I remember raindrops I remember a child I remember that look of yours When we were young and wild I drink to forget these days And sing songs without hooks As I search for my shirt And go to burn some books I remember outrage I remember the shock We stupidly thought we were free As we danced 'round the clock You made a beautiful bride While I made a mess of things We could not be enslaved By the confines of rings And yet I get sentimental Every time I stumble And in every reflection I see Berlin in rubble I remember lamb chops I remember a road I remember how much I loved Before the teardrops flowed I drove to Hollywood While you drove me insane Nowadays I'll be found Among mementos of pain And yet I get sentimental Every time I stumble And in every reflection I see Berlin in rubble I had a winning regime Before Russia in the fall In case you were wondering In case I missed your call And yet I get sentimental Every time I stumble And in every reflection I see Berlin in rubble (c) Frank Howson 2020
We had our reasons Gone like the seasons Hollow excuses Followed phony abuses We lodged our defences And lost our senses Now here we are It feels so bizarre Before then You loved me You loved me You loved me What did I do That couldn't be forgiven? I bought your vision Stubborn indecision Lonely refugees Tryin' too hard to please If this be destiny We've been lost at sea I still feel you near But you're gone I fear Before then You loved me You loved me You loved me What did I do That couldn't be forgiven? They'd never seen two so in love We were everyone's ideal But when the chips were down The devil reneged on the deal And in that crowded hour When I turned to find my friend You were nowhere to be seen And our song was at an end Before then You loved me You loved me You loved me What did I do That couldn't be forgiven? Excuse me for livin' (c) Frank Howson 2019 photograph by Vanessa Allan.
Dear World, It has been quite an interesting stay here, but I feel I must be on my way. I've always been quite anxious about overstaying my welcome. An overthrow of too many years on the boards. Whilst here I have met some truly beautiful people, by beautiful I mean in spirit, who have inspired me and been kind to me. Most are dead now and I miss them deeply. Unfortunately, I have also met an abundance of cunts who have left me broken in spirit and in pocket. Horrendous people whom not even Mr. J. Christ, formerly of Nazareth, could find it in his heart to forgive. Their actions discredit everyone and they think the human race is some perverse sporting event where someone has to win by any means necessary and every other person has to lose. When I discovered this truth I sold my running shoes and took a seat in the bleachers. The only thing those deluded competitive bastards have won is a place in hell. Their names are on the doorlist. And what's with the fucking weather? Earthquakes, tidal waves, volcanic eruptions, tornadoes, torrential storms and bullshit vomiting from my TV set every night? You can also stick your cooking shows, and your expert political analysts explaining the politics of the day to me via their own fucking bias agendas, up your arse! If you have one? It's enough to send a person mad. And how come after many thousands of years some people still judge others on the shade of their skin? Are you kidding me? Evolution? Zip. The other day I saw a prejudiced old cunt walking a black dog that he called "Sweetie"! So, racism doesn't apply to the shade of animals, only people? Well let's look at each other as animals and we might learn to be kinder. Beam me up, Scotty. There's very little intelligent life down here. The proof of that is aliens may fly past us but there's no way they want to make contact with barbaric rednecks. They've seen what we do to each other. What the hell would we do to little green aliens? But don't get me wrong, dear World. I have enjoyed some aspects of my stay here. Mainly the simple things. Coming home to a warm meal and a happy family; an open fire; being able to help a friend in need; the blissful ignorance of youth; the look in someone's eyes when they believe in you; the beautiful lies of lovers; and the true love of parents who allowed me to be me, even though they must've known the price that would eventually cost. I walk through crowds every day on city streets and all I see are the long faces of the disappointed. As though each face is one big teardrop. The world has certainly been an interesting place to visit. Just not sure I can live here. (c) Frank Howson 2019 Photograph by Vanessa Allan.
I am a soldier of many campaigns. I have fought wars on foreign shores and at home, against many foes, and against myself. I bear many scars invisible to the eye. Never having been decorated by my country you won't find me in the history books. I have fallen by the wayside time and time again while others soaked up the glory. Politicians have me in their blindspot and I refuse to bribe them with dinners, girls, boys, drugs or money. In short, I've been honourably Olsen'd. It's winter in my car now. Like me it refuses to start. She, the woman in the passenger seat, could've at least stayed and given me some warmth. But why change? You know, the clock is wrong and has communist tendencies. The gear stick on the other hand has been behaving like a dictator. And my hand is refusing to have sex with me. It says it's bored. Well how does it think I feel? Why does every living thing have to get bored? It's dark tonight and so cold I'm afraid to fall asleep lest I not wake again. My leg has gone to sleep but that's typical, as it's never done anything I wanted it to. This may explain something to those of you who've sometimes seen me walking along normally and then suddenly, spasmodically, gone into the splits. It's a little embarrassing but usually garners quite a bit of applause. Being an old pro I graciously accept it (I was taught to never waste applause), and take a bow so that people think it was intentional, and worthy of their response. This does place some added daily pressure upon me. But I must say, all in all, that it would be a shame to not awaken to another day of dread and boredom. I'd wonder who won the football? Or did every team lose? Just as an aside, has there ever been a war that was declared a draw? And who decides? Is there a judging panel of experts on the hill? When I was a boy my first love was Hayley Mills.I must've seen that fucking Pollyanna movie 46 times. Not because I was into the story of Pollyanna, but I was very much into Hayley. Well, as much as you could be from the stalls. As the years went by and I grew some hard earned sense I realised our love was doomed before it could even begin. She was a film star princess and I was just a boy from St.Kilda who'd never been anywhere except to the local movie house. It was a painful realisation but there you have it. Still, if she spoke to me today I'd turn into that awkward shy boy. Funny how that is, huh? I have to stop putting my heart into everything I write as I feel there's not much of it left. But should you ever miss me, I'll be right here. (c) Frank Howson 2019
I remember you Even more painful, where and when You told me when it was over That you'd find me again So you searched all the hostels Inhabiting lonely men I was killed by your mouth You were killed by my pen I told you I liked chocolates So you bought me a cigar You have a cruel talent For pushing me too far I remember walking miles While you passed me in your car The same one I'd bought you When you became my star Now the years are conspiring To drive me insane Along with some of my friends Who only deal in pain So let me spell it out To you nice and plain My dance is slowly fading And it failed to bring you rain I'll soon be gone like Jesus To never come again You nailed me to your cross And made me watch you with other men They all hurt and manhandled you And I shed tears for my precious friend But you stood with them and mocked me I should've known how it would end (c) Frank Howson 2019
The Jewish are very smart. They tend to be suspicious of new people until they prove themselves.
Me, probably due to Irish blood on my mother’s side, I treat everyone as family until they prove different. The upside of this is you have a lot of wonderful people in your circle. The downside is, when one, or two, or three of them betray your trust, or work against you out of meanness, it is a devastating jolt to your heart. I end this year with a very weary heart, so weary it murmurs.
This is a result of befriending a man who had very few friends. In fact, most people went out of their way to tell me how much they disliked him. This was mainly due to his own self-destructiveness, opportunism, or snobbery, depending on his mood or his snap judgement of someone. He rarely made an effort, choosing to act aloof, or just plainly not acknowledge others at all. I remember once him coming to Hong Kong with me, and clearly annoyed by the fact that I had/and have a strong group of dear friends here. Most of them he ignored. And when asked a question by a sociable/polite person, he’d assassinate the budding conversation with a blunt “Yes” or “No” answer. Sometimes just a grunt if he thought you were beneath him. This didn’t win him any friends. So, his loneliness is some weird self-fulfilling prophecy. In fact, I remember going out to one of the islands and meeting a long-time friend for lunch and my fellow travelling companion didn’t utter one word throughout the whole lunch. Even when he was asked something. It was so embarrassing it made one’s teeth ache. So much for common courtesy.
When he was propelling people away from himself at a terrifying rate, I asked him what his problem was. At first, he blamed the humidity! Then when that didn’t wash, he went for the sympathy vote, claiming he was very shy. My in-built shit-detector went off because I’ve seen this man when he meets someone with huge wealth or a person who could be helpful to him. Or a celebrity. Bingo! Suddenly he has a personality and would attempt to talk their ears off, mainly about himself and what a genius he is and how he can do anything brilliantly, etc., etc., etc. Well, everything that is, except make an effort to converse with normal people. At one New Year’s Eve Party held at a huge mansion, the person in question was so impressed he cornered the wealthy host and talked and talked and talked about himself and how marvellous he was at everything until the normally polite host had to tell him that he had a party to run and quickly exited.
This walking contradiction gets even weirder considering this person-in-question had come from very humble roots and was staunchly left-wing, supported the Democrat, etc., etc., etc., and yet, was too much of a snob to start up, or keep going, or add to a conversation with anyone he thought was beneath him. I don’t object to anyone’s politics, but I do object to hypocrisy. People who passionately believe in a cause, and who don’t just talk the talk, but walk the walk, I have much time for. Even if I disagree with certain political agendas they support. But hypocrites, nope, count me out.
One day I realised that this person-in-question had some huge internal, psychological, social contradictions. I came to the conclusion he hated himself and was ashamed of his family background. Hence in recent years he’s become a wine and food snob. I would always undo this façade when he’d hold court criticising someone’s wine, by saying, “Y’know, I knew this guy when he used to drink warm beer.”
And it was true.
Somebody I know, a very spiritual person, explained to me that certain people, like the person-in-question, are cling-ons. They don’t actually have a life. They live through you. There’s a great scene in the brilliant movie, “The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford” in which Jesse looks at Ford one day and says, “You don’t want to be like me, do you? You actually want to be me.” A chilling moment. I had another weird moment when the person-in-question berated me for going to a Bob Dylan concert and not taking him! I calmly tried to reply with some logic like, “But you don’t like Bob Dylan. In fact, you’ve ridiculed him for years. And I took a female companion. One who likes Bob Dylan. You…arrr…have a wife? If you wanted to see the concert so much why didn’t you buy two tickets and take her?” I’m still waiting for an answer. Because there is none. It is mental. Dark. Bizarre, and seriously creepy. But I do tend to attract these people. Perhaps because I’m one of the few who has ever given them my time and concern.
Since distancing myself from this person-in-question, he obviously can’t own up to why I have done that. So, the oldest trick in the book, albeit very cliched to anyone with a thinking brain, is he now tells people invented stories about me and accuses me of everything he does. Yawn. Someone with as many things to be ashamed of as he possesses, should be very careful. As that Jewish prophet once said, “He who lives by the sword, dies by the sword.”
I came from a working-class background and my formative years were spent in, at that time, one of the toughest streets in St. Kilda. But unlike my ex-friend, I’m not ashamed of it, nor do I pretend to be something I’m not. I’m actually proud of where I came from and the experiences, both good and bad, that helped shape me into the person I am, as they were invaluable. I also have the greatest respect for battlers, people like my mum and dad who struggled on very little and yet made their kids feel that we were rich. We were rich, in so many ways. Both my parents were unique. Originals. Characters. The type of which we don’t see much of today. But they were genuine. Big-hearted. Told it like it was. And didn’t try to be anything but themselves. Perhaps that’s why they were both so well loved by everyone they met.
I miss them. I think the world misses what they possessed. At the end of the day, that’s what you’re remembered for.
© Frank Howson 2019
Photograph by Frank Howson.
He's in that room Second door to the right Asleep on the couch Exhausted from trying to make sense of it all And from staying out of anyone's way He can't play the person he was anymore The clothes don't fit The lines don't ring true And the lighting isn't right All of his happy endings Added up to one massive disaster He stood up once To be shot down But that bravest hour His finest Misreported by many Cost him more than money And years And the loves of a life Although the fire was extinguished Some embers still burn When it's that three o'clock hour And the world is silent and God whispers "Don't worry" To thwart the attack of the shadow people For it takes a lifetime To realise That the more you're taught The less you think you know It's all part of the process Of shedding skins In order to set the spirit free From the chains of this world For you have to be beaten And mocked And fall Time and time again On your road to humility That will eventually carry you Above these prison walls The world has been taken over by idiots And statisticians Gossips shows and celebrity chefs And is a place where a couch In a tiny room Has become someone's refuge As he puts on his coat And goes walking with his ghosts Into a familiar surrounding That is at last bearable As he wanders With the knowledge that With wisdom comes predictability And explains God's boredom With us Can you imagine? Few can Take this man Oh, take him, Lord He who lived with trauma And the insanity of hope And walked streets that turned back into themselves Like people do And was insulted, defamed and betrayed By those he'd shown the most kindness to How much am I bid for his heart? It's weary from caring But it is still in working order What do I hear for his love That has the capacity to extend to so many For so little in return? What am I offered for his feet That have walked the world many times And yet were still able to stand while others fell? What will you give for his voice That was silenced for a time by experts Who feared his truth? Going once Going twice Sold Words (c) Frank Howson 2019 photograph by Bruce Woodley.