TimBarrus: WhatIsSurvivalAnywayAnd WhereIsItIsItHopelessness

Even The Old House Had A Second Self 

Tim Barrus: Call Survival What It Is

I grew up in a cabin and I am not the rich boy – let us say cast into caste – that Wikipedia says I am. The idea is a contempt symbolized by the discussions on Wikipedia as to how they would get me. I do wonder what the people…

Tim Barrus: New York Times

I Should Begin With Synopsis. But No. We know this: America seems to want our death. I have always lived with that, and it is not dissimilar to living with nuclear inevitability. I am autistic. A high functioning autistic. I will not tolerate any Homo sapiens with their various and…

Tim Barrus: New York Times

There’s A Lot Behind the Eyes That lot is a lot lot. I get so frustrated with myself for writing in metaphors. What I write and what I think are two very different things. They shouldn’t be. But they are. I work. Intuitively. I wish I didn’t. I am never…

Tim Barrus, New York Times

For months, I was the one who fished all day in that small aluminum boat – bringing home the protein – fish, I was seven-years-old. Does that sound like – even a middle class – thing rich kids, any kids, kids with bling, kids with guns, something kids with laser…

Tim Barrus: New York Times

I am a communist. The issue is not grief. The issue is survival. Ask anyone with HIV. I do not know homo sapiens who have time for grief. We are too busy with our widgets. Building them. Eating them. Sleeping among them. Breeding them. Surrendering them. Widgets. Fake widgets. Big…

Tim Barrus: Some Creative Misfits Get It

Some odd creative types construct their own reality. Not too much gets through.

Tim Barrus: Carry Your Helmet

The bike was my only transportation. When I was not on the bike, I carried my helmet. Pretty much everywhere. Often, my autism prevents me from understanding what you are talking about. Your way of seeing the world is not the world I know or see. I won’t know what…

Tim Barrus, Publishing and Me

I just sent this to a literary agency. Because I love publishing. Actually, I love books. I owe you an apology. I’m on Facebook, but I never see it. I don’t want to see it. So I saw this agency on Twitter. Apparently on Facebook, if you hit return the…

recalcitrant

It Can Never Happen Again, Right.

Choreography In Poverty 2 The Very Lips

4 I Am Every Dead Thing

Electromagnetic Radiation

Daw is with Random House. The one in mid-town which is not affiliated or is affiliated with any damn thing. It is and it isn’t. Demented. The Holy Grail. Is but a cup. The ace of spades is what most gamblers who come in here with their strut boots on…

Dirt Bike Town

AMERICA IS A DEAD CORPSE

TIM BARRUS: NEW YORK TIMES We have seen the cliff, and we have jumped. There are no returns on this purchase. To wit: the Democrats. At least sometimes they hold hands after they jump. But the result is always the same. America is just another cultural corpse. Athens become one.…

silence the voices

Tim Barrus

Tim Barrus: The New York Times

The monkey cannot beat the jones. Sometimes, photography says it all. Sometimes, photography is straightforwardly in your face. Safron Foer’s piece, and the photograph that accompanies it, hits hard at Americans who struggle with addiction, and the Americans who do not struggle with addiction. To meat. No one wants to…

And There Was the Turning of the Earth

the various cures that evade us — temporarily — are always seen as impermanent as his tongue inside my mouth and the tower was your eyes gone wrong/ what is evident is that we are dust as well/ the sun from another state was the way you turned in bed/…

A Deviant’s Morning Eyes

the way it unfolded was not unlike the way it always unfolds/ we are at opposite ends of a picnic table/ six feet apart/ but connecting/ boats in the immediate distance bobbing about on the water smelled of rich people somewhere else/ i am sitting with andrew as the dew…

Quarantined Boys

#Does that mean sex, too.” #Sex, too,” I explained. “It’s just another virus, not at all unlike the one you have.” There was a long silence among the boys. One disease could take more than we thought we could handle. Two was an abstraction. We do get out at night.…

toward whose delirious repose

you in your distance toward whose delirious repose suggesting structures of scars i have seem them all i have touched them all i have followed them with my lizard’s tongue i want to thank you for teaching me a  huge, huge fucking lesson/ never get arrested/ https://timbarrus.tumblr.com

Except Sometimes

except sometimes your whispers tell us what you think it is we want to know and you are as always right about a lot of things/ like how pain and loneliness are often the same thing and your books of wandering arms outstretched have brought you here/ https://timbarrusart.tumblr.com

Your Photographs

beneath what photographic darkness does your panic ride and makes no promises to return, in fact, i have never heard you promise shit/ like some kind of human contract with anyone on the planet might elude your perpetual despair/ an exile in the innocence of graves/ how many tombs have…

Waiting For the Trick to Come

you are hoping he washes his ass in the shower because you are painfully aware that he’s going to demand that you eat it/ waiting, always waiting/ it makes no sense because they’re all on the clock anyway/ making you wait is going to cost them, but you’ve never been…