#dog landing book by tim barrus

[timbarrus]

Take notes. I have been in 13 hurricanes all over the world. Helene was the worst I have never seen, let alone lived through. Andrew was bad. Really bad. Mitch blew my house away. Climate change does not recognize the Felon's omnipotent and unforgiving power. You loose everything in a hurricane, too bad. Body parts in trees and now prepare for the intense heat waves that follows a hurricane. I drive a dirt bike. Long lines of cars mean nothing to me. I go around. I can only describe rubble and ruin in my books. You sleep in Walmart parking lots. I borrowed a hoop tent. Fold it up in ten seconds. Your life is now a Walmart toilet.

Stray toddlers running in and out of the public bathroom. This is what is called public health. This is why there is public health. This is not a luxury. But the rich know we can be jerked around. Through the noise. Through famine.

Just put a ring in my dick and lead me. I am not writing this. My second self is writing it. More like riding it. The royal bidding. How about the military defending us. They do the royal bidding, too. At all costs, protect the king his sperm is sacred. Ask anybody.

The hoop tent was not a castle.

Show me the toddler who is really toilet-trained. They are not dogs. Yes, they are. Sleeping in the car with your entire family is public health.I found a cottage in the woods. I am tempting fate again. Only the tourist street got cleaned up fast. Desperately. What if tourism takes a hit. I mask and wave goodbye. I want a chocolate on my pillow, too. I'm sitting in rubble and death. All the glass and wires dancing like the whiplash of the authority of the climate, and you have deliberately unleashed, the rich titans who abuse us and us us, and this is slavery just like it’s slavery because slavery is the issue that guts you like a fish.

For three months, I have seen no sign of anything or anyone. Authority took a walk. There was no one to help us but us. Post-hurricane will only see pretty. You will not see the death and devastation. It's a layer of cheap paint. Numb. It snowed. No laundry. The homeless sit on curbs. The house you were going to die in is invisible. Those are the walls caving in on you. The walls will collapse, and so will you. Dirt Bike Lay of the Land. Grim. No phone. No comments. No clothes. There were shelters. Mountain People. My mates, deer hunting. I would invite the Felon to help us clear these trees and smells. Foreign policy is easy. -- Tim Barrus

[timbarrus]

Timothée Patrick Barrus

WE WILL DUCK TAPE YOUR MOUTH

Stoked

Have left Me Naked To Mine Enemies. Why the New York Times. I have read hundreds of stories, and all of them are: Nancy first learned about the New York Times when she was two. Nancy is very smart. She memorized all of the New York Times issues since September 28, 1202. And she can recite them for you. Give her the date. Go Nancy. For me, it was the photographs/ advertisements, full frontal page after page of mindblowing razzle dazzle. Stars made comebacks. My favorite page of all time was the obituary of Charlotte Sitterly, who had actually run the Bureau of Standards. This is the woman who starred in Brazil. I did not know there was a Bureau of Standards. My goal in life is to change the English language. It’s a sitting duck. We are changing the English language pretty much 24/7.

Our school librarian had discovered it (our librarians in Coal Town were very prim). I was shown into a secret room that resembled a vault. I swear, It had been a vault. The door alone.

This was where the New York Times was kept. The stare, and she knew you. You wanted to fucking die in a vault.

I did die in that vault. We called it the Dream Machine. Librarians are the only people who would be my champions in and out of public life. “Im dying to read it,” they whispered a secret public secret. Tread carefully. We wondered about other secrets she had. She rode a bicycle to school. No one does that. To be a librarian today, and advanced degree is silicon physics. I am not supposed to articulate this stuff. I was sent to the migrant camps of Florida, and I did publish a story on it in the The Weekly News. Poverty porn. But you cut your teeth in risky places.

I am the kind of writer who editors have to pay body guards for protection, and tell those stupid cracker rednecks to get off my front porch or I’m throwing them all a beer, now drink it and go home. Beer will put out any fire.

Nothing burns in a vault. It just stays in the vault. Today, all vaults are managed by AI including the Federal Reserve which has no reserves. Not one.

What happens when AI learns how to just take the money. For what purpose. To make more AI. We will be listed as mere anthology contributors.

The Bureau of Standards would be in high protest. Greenland is Greenland. Fiction is fiction, Nonfiction is fiction. And nonfiction is fiction. But only the temple priests in bookloverland pull their hair out and set themselves on fire. I am for putting every book ever published directly into the school library. I want to give the drag queens a Nobel Prize. To fight redneck culture, the only secret is to keep throwing beer cans at them. Kids love it. — tim barrus