Tim Barrus Blog
Posts tagged with writing
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Tim Barrus: 100,000 Copies
Publishing Was Dark I was living in NYC when the Mineshaft opened. I am a chronicler of wet people from the rain and soaked and traveling with you is dangerous, but that was when I was dangerous, too. The cab has to be slick, new, and as yellow as Baby…
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Tim Barrus: New York Times Magazine
No one in publishing will talk about the writer blacklist. I’m shocked to my writer testicles. – Tim Barrus I have never taken a writing course. What is a writing course. Do they need the income from side gigs. Are you kidding me. I grow a lot of my own…
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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…
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Tim Barrus, New York Times
I Was Fucking Him Then He Died So. Like. The dude under you just died. You have permission to leave Dodge. I would just go. The movies would have you rolling the body up in the dining room carpet. I hope you got paid. I would never look for a…
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Tim Barrus, New YorkTimes
David Brooks was right in high school. Caste warfare is real.
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Tim Barrus, New York Times
I exist. You do not exist because you have no particular importance. I exist. I am a persom. You are a Homo sapien. One of many. Garden variety humanism. An ordinary communist. I ghost people every day. I get ghosted every day. Ghosts are the last men standing, they have…
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Tim Barrus: Rough Trade
Old age fits me like a wet dress. Writing is this bloodsoaked dragon with the tongue to lash you with. See that treeline up there. When you start running, we will all probably miss.
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Tim Barrus: On Writing
People will tell you to hang in there. It’s not malevolent. It’s stupid, but not outright evil. It’s just sound coming from a mouth, signaling closure. I’m autistic. I do not get this stuff. What does it mean when their eyes look up into the sky. There is a message…
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WRITING A NOVEL IS NOTHING LIKE WHAT PEOPLE THINK IT MIGHT BE
I am getting used to writing this book on a phone. My fingers are huge. I write slowly. Very slowly. And I never do anything slowly. One good thing about it is that it is giving the book a feeling of immediacy. The challenge with it is that what you’re…
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I lived across the street from the bar. Poetry night was on Thursdays.
I was very cautious of becoming recognizable in public. A few people knew who I was. Not many. Not well. Not on purpose. I cruised around the world on a tall sailing ship. The HMS Fantome. The Prince of Wales. Royalty will get you everything. Adolfo came around and snarled.…
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What Makes a Writer
The secret to writing is the willingness to take the risk that next year at this same time on this same day, same job, same family, same challenges to navigate, year in, year out, hopeful, yet that ship with you or without you sails at noon no matter what. No…
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Tim Barrus, New York Times
Sometimes (often) a shadow passes over you that you can recognize as raw despair. I often write about how we as people find it convenient to ignore the part pain causes a trauma that is so hard to recover from. It is a neurological reality that trauma changes a human…
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Tim Barrus, New York Times
New York Times gatekeepers don’t want you to read this. They’re supposed to be anonymous. Sorry. But I just can’t join the Satisfied With Ourselves Party. There’s hardly a voice you publish that takes a solid look at journalism and it’s conflicted relationship with comments. Let’s Have A Hug For…
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ON WRITING
To be that naked in front of the world leaves you more vulnerable than you ever were before. Doing it every day, day in and day out, is exhausting. I do not know why other people write. I can only know why I write. It is not a choice. To…
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DeeplyEmbeddedWithAntifa
It is the end of an era. And the beginning of a new era. Now, we will be teaming up with the boys – city to city, riot to riot, protest to protest. Writing. Taking pictures. Bearing witness. To whatever is coming next. Evolve or die. It’s All Eve’s Hallo.…
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U Can Write An Entire Sex Scene Just About the Eyes
so this morning, he turns over in his wondering where he is, and just before it all comes back to him, to face me with his bedroom eyes, and i am, as always, taking his photograph/ he rolls his eyes/ he asks if there is anything about me that has…
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I AM A COMMUNIST
I am a communist. Writer. There is no such thing as brotherhood. Idealism is so yesterday. Journalists drink alone. All the journalism bars are closed. Do you really think that any major American editor would publish an avowed communist voice. What planet do you live on. David Brooks is right.…
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Tim Barrus: Tied Tight In Your Skin
we cum here with our work/ we call it the hot seat because that is where the poets among us, which means everyone, arrive to sit and read their work/ and it is work, often, it is a lot of work, we see poets in the context of a naked…
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The Great Suspension of Disbelief
We die alone. What of it. We eat we fuck we joke we play we piss we hate we sing we dance we drink we smoke we tell stories we shit we run we race we love. We try to stay alive. We fail a lot. Whelps. Kingdom of the…
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The Walls of What Remains
Among the walls of what remains, there’s always writing. If I am totally alone, and out on the lake on a winter’s night, I will walk across the ice, and looking up, there it is, the past. I can see the past. The Coma clusters have come undone. I make…
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Tim Barrus Poetry
but what is poetry/ i have a small plot of land back in the big woods where i grow things/ secret things, things humming a little bit, sometimes in a thin minor key, humming impatiently in whispers that i have returned i have returned/ to sit here and write things,…
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I Opened My Eyes
When Is Cultural Approbation Survival I still get death threats. Death threats are stupid, and stupid people make them. Bring it on, bitch.I opened my eyes. A small group of people in scrubs were looking down at me and they were uniformly grim. Obviously, this was a hospital. Tubes. Beeps.…
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answering letters
i will drown in answering all these letters just the ones written at midnight when the paradox of light slinks in like amber weeping at summer’s end when my rooms of dogs and rowdy children dropped off here by the humane society between the lines i must remember to burn…
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Survival is Vile Shit
I wonder if any of you have ever noticed that it is sometimes those who find most pleasure and amusement in their fellow man, and have most hope in his goodness, who get the reputation of being his most carping critics. Maybe it is that the satirist is so full…
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For the Boys by Hunter Layfield
Guyz you are forcing me to turn to the blog. As you know Tim and I are in another city in another state. Tim is having surgery and I am waiting in this waiting room. I will never be able to forgive Mary for creating all this turmoil at this…