I am banning you.

These arguments have gone on literally for centuries. I deal with damaged boys. I do it every day. I am not a pedophile. I am not attracted to children.

I understand that if you read my work, you can tweak it to fit a mold it does not, in fact, fit into.

In fact, if you really had read my work, you would see that I say over and over and over and over again and again and again THAT A FUCKING DISEASE MAS MADE ME IMPOTENT.

I put my fucking balls right out there.

But my work is work is literary. It is INFUSED with ART. ART. ART.

How many times do I have to say it.

I call it Tom Pynchon on LSD.

That is a writing jag that can take you many places. You CANNOT take my literary work and assume ANYTHING. As being ME in my personal life.

I am sorry to say that I am now compelled to see if there is a way to ban you from following me. I have never banned anyone. So I will have to see if it’s even possible.

This from a published review of Pynchon’s work.

I’m probably, and with a giddy-making “WTF,” the dense prose of author Thomas Pynchon has finally made it to the big screen. Not through the efforts of a bunch of nobodies, either: Inherent Vice, a Seventies-set stoner mystery, stars America’s finest working actor, Joaquin Phoenix, buried snout-deep in the author’s signature paranoia and hippie haze (as well as some fearsome mutton chops). Writer-director Paul Thomas Anderson, the genius behind Boogie Nights, Magnolia and There Will Be Blood, has emerged as a kindred spirit to Pynchon’s loose-limbed funkiness and expansive interconnectivity. The movie looks and feels luscious — it’s a unicorn of artistic freedom backed by big-studio support.

I understand that people can get into my work, but for all the wrong reasons.

If you saw the kids I work with YOU WOULD WEEP. You would VOMIT.

It is not an intellectual exercise. I REFUSE to be typecast. Period.

The operant phrase in this review is expansive interconnectivity.

That is what I DO. It is not a CAUSE. That is the place I write from.

Can you get it.

Maybe it’s just easier to say that I am insane on medical marijuana. There.

If I write about a dog, does that make me a veterinarian.

I do not have sex with children. Period. I am not attracted to it.

I SEE the damage that has been WROUGHT on children. It is beyond, beyond, beyond the pale to see a young boy rocking back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, who has not spoken a single word for two years.

BECAUSE HE WAS FUCKING ABUSED!

He has a colostomy.

BECAUSE HE WAS FUCKING ABUSED!

He’s suicidal.

BECAUSDE HE WAS FUCKING ABUSED.

Hey, you. Go read his fucking work.

Jordon and I Made a Video

We made a video. It was about when bad things happened. I am a very bad person. I am sorry.

by Brandon

Brandon is not a bad person. He is a beautiful person. He is a fragile person. AND HE WILL KILL HIMSELF IF HE CAN.

JESUS FUCK!

Being raped was NOT his fault.

Not on my watch, baby. Not on my watch. And I never use a stupid exclamation point.

I do not CARE if you frame this in an intellectual way.

Fucking bullshit.

When Pynchon wrote Bleeding Edge, was he bleeding.

Maybe only in the cavalcade of words.

BUT HE WAS NOT BLEEDING BLOOD.

I don’t CARE what you call his work.

It is NOT simplistic.

Hardly.

I don’t CARE what you call my work.

It is not simplistic.

Hardly.

I will NOT be painted with a paintbrush that implies ANYTHING.

If I write about little women, does that make me Louisa May Alcott. No. It does not.

You will NOT draw me into an intellectual argument.

It’s not intellectual to me.

Maybe to you.

But not to ME!

You don’t GET me. You don’t. You just don’t. It’s collegeboy time for you. Go argue it somewhere else.

This kid acts out and once fucked his ass with a broken beer bottle.

Can you get it. Can you get it. Can you try. Can you try.

I don’t CARE if you claim attraction isn’t behavior.

It’s the IMPLICATION.

That, too, DAMAGES people. Real people. People are not intellectual arguments.

I don’t like your argument, and I don’t like your rhetoric.

I don’t want you to follow me. I don’t like the gravitas it brings.

Please. Please. Please. Go away. Quietly.

Do NOT contact me.

Ever again.

This is NOT about you. This is NOT about you. This is about KIDS. They are NOT intellectual explorations. This is not about an overly intellectualized argument.

I don’t want you in my head. I don’t want you in my head.

I am TIM BARRUS. I put my REAL NAME fucking OUT THERE.

You are hiding behind a pseudonym. I’ve done it myself.

But not this time. But not this time. But not this time.

I am TIM BARRUS and I want you to go away. This leaves a very, very bad taste in my mouth. I put my NAME on my work. Finally. And you do not. And you do not.

Excuse me. I have to go now. I have to go clean a colostomy stoma.