#tim barrus barrus on format

[timbarrus]

Now, he's god. Those of us who lead kinda mundane lives can read this stuff about one old man -- I call him IT to dehumanize him and to rob him of his humanity which will be a challenge because he has no humanity -- and how he lives his execrable existence, caught within a labyrinthine catalogue of hatreds, and shrug. I guess he doesn't mean what he says. Seriously. Every word has a bitter twist. Every single writer or journalist who has ever been critical of the IT, might want to think about Plan B. Where you gonna move. You might want to think about somewhere that allows you to see them coming. Think Idaho. The IT releases his middle-earth minions. The last time we went through Royal Decree, George III, my precious, was still around, and guess what. He taxed. He sent troops. He hanged a lot of people. He burned books, elderly women. He controlled printers, publishing. He was the Church. He waged wars everywhere. He drank tea. He went mad. The word bully has no gravitas. ORC has gravitas. ORC commands us from his ORC mountaintop. We obey. Ho hum. He announces he's god and we keep our heads down and agree. Anti-ORK Journalists who continue to publish thought that insinuates IT might not be as Supreme as he says he is. Will face his fury. Why are all these people winking. God always goes to prison. Forms a story arch. Just before the beginning of his thermonuclear reign. A crown of bloody thorns. How dare they say bad things about the banality of god. They must be punished.

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[timbarrus]

Take notes. I love this piece by Pam Paul. I am more than a little autistic. Neurodivergent doesn’t work for me. For me, neurodivergence must be like something you do to get inside someone’s brain. I do not get metaphors. I take what you have to say, literally. What people are saying is important because their awareness lends you something of a road map. For me, it��s a photograph. To make it out alive at the end of every day. It can’t be that bad (Oprah). Wanna bet. Half the time, especially if you are stuck in metaforland, I will not understand a thing you say. Pam Paul calls it masking. Smile constantly. There are too many metaphors in the word Alone. Alone is my friend. How are you today. Caffeinated. If you say to me: Oh, go stand in the middle of the road, I would stand in the middle of the road. I am being attacked 24/7. Especially in print. I know who does this like a bunch of junkyard dogs. Other writers. I did not murder an entire race of people. Far from it.

How are you today, I do not say Fine. Fine is a filament. A simple strand of hair. I am living in a landscape where I am losing my ability to comprehend what you articulate. Have a nice day. What is your gut telling you. Excuse me. I love you. I love you, too. What does this mean. I employ about ten masks. At a time. When you remove one from my face, I have others. I can hold an audience for no longer than fifteen minutes. Civil war. Civility. Shaking hands. See you later alligator. I see swamps. What’s wrong. Nothing.

[timbarrus]

Take notes. Appalachia is not cheap. Nevertheless, the endemic poverty of Appalachia is so fundamental, so ingrained, so intransigent, that even I cannot articulate what a waste of lives, resources, no vision that can make it better. Families with dirt floors. No hope. America is done. Suicide rates for Appalachia are more than 20 per 1k. It just shot up. Please do not move here. There is nowhere to put you. Hurricane Helene came at us with a #5 when it hit (with virtually no warning). We were not prepared. New people here will be a disaster. But we realize what is coming, and we do not want you here at all. You will be a huge problem. More that a few families are existing in their cars. Nowhere to live. We are all very bitter. Pitching tents in the cold. No water for a month. Some of us are bathing in the river. People are living in their cars. Do. Not. Move. Here. It's treachery. Democrat or republican. Frankly, we do not care. Building back here will take a decade. Go move somewhere else. Democrat or republican. It doesn't matter here. You will be in our way. Go home. We will not put a piece of chocolate on your upper middle class pillow. The rich just move away. Wherever they go, they will still be rich. Wherever we go, we will still be excluded. There is no housing for us anywhere. It's political, yes. Our republican congress guy was videotaped having sex with another guy. We endure. We hurt. We are disconnected. From your culture. The electoral college is the real pornography.

[timbarrus]

Take notes. I am a radical. Not a democrat. Not a republican. There are no independents. They employ the same political and cultural infrastructure -- how things work -- that the rest of us are compelled to use. Climate: Not a word. It's the Trump go to for climate change, a hoax. Americans are in denial. Why. Not a word about that. Save the American Dream. The American Dream is flat-out vanished. Is America is a corpse because it has a fetish for illusion. The American people still believe in the goodness of Gotham. Hollywood's Gotham is urban decay on steroids. Not one word about how Hollywood's cultural prostitution, carved from graves for advanced rot. Criminals rise to power. The word criminal is not to be found. There are metaphors for the word rapist. There are metaphors for the word crook. There are metaphors for the word deviant. You will not find the word deviant here because the republican (small d) party cannot bring itself to believe it's leader (ownership culture) is aberrational. Even the bad word sex is an economic negotiation. Or it's rape. You get to pick one. Not both. They take a deviant, and they normalize him as a leader who struggled. Another idea they avoid is based on the word individual. Individual is Americana. This is about the rise of Trump. And what did I learn. The word nothing has a metaphor, too. Vacuum. They are telling us America loves Trump. Genuflect. Now, the truth. Scratching heads. Suddenly, perplexed. More questions. No answers.

[timbarrus]

Take notes. I had to make a judgement call. I got my family out of North America. My decision was based in what the New York Times take is. In all the talk about vibes, the publication has one, too. It's dark. It's fearful. It's nervous. If it wasn't, something would be very wrong. Pollsters are beginning to look like stunned deer in headlights. One question dominates journalism. How Bad Is It Going To Be. What I hear in the voices of these conversations is a reckoning with defeat. Is there anyone at the New York Times who thinks he won't go after journalists. Journalists often feel immune to what to what is happening around them as they are there to cover it. A calm before the storm. No one has ever talked about a dynamic that is inherently stalking Trump. There is a psychotic link between suicide and homicide. It is not uncivil to say that because it is simply fact whether it is polite society or not. Trump is not stable. I have always seen him as being suicidal. Homicidal ideation is as toxic as suicidal ideation. He dreams of executions, and no one is pushing back because we cannot bring ourselves to believe it. Believe it. Ideation can swing like a pendulum back and forth. Them or me. Them or me. There is no us. There is no Other. There is no there there. The internal and the external is a contest between pitbulls in a cage. One of those caged dogs will win. And then both dogs will die. America is not immune. Trump is a junkyard dog. Let's fight. We remain transfixed.

[timbarrus]

I can't take this stuff seriously anymore. All I see are suits and suits and suits. The New York Times is the great-grandpa suits of suits. Your grandfather's paper is still your grandfather's paper. What one suit says to another suit. That's always news. Not a single new idea. Some of us like to play We Are Suits but I am a mid-western Barn Boy. Pelosi is who we should be electing. Roll out the problems of the suits into a big Cleopatra carpet. Now, unroll it. Suits be popping out. Give me Ceaser or give me death, Ezra. Threads. Seriously. Kamala is playing it safe. Ezra is as safe as you can get. I hear the echoes of a tin can. I am so not going to vote. Why. Simple. Kamala is a suit and so is her friend. You can dress a suit up with another new suit, but the suit is still a suit. Sometimes the suits wear controversial stuff like a nametag. The democrat suits are going to lose. I was all out for Kamala. Excited actually. But there was something wrong here. She's a suit. It hit me like god and a clap of thunder. Suit ideology. Suits like other suits. Last night, I threw my television out the window. I have to replace that window. I have overdosed. On suits. It's a bitter pill to swallow.

[timbarrus]

Take notes. There is no god.

There is no Jesus. There is no heaven. There are no wing rentals for Victoria’s Secret Angels. There are no angels. There are no gates. There is no sane theology. There never was a virgin Mary. Jesus did not walk on water. When Ross writes the word religion, he means Catholicism. He means some form of institutional oversight. The gravitas of vacuum. Be very careful about doors being opened to you. Ross glosses over the whole Boys Being Raped thing. Like it happened but let’s get out of here. Ross cannot see that the relationship between the institution and its behavior is an interiority eager to disguise itself yet again and again. Ross is being provocative. But to what end. The end is called authority. They are worshipping jurisdiction. Our lives are juxtaposed by an authority whose purpose is regimentation. Let us away to stories and legends and myths and illusion. That’s really blood you were drinking and it was not grape juice from Ralph’s. High theatre. Performance art. Kings and princes were created by homo sapiens. It’s not exactly hard to prove. Show me. Don’t tell me. You have no proof that there is a god to subjugate anyone. The greatest fraud in human history. It’s a great story. But it is not real. I am frequently lectured to about faith, and if I cannot find mine, there has to be something bad inside me to get me to ask such questions like what is reality. Maybe I am a witch. I am not a witch.

I am a steadfast heretic.

[timbarrus]

Take notes. "But voters still trust his positions more than his opponent’s."

Don't tell me. Show me.

I do not believe it. There's a different standard for showing, and clinging to a narrative that is dubious at best. How do we know that Americans trust Trump more. Where are the figures and whose data are we talking about. What did you know and when did you know it. Criminality is culture, too.

Americans will opt to grab at the simple solutions. They're busy. They live in terror of losing their jobs. They're hung over. Nervous. Their kids are failing. They're in debt. But they get to vote. Yet Americans want to be controlled.

They are already controlled. That is what advertising is. You being controlled. You being told there is a god and you must worship him the way we tell you to worship period. Let us away to art.

1969: They Shoot Horses, Don't They. Gig Young was Rocky Gravo, the evil ring master of ceremonies. Rocky can sell you anything. The Bob Barker of 1934. Just keep dancing. Just keep dancing. Just keep the people entertained with who dies first. Just keep the people on their toes with who dies last. Rocky Gravo has to prove that he is not ordinary. Rocky Gravo is ordinary. Look around the dance arena and you will see the people we never see at all. They blend into the walls. Rocky Gravo is dog eat dog. Complexity is not his problem.

Immigration is code for Let's Make Them Dance. Come on down.

[timbarrus]

He's going down. The crazy daisies will now be his status quo. He's not going to put himself in another debate with someone who just ragged him into a pool of make-up and sweat. But can she win the election remains the last pseudo-journalistic place to hide. But can she win. But can she win. She can win. She will win. And the maga maestro can join his mate, Putin, who will eventually have to face the reality that their fates are intertwined because they themselves have intertwined it. I don't believe in a god. But here in the trenches of America, I am fervently praying that Americans can still be smart. Cats and dogs are embarrassed and humiliated that they were a part of Trump's playbook. My dog would have eaten his playbook for lunch. And there's the problem. It's their problem. The courtiers, the lobbyists, the lawyers, the snakes. Trump's problem is that he's going to lean into it. There will be recipes. Into the mixing bowl, crack an egg, throw in some high heels and and some blondes. Finally. Someone. Stood. In. His. Way. It took a black woman to do it. Today, he's calling for civil war. Grandpa, we have to go home now. I will hold your hand. And we're walking. And,we're walking.

[timbarrus]

Take notes: I am a super cool parent and I have set no one adrift. I do not bite Barbie's head off. Who actually parents children in a politikal context. My three-year-old is a Nazi. She orders everyone around. Are you telling me that republicans have children. Who demonstrate the teachings of a lone homo sapiens who never had any children let alone a marriage. Yes, Jesus had many republican children. This was more difficult than walking on water. Weird. My three-year-old usually knows a fantasy when she sees it. I teach her that everyone who is republican is bad. Republicans smell as they do not bathe. Republicans give Barbie cigarette burns. Republicans are mean to dogs. You are Wonder Woman, you have Wonder Woman pajamas, and you have magic ropes to tie people up so republicans have to tell the truth which is what makes them all go blind, they run into things. Wonder Woman (or our image of her) was never subservient to a male. Any male. Men are bad. Repeat after me: Men Are Bad, Men are Bad, Men are Bad. Why. Don't ask questions. And don't marry one. Why. Because when you have children, they will probably be men children. Why. Because men children play with matches. Pick me up. No, you have to walk by yourself. Everytime I say that I have to slap myself. We all fall down somewhere in our lives, republican or Democrat. Bring in the next one. There are no prophets in the world dreaming of things to come. Those would be our kids.

[timbarrus]

Bells. Whistles. Smoke. Screens. Lawyers. The lawyers win. Americans are famously attracted to the back porch light of conflict. Google invented it. Google wrote the script. Do no harm while you strangle other trade homo sapiens engage in. Are we giving it to you now." Yes, Google. Yes. Until you don't. Google will fail. The concept of do no harm was thrown out of the ballpark decades ago. The only way you do no harm is to stop existing. All of these stuffed suits will fail. The reach for conflict is the conflict. Engagement. Is not increased engagement. It's Vegas on steroids. Vegas on steroids does a lot of harm. Everything that is wrong with Google's Genesis, their rolling out of AI, feels like (after checking out every company selling or renting AI) I cannot find the voice behind the voice, the soul of the thing, is a discovery. It's not a good product. Yet. But that yet is a big one. Too little, too late. The bigness is a burden. For a company to pretend they do no harm, releasing a vague, lame, voice for everyone, is called attitude: We do not need you, you need us." But no. Not everyone needs a monopoly to coexist with homo sapiens whose origins, too, usurp conflict after conflict. It is us even if we are loathe to admit it. Our lizard brains were arranged so as to recognize conflict, and go over there to start some of your own. In my subjective opinion, all search engines engage in placement hierarchy where conflict results in increased engagement. So end the conflict.

[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

[timbarrus]

https://www.nytimes.com/2024/12/11/opinion/trump-republican-party-cabinet.html#permid=138199476 Take notes. Some of us have descended into brooding, (I have). Then, I slap myself. I have to stop "doing" anxiety, and start asking better questions. I see it differently than most Americans. I am not allowed to say: Civil War. People write to me, and in no uncertain terms, I am being screamed at to put my advocacy for a Civil War away unless. Unless what. I am no advocate of anything. People tell me it's coming. I tell them, it's already here. No one wants to talk about class and caste. No one. This comment will never see the light of day. Therefore, I go for what is true. Not what is civil. I do not care about civility. This is the era of Donald Trump. Trump means one thing: fight. Fight to the death. This is about survival. I put my kids on a flight out of this psycho country. It is not about civility or recipes. American culture has decided to look at the ground and carry on. While you are carrying on, another big box of fun things has people contemplating what they can do. I do not know any of these people. I'm innocent. This is Appalachia. My friends and neighbors trace their roots to the Scottish Highlands in Western Scotland, 1652. Another civil war. They moved here. With their legends, myths, stories, music, food, sheep. We are all migrants. A hurricane took our homes. No one from authority has arrived to help us. Rebuilding begins with an updated version of the bomb shelter. You will not be able to see them. They're in the woods. Where we have always lived.

[timbarrus]

Take notes. We are ruled by criminals and one rapist criminal. It's the clown car and he is driving it. Our government is the mob and the mob has won. I wish you luck on keeping your vaunted democracy. Ordinary lament. The Supreme Court golf-cart assessment of how many things are all okay as long as we do not resist.

I will resist. Do you stand with me.

No. You desire certification. All wrapped up with an institutional blue ribbon. We need Johnny to help making widgets. The people want widgets and Johnny Boy is a compromised widget. The supply chain has a kink called New Jersey and all the widgets are on one big truck. All we need are more widgets so we don't have to pick sides yet. Choose. Now is the time to protect your personal agency. To not decide is to decide. I see a civil war waiting in the wings. There will be spies. The statue bearing Trump's name in Statuary Hall is the one with the loaded gun. That he is a rapist (I will get in trouble for writing this), doesn't seem to bother women who vote for whoever their boyfriends and husbands and brothers and the milk man tell her who to vote for. Thank you, women. To wit: Murder. I am not allowed to use that term. Murder. Let us spy on murder. This stuff is a Hollywood dream come true. Nicole Kidman must know Langley pretty well. This is where we formulate how the spy thing works on steroids. And you Americans think that all of it is real. All of it is real, and none of it is real. Civil war. They don't spy on that.Yet.

[timbarrus]

Take notes. Great piece. I appreciate the research, because it points out the lack of research. But. It goes to law, and I appreciate that, too. What I'm looking at these days is not based in gender issues. It's based in violence. I was teaching a group of adolescents with HIV. We met three times a day. Because you had to be on top of it. It can all change in the blink of an eye. At first, they talked mainly about trans issues. A few dressed accordingly. It was an announcement that they were here. They talk the talk, and they walk the walk. At night, they did sex work to survive. Some of the gay boys had problems with a lot of it. Face it. They were afraid of becoming them. The Other is the Other and so are you.

This piece does not go to violence. That was not the theme. No one talks about the violence, or if they do, it's academic. You give social work names to it. You give sociology names to it. If you are grasping at that data, the odds of you belonging to the caste of us untouchables is obvious. You have never suffered a concussion from a fist. Or a baseball bat. I have seen teachers beat them up. To go home to change clothes or be suspended. I have seen cops look the other way when a child is being raped by the men who attacked her in cold blood. The murder rate applies every time they walk out the door. The media thinks it's colloquial. It's not. It's everywhere. My teens in that classroom had to process. Three times a day. Just to discuss what went on an hour ago.

Poor kids do not get the surgery stage. Caste and poverty are what they are. Dehumanizing humiliation. Rich kids from suburban families who have health insurance can get the surgery. No one is coming home from school with a different gender. That, too, is a self-created (homo sapiens are so kind to each other) vibe constructed to immobilize and freeze you back to 1949. The media only finds them a curious fetish for the non-conforming. They are fodder for the 24 hour news cycle. We hate these children because we hate ourselves.