Monday, November 1, 2010
Art and writing from the 'New hope' Series. Part I (Hibernation falls to love)
Separation brings a sense of peace in an awkward moment. Regale as you awake in a new approach to an old route. He can’t make anything you decide. What is hibernation except an escape from duty, and as such you sleep to avoid your need for him. He comes stomping, he comes in with song. He leaps and bounds through forest with arms out to smack on tree. Mud covered boy, moss creeps up leg. Dirt in your hair boy, love push you down your path. Her cave is open your voice is tired from yelling. Now is the time for the snow to melt, now is time for warmth and naked life. Together all things vulnerable are now safe.
Rise from your nestled bed now girl, pressed sleep is patterned on your skin girl. These markings are villainy and you can watch them dissolve by waking hour. Pick her up now boy, brush off wasted time with your good intention. Can you see more with arms locked, can you lead a straighter path as you guide one another? As in all things coupled, you are now too; a pair of vocals and a twin configured energy united to bring the corners of your yearning puzzle like edges together.
Saturday, October 9, 2010
Rebirth (A story about life)
Seven years ago today, I was involved in a very serious bike crash. This incident which I will describe further, left me dead in the street (and I still would be, if it were not for my friend Ian) so naturally, today is a very special day to me.
Usually I like to go on, wax poetic about everything, but I am just going to get down to the brass on this one.
It was October 9th, 2003, my friend Ian and I were out on a late night bike ride around White Bear Lake. The night was clear, it was fall, so it was cool. About 3/4 way around the 11 mile ride I was coming down a hill, it was dark. I was around 100 yards in front of Ian at this time. Still unexplained to this day, Ian saw me take a sharp left off the road; it is assumed that an animal, perhaps a deer, had run out in front of me.
At about 25-30 mph, I collided face first into a large mailbox affixed to the ground with two large 4x4 posts. I’d like to stop here and allow you to observe the photo. A few things to point out: 1. I rolled this mailbox into the ditch, broke one of the 4x4 posts in 1/2. 2. the middle mailbox is number 69. 3. Please to be observing the large metal shank sticking out of the side where I hit it (imagine your face on this)
Ian came up to me, I was lying on the ground, face down, Unconscious, not breathing, no pulse. Rolling me over, slapping me about and pumping on my chest, Ian was able to revive me. All of this, including the following are on his account. I remember nothing an hour before hand, to long after.
“wait here, I will go get help” Ian runs to a house, slamming on the door. “Who’s there” says the startled home owner from inside a house at 1:00 in the morning “it’s ME” Ian says.... He gets them to call 911 and returns to find me, well, he doesn’t, I, in shock have decided to get up and start walking my bike down the road, I was trying to go home.
He convinces me to stop, when the paramedics arrive it takes Ian, a police officer, and both paramedics to wrestle me into the back of the ambulance (gangster). This is probably a good point to describe the extent of my injuries for the best idea of why this is crazy. I sustained a very large impact which left me with my face ripped wide open. My lip was essentially ripped off my face. I ended up with 36 stitches in my upper lip, 12 stitches under my tongue, 10 stitches in my nose (which was VERY broken) a fractured chest plate, lacerations from head to toe, a stretched MCL and a brain contusion ( thats when your brain hits the inside of your skull so hard that it bruises)
I spent a good amount of time in the hospital, they had to keep me awake because every time I would start dozing off, I would stop breathing, and we all know you need to breathe in order to stay alive. I have pictures of myself shortly after, they are very hard to look at for me, if your really curious I can dig one up for you. Essentially my face looked like a big purple balloon that someone took a cheese grater to.
So, what is the point of this? Well, I see it as rebirth, a second chance. Today, when I wake up, despite my differences, despite the pain and difficulty in my life, I know, in my heart of hearts and the depth of my being; that there is no excuse to be upset, because every day with a heart beat, is a blessing, a true and beautiful, wonderful, amazing blessing. I can walk, I can talk, I have a roof over my head and I have hundreds of amazing people in my life. I could not be happier to be alive.
So what I want to say is, I love you, I love you all, thank you for being a part of this journey of mine. For what ever reason the universe decided it was not time for me to go that night, I am excited to discover why, I am excited in every moment and in every breath.
So I walk around with joy, I rarely frown, and when I do I over compensate with a bigger smile. I sing and dance as if the gods depend on it, I feel every moment with vigor and I spread as much love as I can at any turn.
So I walk around with joy, I rarely frown, and when I do I over compensate with a bigger smile. I sing and dance as if the gods depend on it, I feel every moment with vigor and I spread as much love as I can at any turn.
Thank you, your good friend
-Matthew.
Saturday, September 18, 2010
You can, I can. (Art and writing from the New Heart sessions, Part I)
Walking in a world of wax you must be there for me, don’t get hot
Terrible storms and violence make fragile things into mush, we have to put it back
Swimming in the sustenance, it takes time to take it all in
use your arms, you need to use them, try to fly now it’s easy just grab hold of me, just grab hold of me.
There other things we can breathe now, there are special ways to inhale. I target your vapor, I target your mouth. Take me into you, take my exhale; sharing all that is life.
It’s more than blood in the vein today, it’s more than red in color, this wonderful experience given to us by mothers. We can pass along into the next plain with ease, we are wound together in a way that will keep us, keep us together.
It’s more than blood in the vein today, it’s more than red in color, this wonderful experience given to us by mothers. We can pass along into the next plain with ease, we are wound together in a way that will keep us, keep us together.
We are full, we are fragrant. We are now, we are forever. We are you, we are me.
We are full, we are fragrant. We are now, we are forever. We are you, we are me.
Not even you can keep me away now.
BARTA
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
Backing out (Art and writing from the BB sessions, End)
I didn’t bring the poison and I didn’t bring the pain, but I’ve been walking through windows my whole life.
Big words make for big wounds, speak small and softly and we’ll live forever.
I only have myself to blame, I hung it out to fly, my heart is starting to dry.
You have taken me into a bind within my own mind. I don’t have the backlog and categories to handle this again; love is fizzing and popping with effervescence. Loss is not an option, so I choose to stop before it starts.
I should have known better, I should have looked within the guarded letter.
I brought this upon myself, my emotions now laid upon the shelf.
Jumping to conclusions is a dialect of illusions, I made a movie in my mind of things I wished, things I thought could be real life protrusions.
If only I could have you rest your ear, plant your thought on my heart, then maybe you could eavesdrop and give audience to it’s harmony and hymn. Each beat an adventure, an allegory invented just for your comfort and indulgence. A pump in and a pump out
I didn’t bring the poison and I didn’t bring the pain but I’ve been walking through windows trying to find you, my whole life.
Goodbye
-Barta
Thursday, August 26, 2010
Motor hearts. (Art and writing from the BB sessions, Part VIII)
We can both keep driving, but let’s trade lanes, same direction just different inflections.
Grip the wheel, there are certain things from in our lives the wind might try to steel.
Nestle into the seat, the blurred vision and running speed, raises our heartbeat.
Don’t bother with the rearview mirror, in front now and forward, everything we are hear for.
Side by side as we motor, I look to you as you look to me, beautiful, open and care free.
The road will hook, the road will run, the road will bend and then be done. Be there with me, until there is no pavement to be. Two free hearts, not lonely but open and riding as one.
-Barta
Wednesday, August 25, 2010
Truth (Art and writing from the BB sessions, Part VII)
A broken heart still carries a beat. Even the love that makes us sad, can never be bad. Even the pains of life that make us cry, are alright, if along the way; you learn how to fly.
-Me
Thursday, August 19, 2010
Sharing perfection (Art and writing from the BB sessions, Part VI)
My mind could forget but my heart knows nothing of memory.
How one could wonder the brightest star to gather so many eyes, as if her light would not be seen.
Untamed, clouded and desperate.. reaction. Action. and result.
Is true love really just forgiveness? and then so I love the light and forgive it for hiding in its shadow.
Love bites, and rewards (Art and writing form the BB sessions, Part V)
And if there were nothing more amazing than forever, I would forget yesterday. In it was the feeling of heavy breathing and distilled ferment that shuttered the tactility of love like a florescence in my vein, carried by gravity to my extremity, all things of mine, all things flesh; floated. I will be no more to you than what you needed me to be, my burden is not forgetting, my burden is for me, it is mine as is my principal. I amass near a flicker of my faith and reverie, what is right will always find me.
Monday, August 16, 2010
Pulling pedals. (Art and writing form the BB sessions, Part IV)
And I say to myself, protect your heart boy, protect it, because no one else will. your abhorrence and fear of loss is real. The bedlam bustle and commotion, just in the beginning of gain is more painful than never having activated and aroused this budding and conceived dormant love that you just now laid eyes upon.
And I say to myself, be patient boy, patience because of all virtue, she will need that most. A soft breeze is a mental state, thoughts of hovering, show strength in your slow motion. Vibrant movements say yes, but actions of haste will shatter this web like ladder you climb to her heart.
And I say to myself, just breathe boy. Breathe because you live as an aware, careful and clever sage. Breathe because you need the air to fuel the lung, you need the life to return her from living under such a dire and forbidding thumb.
I live as a fool, my mind says run, my heart says stay. In the mean time they dance, what they do is not play.
Protect your heart boy, your chest is soft and the world is sharp.
Be patient boy, she'll love you for who you are
Breathe boy, you need the calm from end to start.
-Barta
Sunday, August 15, 2010
I am life blind. (Art and writing from the Archives, Part VI)
I am life blind, I am a various blend of complication development and difficulty, a bravado bragging of sympathy.
Don't take me back to something I understand, search with me for the opening. Take me to a place I find unfamiliar, fish and frisk the netting of question.
There is and will be a need for desperation and a charge, commitment and demand for our achievement, our art and our love.
Breathe this moment. Don't remember it, it will fail to crest in mind the way it lives in my eye as I hold your essence and impulse.
-Barta
Friday, August 13, 2010
My beautiful friend (Art and writing from the BB sessions, Part III)
I’m wondering something tonight, I’m questioning all of my recent delight.
I want to ask it a question, I want it to explain why it is so bright.
These kinds of nights, these kinds of times are not so easy to find
So glad, so glad, it’s you, you and all you do, on my mind.
But still when you come in the room I am quick to remind, a cause and case
you and I together means where that is, is my favorite place.
Now I see it’s not just you coming for me, you’re bringing your patience
And now I see it’s not just you, when you’re coming for me
These kinds of nights, these kinds of times are not so easy to find
So glad, so glad, it’s you, you and all you do, on my mind.
Now I see that what ever you are to me, is perfect and how I wish it always to be.
You are my friend, you are in my heart. Thank you for all smiles you bring to me.
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
Breaking it open (Art and writing from the BB sessions, Part II)
I’ve been digging my toes in the sand, gripping in into earth with vigor like a shivering connection from head into the grains.
Strain in neck as I lift head to star, with what connection from the moment does not say you are here right now?
I cant ever see it, this happiness I envision, I can smell it. and I can hear it. What sense is putting your fingers on something you will never touch?
I should have known, that a spark in memory of love, precedence in love is somehow made irrelevant by my antiquated bother.
Energy created gone, when left for emotion, sinking over self, sinking over you.
I made this up in my mind, now I need to turn it into something kind.
Living in my world where this wonderful thing makes me feel alone, breathing in new person is not done by rule, open eyes are used as a tool.
These feelings now tell the story of a fool.
Passion Over Pride (Art and Writing from the Archives, Part V)
Withered and worn in perfect fashion, my heart sings as it swims. A bubbly meringued pipsqueak, my heart is a dance. Diving and screeming my chest hurts like a plasm caged gig, a recital of selections just perfect for me and designed for you.
Some times I feel like I should create a disappearing act, something to mimic my own intention, my heart has grown to big for even me.
The pain will never be as powerful as my passion.
I cant be hurt, I cant lose. Everything I actualize, everything I pursue; alters into magic. I sense fear and I breathe, because I rely on the big plan.
Love.
Love.
Love.
Love .
I'll wait forever. (Art and writing from the archives Part III)
Whence I write, whence I stay.
Its somewhere in the beginning, its somewhere in the middle, a glaring gun, an ogling look at what is never limitation, never bound.
There is no time wasted, I wait.
Whence she comes, whence she stays.
She is absent; she is outside antiquated and cold. A disappeared castaway found on chance, initiated and launched. Allied to luminosity and inferno she ignites my frenzy.
There is no time wasted, I wait.
Whence it starts, whence it lives.
By whose help and through what medium is not indulged, my un pretended mastery my explosive unprotected acme, my fragile consummation is crowned and waiting.
There is no time wasted, I wait.
Whence it leaves, whence it dies.
Never.
There is no time. I still wait.
Monday, August 9, 2010
Before I bounce (Art and writing from the archives Part II)
I run UN organized proponents of wisdom; I favor a childish pretense before I master your affection.
I want to stand in a meadow think of silly happy words like dandy, swell, and gosh.
Making sense of emotional dialog turns into a dream, a convoluted entourage of crazy misshaped scenarios, a turnover, a sneaky dance I use to whisp unnoticed through the most complicated and dangerous places.
I am unscathed.
Although, not pushing for what I want, I still know what it is, I'll know you when I see you.
Just. (Art and writing form the Archives Part I)
I can smell it coming down the pipe, my nose pressed against the barometer of predication. I will pull away and leave a ring and a residue, trailing my extension those close to me are picking up its trace, this old dog is learning new tricks. There is no need for dance and for games, this waltz has no smiles, this precession travels a different way. I am no more use to memory than I am to having it.
Tricks and mingling, a fickle fight an agonistic digression, these are but playful in pretense of the martial and militant internecine that any energy which stands in my way will feel. I may not be standing at the consummative conclusion of this aforementioned waltz but I will not be on my knees.
Finding myself content is a serum, and I drink it.
I am the keeper of something truly spectacular and I in my duplicitous nature, in one swift motion if given the chance could and would share this with the world and keep it to my own selfish needs, all in the same moment. ....
I know I will never escape this place alone; I need a gatekeeper, a guide. Unknowing she will arrive and set me free and although, unshackled, the cell will follow me for life but now I am on the outside, and thus the keeper is mine instead, a sweet justice for the greater good
.
Tricks and mingling, a fickle fight an agonistic digression, these are but playful in pretense of the martial and militant internecine that any energy which stands in my way will feel. I may not be standing at the consummative conclusion of this aforementioned waltz but I will not be on my knees.
Finding myself content is a serum, and I drink it.
I am the keeper of something truly spectacular and I in my duplicitous nature, in one swift motion if given the chance could and would share this with the world and keep it to my own selfish needs, all in the same moment. ....
I know I will never escape this place alone; I need a gatekeeper, a guide. Unknowing she will arrive and set me free and although, unshackled, the cell will follow me for life but now I am on the outside, and thus the keeper is mine instead, a sweet justice for the greater good
.
Monday, August 2, 2010
The window and the stone. (Art and writing from the BB sessions, Part I)
A strange mystical unleashed beast, my heart stomps fields and recreates flowering feasts.
We fill with love this home, That is why this time, the window shall break the stone.
A wondering bard from the east, my heart plays the directions and shows
the world it’s musical priest.
Recall falling towards you, memories ensure I’ll never be alone,
this is why I won’t be amazed, when the window breaks the stone.
An innocent child emotions tidy and replete, my heart is open and ready, prepared for the neat.
Everything that surrounds us now was made with the truth of love, all on our own,
Which is why it sits still and not cast, the window will never even have to face the stone.
BARTA
Wednesday, June 2, 2010
Sasquatch '10
Just a quick note, I will be posting pics from the sas show this year soon as well as a few other things.
If there is anything in particular that you are anxious to see let me know. I took 1,387 pictures so it will take me a few weeks to go through them pick out the gems and touch them up.
Thanks again to everyone that made this weekend so amazing.
Cheers,
Matthew
If there is anything in particular that you are anxious to see let me know. I took 1,387 pictures so it will take me a few weeks to go through them pick out the gems and touch them up.
Thanks again to everyone that made this weekend so amazing.
Cheers,
Matthew
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
Life Under The Willow (lyrics)
Ah, aa, There is pressure, stains in my life from gripping,
Ah, aa, There’s ways to measure, all this meaning, keep from slipping.
Fire is a whisper, fire is a willow,
Fire is a whisper, fire is a willow,
Fire is weeping, fire in the tree.
Burn the willow.
Oh, oh, See you in the veil, see you in the mirror
Oh, oh, See you in the Nile, see you in the river.
Water is a ripple, water is life,
Water is a ripple, water is life,
Water is flowing, water in the river.
Flood my life.
Ah, ah, Fire on the river,
Oh, oh, Water on the willow.
Ah, ah, Fire on the river,
Oh, oh, Water on the willow.
Thursday, May 13, 2010
Talking distance
Certain things in certain places, I make room in my life for certain faces.
Music is softer when it’s our music, timing it together
Don’t imagine it without me, finding better places, being forever.
Certain things in certain places, I make room in my life for certain faces.
Life is softer when it’s our life, planning it together
Don’t imagine it without me, changing the weather.
Certain things in certain places, I make room in my life for certain faces.
There’s you, there’s me
There’s you, then there’s me
There’s you, there’s me
There is us, and then there is what we can be,
You and me.
Music is softer when it’s our music, timing it together
Don’t imagine it without me, finding better places, being forever.
Certain things in certain places, I make room in my life for certain faces.
Life is softer when it’s our life, planning it together
Don’t imagine it without me, changing the weather.
Certain things in certain places, I make room in my life for certain faces.
There’s you, there’s me
There’s you, then there’s me
There’s you, there’s me
There is us, and then there is what we can be,
You and me.
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
Reading Me
Someone once said, a city, beautiful.
Why your windows when I need them.
Someone once said, it’s friendly, made for you.
Why your love, when she needs him.
At least nine ways to make it happen,
and a mess of ways to map it again.
This time, we can save, one.
Someone once said, your times design,
thought before. Why your life's remind.
Someone once said, nothings incurred,
meant to be. Why we begin fire, it burned.
And there takes someone to be,
and there takes a starting plee.
And there takes someone to say,
and there breaks a madness you cant pay.
And there takes someone to be free,
and there it lacks imagining by we.
Lips smacking, run away,
your in love again, on holiday.
Someone once said, a city, beautiful.
Why your windows when I need them.
Someone once said, it’s friendly, made for you.
Why your love, she needs him.
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