THE SEX LIVES OF MONKEYS

I wish you could’ve caught me in my prime. I cared. If you’d known me then you may have stayed. But I ripped my heart out and gave it to others. And they never returned it. Proving they didn’t have one of their own.

Like many young male idiots I was driven by sex to destinations unknown. Then one day I grew up to realise that a lot of energy is expended on so little in return. Kings have abdicated their kingdoms, presidents have lost their power, and mere mortals have squandered their wealth, their homes, their families, their reputations, their sanity – for what? Sexual relief in the arms of someone you will lose along with everything else you held so dear. It’s a funny little game isn’t it? But if it grants you a brief solace in a mad world I won’t be throwing the first stone. Or the last.

There are those who gain power by being desired. For a time, until gravity ends their reign. I no longer play the game so I can objectively appreciate their performance for what it is.

“It done been beaten outta me, masta, and you can have your heavyweight crown back while I lay on this canvas and block the sun from my eyes.”

It seems the path to God is through defeat and humility. So having all our childish dreams killed one by one is ultimately good for us. Is that how it works?

There are those of us who evolve, painfully, past this. But all wisdom comes at a cost. Those who resist it are forevermore locked in a futile dance finding comfort in the all too familiar steps but haunted by the sad drum beat realisation that it all means nothing and nobody really cares anymore.

In fact you may as well be speaking about the sex lives of monkeys for all anybody cares.

I was reluctantly and violently thrust into this world. Welcomed into this cold unfriendly place with huffs and puffs and blood and screaming. I didn’t ask for all this fuss and, if the truth be known, have spent most of this life looking for an exit door. At parties or events I never say goodbye. I like to just slip away. Like my mother before me. No prolonged goodbyes or grand farewells. No fuss.

When my time comes and the lights dim on whatever this was, I may look around with the excited expectancy of a child on Christmas morn, to see if you’re there. Of course, you won’t be. But it’s okay as you have hardened my heart to disappointment. I guess that was the lesson you brought me. All is forgiven. All is forgiven. For it was hard to be wise and in love at the same time, wasn’t it? Let’s just say we played our parts well in this fucked scenario written and conceived by a higher power when they were drunk. The plot had its holes and we fell through most of them and landed, arguably, as better people. Broken, but better. Maybe we will meet again on another stage and realise that everything that went before was just a rehearsal and that this time we’ll get it right, performing without masks or baggage or ego or all those things that got in the way of who we really were.

“What if you could have any woman in the world but you only wanted one and without her Life wasn’t much good anymore?”

Well buddy, to put it bluntly, you’re fucked. Humbled, but fucked. But come on in the water’s fine and you’ll find most of us here. Trapped in the stilted delusional conversations about something and someone that wasn’t real. You’ll find that your mind has worked overtime adapting what really happened to something you can vaguely live with. Repairing the stab wounds to your heart, and back, and ensuring that you only remember the good parts from a movie that at the time proved to be unsatisfactory and a time waster, but has grown in stature through repeated viewing. If you allow your mind to rewrite too much you will eventually cross over into insanity from whence there is no return. So forget your troubles come on get happy and join all the sad old men at the far end of the alley. We have no families anymore other than the family of man. No one seeks anything in our eyes and in return we search for nothing in theirs. Accept the truth and you are free of the chains that bind us to this groundhog existence. Being alone will not kill you. Being lonely will. And all that uncashed joy you held in reserve for that mirror partner that never came, try and spend it finding small joys in the simplest of things. A cup of coffee, a conversation with an old loyal friend, the smile from a child, an act of kindness, a sunny day, and a pretty young woman that you want nothing from other than her faith that are one of the good guys.

Yes, all is forgiven. But take the time to forgive yourself too. You owe it to your mind and your spirit to do that.

And as for that delusional movie that you keep replaying in your mind? In reality it wasn’t that good. Tape over it.

(C) Frank Howson 2018

painting by Frank Howson

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GINGER BISCUITS

We told each other we had a good life full of ginger biscuits and roast dinners. I suppose it reminded me of my youth waking up Sunday mornings to the smell of something cooking and the excited anticipation of a family gathering.

I’m all that exists of that family now. So, in my defence, I will plead guilty to attempting to bring this ritual into our lives in the hope of a shared familiarity or perhaps the conjuring up of ghosts from the past. Futile dreams were our dessert. Big serves to disguise the cold reality that the best in us was gone. All that remains are the broken pieces of empty dishes. And the broken after dinner stories of broken lives that harbour in my memory and things I dream at night.

There were glimpses of great love in my family but thinly wedged between slabs of anger, recriminations, abuse, guilt and tears. Perhaps that’s what makes those glimpses glow so warmly in my heart.

You wanted a feeling of family and so did I but we were loveless refugees on the run and our pantomime of make-believe was a farce that didn’t hold up to intelligent scrutiny. But the first thing to die in such a delusion is intelligence. We played our roles with conviction but were hopelessly miscast, or perhaps just too old for believability.

We had a life of ginger biscuits and roast dinners but that was all. There we were, unarmed, falling where we stood in the small talk and repressed resentment that neither of us got what we had wanted. The past can’t be repeated, excluding the bad bits, by acting out the good. There is no cutting room floor anymore. Gone. All gone. My youth. My dreams of love. My good will to others. My mistakes of the heart. My misplaced loyalty to all the wrong people. Gone. And soon I will be gone, and all that will remain will be words. And people’s rushed and conflicting judgement of who they thought I was.

Fortunately there will be no one to play act the glimpses of my failed Quixotic quests to harness some joy in myself, and in others.

 

(C) Frank Howson 2018

THE PAINTER

Out of the darkness
And into light
We face a blank canvas
And call it a life
Our hand tracing lines
Adding colour here and there
Some of us choose to be bold
While some of us never dare

So how much am I bid
For this crazy life I've lived?
Do you find it too frivolous or too bleak?
Does it move you to tears?
Or does it look like wasted years?
This painting has cost me more than I dare speak

Lost in a city
Lost in a crowd
I don't speak till I get drunk
And then I get too loud
Your beautiful face
I have captured it by hand
But you denied me your heart
And cut me down where I stand

I have painted sorrow
And sometimes joy
But cocktails in a gallery
Won't bring back my boy
So I'll paint him from memory
From the time he called me dad
Some of us paint our mistakes
While some of us just go mad


(c) Frank Howson 2018

Painting by Frank Howson. 

OUR HEALTHY LIFE

I have seen it all
But missed so much
What happened to our healthy life?
Did we lose our touch?
There are women out there
That want to thrill ya
There are men who stare
That want to kill ya
I'm living in a two room condo
In Clownsville
I think I may've died but
The stubborn part is living still
Love is not for wimps
Or just a point of view
It waivers in the wind
When it doesn't ring true
I've been to hell
They know me there
Tell 'em Frankie boy says hello
If you dare
Everyone I meet
Is somebody's girl
My dad was Jack
My mother was Pearl
They taught me how
To survive our street
And to see the beauty
That comes with defeat


(c) Frank Howson 2018

Painting by Frank Howson (c) 2017

THE PEOPLE OF DARKNESS

The living are always under attack from the dead. As night follows day so do those of darkness target those of light and stalk them with words of hero worship when,  the truth is, the mere existence of those with a spark irritates them and they consciously or, in some cases, subconsciously,  work toward the extinguishment of that flame. Wilhelm Reich writes about this condition in detail in his book The Murder of Christ.

The people of darkness use many tools to bring down the envied. Negative rumours, stories that are unfounded in fact, and a whole range of politically acceptable words to discredit their target i.e., Narcissist (this applies to anyone who is successful in showbiz who uses social media to promote their latest ventures) because the fact that someone may actually be getting off their fat ass and doing something reminds the person of darkness how meaningless and unfocused their own life is; Nazi (it is acceptable in today’s politically correct world to call anyone with an opposing opinion this and get away with it. This is disgustingly outrageous and unfair to their target whose only crime may be to have an original thought, as well as, obviously, making light of what the real Nazis did). But let me not bring logic into this lest I be called names. Anti-Semitic is a good one too in some cases. I have even witnessed Jewish people being called anti-Semitic because they dared to have an opinion that didn’t sit comfortably with the party line. Such is the out of control world we live in where the militant wheel gets oiled first and the logical debate is not only not considered it is condemned. Here we have a perfect storm for the people of darkness to not only hide within, but thrive.

Bob Dylan has predicted for some time now that we have entered the end game. Anyone who has studied theology and the predictions of the old prophets would have to concur. In my opinion we are currently engaged in the final war between good and evil, darkness and light, and the shadow people are only going to get more and more hysterical as things don’t go their way. They are currently very confused as to why things aren’t going the way of the Polls. Could it be divine intervention?

It is difficult to untangle yourself from a person of darkness because they are cling ons – spiritual vampires sucking your energy. And the more you give them the more resentful they will become towards you. For even your kindness is an irritation. A reminder of what they are not. They will insult you by praising strangers and even abusing and opportunistic ex-partners above your efforts to help, give and support. This is to make you crazy and so confused you will cease to be able to function and end up zombie like staring out a window into the light that was once your source. Do not under any circumstances feed them. Let well enough alone. Danger and madness this way comes.

(C) Frank Howson 2017

THE NAKED SPOTLIGHT

The great actors know
What it's like
To stand naked in front of strangers
Your vulnerability exposed
And on show for all to see
No secrets
No guards
No veils
No safety net
No second takes
You're on and this is the moment
To learn to not cover yourself
For the sake of modesty
There is no such thing
Anymore
So you relax
And savour it
Burn
Don't run
It's thrilling that they now
Know you more intimately 
Than you know yourself
The monster with a thousand eyes
Hidden in the dark
Breathing as one
Committing every part of you to memory
And reducing you to a one line review
To be discussed amongst friends
At dinner parties
Laughing at how far you were
Prepared to go
For that moment of truth
That intimidated the audience
Reminding them how timid their lives were
In comparison
Exposing their cowardice
To walk the high wire
And to be seen in anything less
Than designer labels and tags
While you are free
To soar
Experience
Feel
Fail
And show 
The real you
8 shows a week
They will never be able to hold
Eye contact with you again
Without flinching
For your eyes are way too honest
And brave
And can see into
The darkest places of the soul
It has made you strong
Undefeated
Self-reliant
And lonely

(c) Frank Howson 2017



MEMORIES OF MOONLIGHT

My memory is going
Taking with it the moonlight
I can feel it
That bank of steel
That never let me down
Is letting go of things
Perhaps making room for new
Or maybe God is showing mercy
By finally unloading from me
Some of the painful baggage
I have carried for far too long
I don't know
Not even sure what my PIN number is anymore
But the jokes still come
To cover any situation
And never let me down
I have been using this technique
Since I was a child
Who felt things too deeply
To save face amidst any humiliation
Against any bullying
Or grief
Despair
Loss
Embarrassment 
It's seen me through many falls
And comebacks
And falls again
As I've clung desperately
To the glimpses of joy
While equally frantic to shed
The fatal wounds of misery
Now
All has become one
In a faded echo of some childhood song
Where only the chorus is still remembered
And the detailed verses
Are only hummed
The Tin Pan Alley story forgotten
But the melody memorable enough
To linger in that part of your brain
Reserved for joy and innocence
From a time way before
You knew of war
Or suffering
Or heartbreak
Or selfish love
Or painful longing
And here you find yourself again
And know it from memory muscle that this strange room
Feels like home
Whatever that was...


(c) Frank Howson 2017