#tim barrus on AIDS

[timbarrus]

Take notes. Grief, too, comes for everyone. I worked with adolescent boys who had HIV. Those were the days when nothing and no one was safe. Two thirds of them had lost one parent. Many had concomitant issues (various cancers). When someone from the group died, the boys insisted they would go to the funeral. I had vowed to never go to another funeral. Whenever I go to a funeral, it rains. Every time. It used to be annoying, but rain is now my friend. We were always the last to leave. No one could tell if you were crying or just soaked.

Or both.

Some of them fell completely apart. Some plunged back into addiction. Some were frozen and needed help. Some were in the trenches fighting for their lives. AIDS is not over. It's changed. Some went over the edge and returned to sex work. They swore they had never bonded with anyone. It hurt too much. I know this: They had bonded to one another. There was such a thing as suicide watch.

Grief was rock and roll.

PTS is grief as well. The only way I can handle it is to literally shut up. I listen. My focus is the kid, not the grief. The boys wanted to fight. To punch someone (anyone) in the face. Then, there were young men who wanted you to punch them in the face. Punch and punch back. But it was the wrestling on the floor and the intensity of that conflict a reciprocity where the entire room was weeping their guts out. I brought a tissue box to every funeral. The tissues were a rained sloppy mess. We laughed at that one.

[hyaenagallery]

Timothy Patrick Barrus, also known as Tim Barrus (born 1950), was born and grew up in Lansing, Michigan. His parents were European American, with his mother being of Scandinavian descent. At the age of 19, Barrus married Jan Abbott. Together they have a daughter named Kree, born in 1974. In 1975 they adopted Tommy, a boy who Barrus said had severe developmental problems. After two years, they turned him back to the state, finding they were unable to care for him adequately. Barrus and Jan later separated and divorced. He moved to San Francisco and later Key West. Barrus remarried in 1993 in San Francisco, to a special education teacher named Tina Giovanni. Barrus began publishing articles in the late 1970s, primarily for the gay leather magazing Drummer, where he worked as an associate editor. After his move to Key West in 1984, he also wrote for The Weekly News, a local gay newspaper. From 1985 to 1992, he published five novels, all dealing with homosexuality in different genres. Titles included Mineshaft and My Brother My Lover. While some were favorably reviewed, he never broke into mainstream acceptance. His novel Genocide was recognized as an early contribution to AIDS literature, described by critic Toby Johnson as “dark and pessimistic.” He is credited by Jack Fritscher with coining the term “Leather Lit.” In connection with his book Anywhere, Anywhere, a novel about Americans in Vietnam during the war, Barrus said that he had been a Vietnam veteran. This account was disputed by people who knew him. In 1999, Barrus submitted an unsolicited manuscript to Esquire magazine under the byline Nasdijj. He noted to them that the magazine had never published a work by a Native American author. “Nasdijj” wrote that his essay was about the death of his adopted son from fetal alcohol syndrome (FAS), and that he also had it. His essay, “The Blood Runs Like a River Through My Dreams,” was published in Esquire in 1999 and was a finalist in the National Magazine Awards that year. #destroytheday https://www.instagram.com/p/B5-nJIyhwnI/?igshid=1jh44uyh2swcb

[timbarrus]

The boys I was dealing with sat on folding chairs in a circle. “Okay, who is going to play Richard Hatch, and who's going to be Amarosa.” The question was What Is Reality. What is reality on TV. Or. What does it really mean. The boys all had HIV. A few had gone into full blown AIDS. Schools hated them. No typical classrooms. It had nothing to do with health status. It had to do with rage. The machine did not mean them. They plotted. A lot. Usually, over stuff. Sneakers. Clothes. Bling. Phones. Cops. Teachers. Judges. Social workers. Boom: Antiretrovirals. You do not get better overnight. It was a long list of stuff they would not do (like being naked in front of nurses). Let the play begin. Craiger had had sex with every one of his comrades. Secrets. They child could throw shade at you that gleamed. The reason there are floors is because boys roll around laughing on them. And they could be violent. “Throw your chair at the wall, not me.” They played: Who Will Die First. Craiger got kicked off the island. It had been a rough week. In their world, people died from guns. Never let them see you cry. Everyone cried. Then, they were silent. Death drained us. Reality was nuanced. What am I doing here. They're all going to die. There is nothing I could do. Oh, but there was. Once, Craiger stood up and removed his clothes. Seeing that body shocked them. They just wanted to live. I taught them how to read. That meant diving into a book so you could be someone else. It was all I had.

[timbarrus]

Tim Barrus

Take notes. This is darker than it seems. People need time. There is no time. Allow me to be so bold as to suggest that there is another aspect to this. The media. I indict all of you. Might I suggest that the resistance has been forming the structure of priorities. I know nothing about anything. I am ignorant. I am making it up. There is no resistance. Just a bunch of guys making a joke. I am obviously misinformed. I am Sergeant Schultz. I know nothing. How do I know that I know nothing.

I am now going to write something you will not like. Act Up taught us many things. Act Up made history. They challenged the government. We were going to leave corpses on government steps. Why. People were dying and the government did not use the term: AIDS. What did Act Up have to lose. It was genocide. Act Up moved the needle forward. It took entire communities to do this. Act Up was willing to stand its ground to the last living human being who was facing death anyway. Journalists have phones. Wow. Look close at what they publish. Ask them if they are ever able to leave the office. Ask them if they punch a clock. They’re writing to you after a bunch of telephone calls. How in the world are these upper middle class writers who can’t get their shoes wet going to know fiddledeedee about resistance. They don’t get it or find it. How could they. You do not have the psychological means to resist. You can’t find it in your gut. Cowering in your safe little homes. Fight back. You do not know how.

[timbarrus]

Tim Barrus

Incendiary Comments is a book that examines my relationship with the New York Times. It’s been a long one. I am publishing my stuff there in terms of following patterns. Themes: Politics. Resistance. Medical. Autism, Neurodivergence (I’m Aspergers).  Economics. Democracy. Homelessness. Work-At-Home. Education. Tech. Suits. Parenting. HIV/AIDS. The whole nine yards. I am reporting. The work belongs to me. No one else there can say that in terms of the diversity that gives my voice a drive. I am driven. Reporting on what I said. What I see even if it’s not the same stance of the New York Times that has many moderates but no radical thinking, the focus is on my work. Not their stuff. I have picked my own graphics. I am also a professional photographer. I do not use NYT graphics. I do not intend to publish graphics. Just the text. Below is an example of the writing. I have published nine books. PEN awards. Columbia Journalism Review. Esquire Magazine, Booksellers Awards. Best books of the year awards. Most Notable Book NYT. I have sold over 200,000 books. Including film rights on all my books. Publishing has branded me as provocative and controversial. My books are all controversial. If you or your company cannot handle controversy, let’s avoid wasting one another’s time. My work is not like the work of anyone you know. I call suits suits. My work is an attempt to make the New York Times human. I am a radical. I have been publishing a long time. This one has taken years because I only make one submission a day. You do not know me. Even if you know my name (and you probably don’t) that is different from knowing or reading my work. I will include just a few samples. The New York Times knows I am publishing this book. In fact, I have mentioned it on their pages many times. If such a collection interests you, there is more content on my website. Thank you. — Tim Barrus

Take notes. I am living in a car. I am working in this car. I have published nine books. And I am living and working in a car. I am not alone. Hurricane survivors and these other mountain folks who all worked somewhere else. None of the people here have any experience at being homeless. Now, all of that is over. Big families are in tents. I can work anywhere. It's winter and people are cold. Some people have disappeared. Because they had a chance to get off the grid. Work means chopping firewood. I have worked on picnic tables in parks. I have worked in bus stations toilets. I have worked in schools where when it rained, there would be a deluge from a very bad roof. I have worked in coffee shops where it was warm. So, when you say the word -- work -- no one I have ever met would consider writing a job. At work. Nobody writes about how what's really going on is a sea of sadomasochism perpetuated by Mr. Boss Man, a suit, who gets off on abusing other people who put up with it because. I have no idea why. When suits tell you to jump. You comply. Last year, I wrote books in a treehouse. I am the boss. You suits just shrug indifferently. Everyone is supposed to be like you. Suits watching screens. Robots. The suits call the shots. For you. Not for me. I am not a part of your rotting culture. If I was rich, why would I be working in a car in a parking lot. I have always know that work at home paradigms were expendable because no suit could abuse you beyond the piling on of work. https://tim-barrus.format.com/   TimotheeBarrus@Gmail.com

[timbarrus]

Tim Barrus Teaching Deaf Children to Read and Write

Take notes. I worked in special education (SPED) in a hearing and speech center, clinical environment. Mostly, we had very young children. My class was five deaf four-year-olds who were also mute. There are teachers who would smile at the mute part. My kids were from Chinatown. Let me skip to the part where it's the end of the school year. No one was mute. The room was noisy (I love that). But the proof is in the pudding. I do not believe in printing, and I will not teach it. I teach cursive where the auditory sounding of words are connected. Now, they all had hearing aids. By June, they could talk, have relationships, have friends, and (when they are ready) attend public school. They could read. They could verbalize what they could read. They took to cursive right away.

They could write their own stories.

Parents were shocked. Usually, I'm wasting my time with parents. But with only five kids, I could talk with parents who never thought their child would speak, let alone write stories. Speech therapy every single day. I know lots of men who do that kind of work. No one blinks an eye. I encourage men to take a look at becoming speech therapists. You are needed. You will make good money. And you will meet very cool kids. I give them books that are tough to read. You've got to keep cranking it up. A little harder than they want. Keep reaching. Mothers wept because they never thought that they would hear the voices of their children. A voice is far more than a voice.

[timbarrus]

AT NIGHT, THEY PACE

you were sleeping and I would sculpt your naked body with the contours of my tongue/ you were that flawless carnal bleeding from your hole/ the inside of my mouth was eros drowned in blood/ in the cold hours of the night, you were awake and pacing as if you were listening to an echo no one else could hear/ in fact, you could wail and die and hear the wind/ i will show you all your wounds and knives/

I work with adolescent boys at-risk. Sleep is a pressing issue. One exhausted kid can mean an entire house of exhausted kids.

None of the experts talk about HIV because we really do think AIDS is over. There is no hope that we might remove our heads from the indifferent sand.

The “hard to reach” is HIV medical code for this is probably a teenage boy. The medical paradigm will push the pills. The rest of the kid can be a shipwreck. The medical paradigm offers little beyond the antiretrovirals. While the numbers have shown signs of hope for other segments of the at-risk population, the adolescent numbers are as stubborn as the boys themselves can be.

Anxiety is a killer. It has them by the balls.

Boys in crisis are young men who do not sleep. Past medications like Sustiva have printed information on the pill bottle or box that the drug can cause nightmares. This is disingenuous for many boys at-risk of full-blown AIDS. Substitute the term nightmare for the term, Roller Coaster Acid Trip Through Sleepville. There is not much sleep in Sleepvillle to be had. Monsters are around every corner.

Add into this already complicated issue, the various and demanding issues of sex and sexuality. It is quite impossible for most adults to hold their little adolescent hands through this one. Grounding him will not help. Adults have their own problems. Your kid is having sex with another kid down the block. They have sworn their undying love.

This is not the time to be an asshole parent.

School with HIV is not easy. It can be far, far more complex than just taking a pill every day.

Anxiety affects attention spans. Peers are not always other typical kids. Peers can be other boys with HIV.

Blood draws might need emotional support.

Physical after physical after physical might need emotional support.

Some adult’s gloved finger up your asshole time and time and time again begs the question: what is wrong with the medical paradigm. The kid says it’s sexual. The adults scream no. But the kid is right.

Just getting to the clinic might need emotional support.

What if their best friend is sick again. What if their lover has the flu. There are a lot of what ifs in adolescence. There are even more what ifs in HIV.

Every perceived skin condition (like acne) can be seen by an anxious teenager as the beginning of the end. And often calls for emotional support.

Being in sports requires emotional informational support. These are not snowflake kids. You can tell a kid his HIV is undetectable. But he has to believe it for it to mean anything.

For many at-risk boys, emotional support is nonexistent. A clinic might provide pills, but emotional support remains an idea.

How are we doing.

Not too well. And adulthood interrupted.

My floor is worn with pathways. At night, they pace.

https://www.nytimes.com/2019/10/28/well/family/teenagers-sleep-insomnia.html#commentsContainer&permid=103409106:103409106

[timbarrus]

I work with adolescent boys at-risk. Many have HIV. They are frequently referred to as -- the Hard to Reach. A term that carries stigma like a tsunami. I tweet like crazy. Usually about them and me. Relationships matter.

AIDS is not over. I want you to know that HIV still means a crushing hatred can be an indifference that reinforces keeping these kids in their assigned place. There are many struggles to stay alive. 

We only think we know this disease. But in the back of our minds, we think we've solved it. What about kids who live hundreds of miles from public health clinics, and getting the meds is next to impossible. What about the repeated and repeated and repeated full-on physicals that rob adolescents of their sacred privacy and are seen from such boys as continued sexual abuse this time perpetrated by the system that exploits not supports.

I tweet about all of this and more. I attempt, and usually fail, to communicate their humanity, their terrors, their vulnerability, their attributes, and the immense accumulation of struggles that define them. They are more than the sum of their diseases.

Few people read this stuff. We create a lot of art. Constructed to remind us we are still alive. We put it out there. The point is that we can use creativity to increase our self-awareness versus looking for the relief of a pill that comes with side effects and we already have those in abundance.

Most of all I tweet about death. We are not afraid.

https://www.nytimes.com/2019/11/22/opinion/social-media-kids.html#commentsContainer&permid=103793220:103793220

https://timbarrusart.tumblr.com

[timbarrus]

Stuff That Went Out To Stanford University

I live in Appalachia. My last job (SPED) was working with adolescent boys w/ HIV/AIDS. The disease did not go away. It did not disappear. It's hard to take your meds when you live in a homeless shelter. It's humiliating when the school nurse has to dish out the antiretrovirals and everyone knows what you have. All of them are disabled. We focused a lot on art, and photography. Because it's what I know. Check out Flaunt sometime. Real Stories Gallery Foundation gifted cameras to us so we could go out and call ourselves photographers. We did not call ourselves survivors. So yesterday. It was a Gamechanger. Learning how to edit video gives you experience with math. Hands on. All of this times ten.

Real Stories is the only nonprofit that understood the immediacy. Or you lose your students. Lie to them once, and you are done. The MOMENT the boys received the cameras, they were all over the place experimenting with the medium. None of them had ever owned a camera. We gave them the cameras, and they still have them. They did not have to wait, and wait, and wait for the cameras because the foundation was sensitive to the Time Problem. How many 14-year-old boys do you know who could wait months for a foundation (forget education, it's irrelevant) to follow its procedures, and these kids will wash their hands of you day 1. The foundation puts its money where its mouth is. Very rare. You guys employ a bigger picture, and that is fine. But it's a picture so removed from real kids, there's no there there. Not to the kid. They do not care intellectually about common challenges because they are challenges themselves.

I have failed them. You have failed them. Education has failed them. Afforable housing is now an abstraction. I wish there was some way to connect your bigger picture with their bigger picture. They are not the little people with the little answers. They are important people who have failed everything in their lives. The bigger picture is ephemeral because it is such a political animal. You have made that clear. I am here to tell you that smaller foundations have the ability to actually address the actual problems working with these kids, and working with them is easier than a foundation that is only there in the trenches with you, on a foundation's terms. A fantasy. Sorry, guys, but the boys have their own terms.

The gap between who you are and who they are is just one thing that doesn't work. This gap is about class and caste, and you know it. You are good guys, but you are imagining a world that no longer exists. I tell my students: College is not necessary. The people with the real money buying art photography, do not care where you went to college. What do you have in your portfolio today. Not yesterday. Not tomorrow. Right now. Immediacy is maddening. But it's a big part of building trust. I could care less about where some photographer went to school. I am telling them they don't have to go to school to learn what they now know. What they know can be built upon by them. THEM. Not me. Guess what. They're publishing. They don't really need you guys. They can stake out their own own direction. A road trip they will not forget.

[timbarrus]

Why are you here. To take my HIV pills. Why are you here. To get high. Why are you here. To suffer. I am here to suffer. Ending: It has to be about hope, and Yes, But. You are here to endure.

[timbarrus]

Tim Barrus on PrEP

[timbarrus]

On Suicide, Adolescence, HIV, AIDS, and Wanting to Live

[timbarrus]

Just Before the Cure is an on-going book I am writing.