and the plot


  4. Icon

    Iconography is the Jack Russell chasing its crazy tail. Stripped down to what is important but probably not to the dog. To the dog, you either feed it or you don’t. Icons seek an audience. A holiness beaten bitter by its complete failure to find a god. Anywhere. Anywhere.


  5. Everything is Boxes

    You are not listening. You are not looking at me. The whole angry eye thing is disingenuous. Mickey Shivers tells me there are so many second selves in there, beyond your stubborn skull, the only way to make you listen is to glue your booboo to your ear. Yes, it’s…


  6. So How Does It Feel When


  7. They Would Die 4 A Dirt Bike

    So, I gave them dirt bikes. A lot of people – mommies – were going to hate my guts. The point of it was to distract them. Anger can limit so much of vision into a drunken blur. Dopamine runs wild as does adrenalin. Usually all around the lens that…


  8. Tim Barrus: Face Full On

    I have been visiting “Banjo Events.” I have no idea what I am doing. I go into the woods with cameras and click away. People usually laugh. But they will be suspicious. And that is fine. I am from the Land of Wolves. I do not know. What it means.…


  9. sometimes the past

    I work with kids whose different pasts have the effect of trying to swallow them whole on a moment to moment basis. The past is not always our “little friend.” Nor is it necessarily representative of a better time in a better place. It only is. I have no fucking…


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