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.
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 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
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
I sometimes love to sit on my second storey apartment balcony on a sunny day and look up at the sky or below to the people passing by, some I know, some I never will. Closing my eyes and tilting my head so I feel the warmth of the sun on my face. A warm that seems to melt away the years and renews by reminding one of the inner warmth that was felt during those perfect brief moments in your life.
One day I stood after being renewed, and was about to go back inside and resume some work when I heard a bird chirping away. I leaned over the balcony and looked down to the branch of a tree below and saw a bird building a nest. Transfixed I watched for some time as this little bird would fly away and return some moments later with the perfect twig to fit into this complex jigsaw puzzle of what only she could see would eventually be a nest for her forthcoming child. If anyone wants to gaze upon the wonder and effort of love, check out this painstaking ritual if, like me, you get the chance.
I stood there for hours that first day and watched this bird’s tireless solitary vigil. Occasionally she would sense my presence and look up at me, and I would smile back and gave encouragement even though I knew she had no idea what I was saying but hoped that in my tone she sensed my appreciation and respect.
This went on for about a week until the nest was perfection. Utter perfection, so cleverly and intuitively constructed, strong and sturdy, resting safely on a well protected branch. My eyes teared up from the astounding accomplishment of her love.
Sometimes she would fly back to rest in the nest and look up at me and we’d have our one sided conversations.
One sunny morning I went out onto the balcony and looked down to see two faces looking up at me. If there is a feeling of magic it was in that moment. I went back inside and returned with some food I thought was small enough to feed this new hungry family. I softened it in my mouth and then dropped it down to them. And so this ritual went on for some days until one morning they were gone. Leaving only that perfect empty nest. I wish I had gone and retrieved it and taken it somewhere to be bronzed as a keepsake forevermore. A symbol of pure love. But being only human I didn’t get around to it. Or perhaps I had too much respect to touch it with human hands. As a species we tend to destroy or damage the most perfect things in order to own them.
Some time passed, and one day I was sitting on the balcony in the sun, daydreaming, when two birds swooped down and landed on the balcony handrail and calmly stood there looking at me. I smiled at them and said “Hello” and got up to walk into the interior darkness of my rented nest when I had a realisation that stopped me in my tracks. I turned but they were gone never to be seen again. My instinct tells me that it was actually the mother and child returning to say “Thanks and farewell.” I’d like to believe that. Somehow I need to.
(c) Frank Howson 2017
I remember only yesterday
Thinkin’ love would never go away
You painted all the colours of my dreams
The picture’s blurred and broken at the seams
And one by one these dreams they disappear
Till all that’s left is make believe and fear
We choose our words with a painstaking care
Then we wake to find nobody’s there
And so we say goodbye to me forgiving
Say goodbye to all that living
Say goodbye how could we part
Tear one more page from Life’s flip chart
Say goodbye to all that loving
Say goodbye all roads to nothing
Say hello my brand new start
As you go say farewell to my heart
Oh my dear it seems like yesterday
When all my dreams were cruelly snatched away
The perfect girl for lonely me I thought
Dumped me for the life that money bought
And left behind a bitter broken shell
My bride now someone’s toy and I’m in hell
Just a place where lonely men confer
And talk about how once we were in love with her
And then we say goodbye to me forgiving
Say goodbye to all that living
Say goodbye why did we part
My love has stopped and won’t restart
Say goodbye to all that loving
Say goodbye all roads to nothing
Say hello go play your part
And as you go say farewell to my heart…
Too late to cry…
Say goodbye to my heart…
(c) Frank Howson 2017
I was born in St.Kilda Lived most of my life here Travelled the world searching for what was Probably already found And like the prodigal son I returned My face lined with lessons learned To the only place that ever felt to me like home My childhood was spent in Fawkner Street It was for a time my whole world Among our neighbours were ordinary battlers Sly grog salesmen Gamblers and gangsters Public enemy Number one Norm Bradshaw nicknamed The Beast for good reason Lived there When he wasn't on the run So did his in-laws The Shannons and our next door neighbour, the Aussie equivalent of Bonnie Parker - Pretty Dulcie Colourful big-hearted contradictory characters I remember the night that several rival gangsters Kicked in Pretty Dulcie's front door and walked down her corridor Spraying gun shots One stray bullet came through our wall and if it'd been a little further to the left Somebody else would be standing here today The 6 o'clock swill at the Barkly Hotel Produced enough colourful characters and street poetry To fill a thousand pulp fiction novels There was no better grounding to be a writer or an actor Than to stand on the corner of Fawkner Street and Barkly at sunset And watch the cavalcade of originals spew out onto the street and wander home in what seemed like a slow motion drunkard's dance Two steps to the left, three to the right Mr. & Mrs. Kilpatrick owned the corner Milk Bar And were the moral guardians of the neighbourhood If you were having a poor week They'd give you supplies and keep a tab You survived on your word and good name In those days people trusted each other My father worked for the St. Kilda Foreshore for over 30 years His little office was under the biggest dip in Luna Park's Scenic Railway and he looked after all the beaches as well as the O'Donnell Gardens The latter was where a lot of my boyhood was spent Playing while he worked In my mind recreating Sherwood Forest, the Alamo and every John Wayne movie Hiding in the bushes, climbing trees, attacking the cavalry Developing an imagination Robin Hood, Peter Pan, Davy Crockett and Spiderman I fought beside them Blood brothers every one We used to save the world before each day was done My mum worked across the road at Candy Corner To me, in my memory, still the best lolly shop in the world bar none And my dad, during the summer months Would work a second job at night Running the ferris wheel at the sideshows to the right of the Palais My first public appearance was on the stage of the St. Kilda Town Hall at the age of seven, performing "Give My Regards To Broadway" Although to us, Broadway may as well have been the moon Years later my father actually died in an ambulance outside the Town Hall It was a fitting place for him to leave this world For you see, our world was St. Kilda It was engraved in our hearts Everyone I have mentioned, other than me Have gone now They are ghosts that haunt these streets and boulevards and beaches You hear their faraway laughter on the wind and see their outlines in the mist of dawn The spiritual guardians of a place that was every bit as unique as Times Square, or Soho, or Wanchai Every weekend people from all over Melbourne would jump a tram Or a train and come to St. Kilda To see the freaks, hear the music, eat the exotic European food, Rub shoulders with the ten most wanted Poke fun at the bohemians Sneak a guilty sidewards glance at the painted ladies Eat the cakes of a thousand calories And parade along the promenade with someone special Please, for sake of all those ghosts, Don't let the soul of St. Kilda die Atmosphere can't be planned or created It is a magic Like stardust from the Gods And once it's gone It's gone It can't be explained And it can't be fabricated It's not a trick of Houdini There is no recipe It can't be reduced to something mortals can understand But at the heart of it there is a truth People don't come to experience a strip mall Even if it has been exquisitely designed They come to experience Life That to me is St. Kilda And our Art Tells the world who we are What we think And where we come from And like Davy Crockett at the Alamo I'll defend that till the end (c) 2017 (Speech delivered at the opening of the St. Kilda Arts Crawl September 21, 2017.)