Tim Barrus: Ezra Klein on Hope
Tim Barrus and the New York Times. Ezra Klein is the brightest of the brightest. I have never heard him say the word Aspergers. I embrace the abberation. I hide behind it. It’s Asperger’s fault, not mine. I am a criminal. Does that surprise. Criminality came long before sexuality or detention. I am not telling anyone to emerge from any closet whatsoever. That’s on them. I would bet the ranch that when Ezra Klein sits down to write, he has a ritual. I do. It must all belong to the place things belong. Because there is trouble in the world. Because you want to reach for things when the writing has rendered you blind. I go blind now two to three times a week. It’s like a flash. Now, you’re here, and now, you are somewhere else up in the sky with god and his punk son. How do you shake this tree. Ezra holds fast to the format. I would, too. But I have news. Funny, how the NYT Writing Format slowly begins to make a publication where the voice is beginning to sound like the proverbial bubble, all the voices listening to all the other voices – I carry around this crushing image of old men killing horses, I have no idea where it comes from, but it is like asking the furniture to move itself into the other room. Ezra, don’t let them take any part of the voice. It belongs to you. They only rent it, and it’s not a renter’s year. The national pastime is called survival.