HEAVENLY.

I have only a limited amount of time left to inhabit this body. But I will go on. Like we all do. As a speck of dust floating in the universe. Free, untroubled, and no more time constraints. Oh, and the music, the symphony of silence, which will move even a speck to feel whole like never before.

Having been educated for a lifetime on earth, we are acclimatised to being alone. But it won’t bother us anymore because we’ll now know that it’s at our core to be this way. On earth we lived outwardly for the enjoyment of others, whilst living our real spiritual life within our heads.

It was good preparation for this new life. Our real life. Devoid of any more death or disappointments in this void amidst the great vastness of all voids. Drifting. Weightless. Nowhere to go for there is no “where.” There is only here. And now. No time to be on time somewhere. No further commitments or responsibilities. Nothing to feel guilty about for there are no religions in this new place of real love and peace. All that belonged back in that ant-like existence when we had so little consciousness we could never comprehend the complexities, and yet simplicity, of this great vastness and freedom of being. In this new existence you can let your mind wander for a thousand years, even a million, in old time, and then snap back to a moment before that thought even occurred.

You now realise that the great artists – the writers, the painters and the composers – instinctively understood it.

Finally, we are fulfilled with a capacity to love that was once capped on earth by a ceiling we feared pushing beyond. But now, we experience it to the full which unleashes a bliss to make each of us feel like God. Because in this moment that never ends, we are God.

I was young just yesterday, and now I am older than the world will ever be.

Looking back at my earth life, I now realise that most of us were only living because we feared dying.

But there’s nothing to it.

 

(c) Frank Howson 2020

THE MEANING OF SUCCESS.

The word success is almost impossible to define, as it means something different to just about everyone. It’s much too large than a single word can contain,  because it’s a concept. A floating concept that bends and morphs and matures as we do. What we think it means at the beginning of our journey, may be vastly different to what it means at the end. It’s a dream that, once it’s seemingly fulfilled, may be considered a burden. A curse. A prison cell. A nightmare.

Perhaps it’s God’s sneakiest joke on us all. Giving us what we think we want, in order to find out first hand how hollow it ultimately becomes. 

McCartney hit it on the head, simplifying it to “Can’t Buy Me Love.” A record we could dance to, even if the concept was way beyond our comprehension at the time. Perhaps Paul was starting to understand how restrictive a “successful” life can be.

One of the Ten Commandments states that “Thou Shalt Not Worship False Gods.”  I have interpreted that to include money = success. For I’ve seen first hand people worship it at the expense of their family, friends, colleagues, ethics, talent and own life.  Their “concept” of success was so delusional it eventually devalued every thing of true value in their life.

I was once privileged to have had a song of mine selected for inclusion on the Ferrets’ second album “Fame At Any Price.” I loved that album title then, as I love it now. It was prophetically apt for a band that self-combusted shortly after its release. Perhaps from the pressure of having to follow-up a Number One single and a Gold debut album “Dreams of a Love,” which incidentally also featured a song of mine entitled “Killing Ourselves.”  A lyric about the friends of mine who were falling in action during the Melbourne heroin epidemic of the Seventies. That song proved prophetic for the band too.

It’s one thing to crave success. It’s another to have the stomach for it. People take drugs like heroin to numb themselves to the world around them. Isn’t it bizarre that when many performers finally break through and achieve the success they’ve craved, they reach out to self-medicate themselves to…what? The pain of it? The disappointment that the concept of success was so much more thrilling than the reality? Or is it their fear that they, mere mortals, are suddenly treated like gods, and know they can’t sustain this facade for long without publicly falling? False prophets for a false society. 

It says a lot about our society that Elvis Presley, the most famous and desired man in the world, died of loneliness. Photographs of him towards the end show a man who is dull-eyed, self-medicated to the point of not knowing where he is, and clearly not having a good time. He even mocks himself in his final heartbreaking performances as if all his dignity is gone. Pity the man who inherits the world, but loses his soul?

We are fed the “Dream” to keep us productive, and striving day to night to achieve our goal, so we can be happy. But, what if, as Judy found out, there’s nothing at the end of the rainbow except burnt-out, broken, despairing suckers?

I always thought the rainbow ended on the corners of Hollywood Boulevard and Western. It almost did for me one night, but that’s another story. And there are millions of stories in the naked city.

My father worked his guts out from 6am until 5pm every day in a thankless job that paid him nowhere near his worth. Then he’d come home and drink. Do you blame him? I sure as hell didn’t. He dreamed of reaching retirement age and getting a big payout. He didn’t make it. In one of the final lines in Arthur Miller’s cathartic play Death of a Salesman, “…No one dast blame this man…He just had the wrong dreams. All wrong.”

How much of our lives are wasted chasing the wrong dreams? “When I get a nice new car I’ll be happy!”…”When I get married I’ll be happy!”…”When I get a nice house I’ll be happy!”…”When I have a child I’ll be happy!”…”When I get divorced I’ll be happy!”… “When I can retire and live as I want I’ll be happy!” etc., etc. The truth is, we’re not happy to begin with. One thing I’ve learnt from my own experience is that money and success won’t make you happy. In fact, they will just amplify the painful reality that you aren’t.  In order to enjoy money and success, you must be happy within yourself before you obtain them. Otherwise they are weights around your neck that’ll drag you down to the bottom of the ocean.

Bob Dylan once said that “a successful man is someone who gets up in the morning and goes to bed each night and in between does exactly what he wants.” So, there you have it. Real success is freedom. The freedom to be who you are, and do what you want to do.

I’ve always admired people who are good at what they do. That’s probably a working class respect I inherited from my parents who much admired skilled tradespeople.

America used to have a healthy competitive pride whereby whatever job you had, people wanted to be the best at it. Whether it was driving a cab, being a shoeshine boy, a bellboy, a clerk, a hot dog vendor, etc.

I’ve seen waiters in Los Angeles, old guys who had made a career of it, and they were perfection personified. It was riveting to observe their attention to detail, manners, diplomacy, professionalism, and so on. The top guys made a fortune in tips and deserved every dime. But more than the money, they prided themselves on being the best. Some, were legends. I was in awe of them and paid them great respect. 

So, what is success? Is it determined by money? Or by your ability? Or what others think of you? Or how loved you are by your family? Or how many people know your name? Or how many of your peers respect you? Or how fulfilled you are within yourself?

Because, if we don’t know the answer to that, it means most of us have been striving for something that is so elusive, it is even beyond us. And, if we don’t know what we’re seeking,  how can we expect to find it? Or ever be content?

I like to walk a lot and, when I do, observe people. You could say it’s part of my job. And in my journeys into the outside world, I have from time to time passed many happy people. The happy family man. The happy young girl walking hand-in-hand with her love. The happy little boy who puts his protective arm around his younger sister and smiles at her. The happy busker who has a captive audience and a hat full of money. The happy taxi driver who loves to chat with his passengers and treat each as a new friend. And so on. To me, all these types are successful people. In the truest sense of the word. They are happy within themselves and thus radiate happiness outward. They have not been shackled by expectations. Either of our own making, or of others. 

I have also seen and met some of the wealthiest, most powerful and famous people in the world whilst I lived in L.A, and quite a few were utterly miserable, and made everyone in their presence feel the same.

In the some of the final lines of the classic movie, “It’s A Wonderful Life,” it is stated, “No man is a failure who has friends.”

I believe that. I have some very true, loyal friends. Their rock solid friendship make me feel successful, happy and content for having found them. No matter what I do professionally, or don’t do, or they do or don’t,  we have achieved something rare, precious and beautiful. Something real. 

 

(c) Frank Howson 2020

photograph by Vanessa Allan.

HOPE, LOVE & LIFE

As long as there’s hope
We can still see the light
It’s shinin’ there
In the darkest of night
As long as there’s hope
As long as there’s hope
We’ll be fine

As long as there’s love
We got nothin’ to fear
In the drivin’ rain
Our road will be clear
As long as there’s love
As long as there’s love
We’ll get there

Life’s always tempting you
One thing or another
Betraying your friend
Your sister or brother
But don’t you dare
No, don’t you dare
What do we have
If not ourself?
And the will to care?
As long as there’s life
I will not feel alone
These times are tough
When you’re all on your own
But you’ve got hope
And as long as there’s hope
You’re not alone….

Hope, love and life
You’re not alone…

 

by Frank Howson. 2020

OBITUARY TO A WORLD

Everyone will get lauded

And betrayed by a kiss

I’ll call that Life, said God

It is what it is

And so it was

And the story was told

Till a man called Paul

Rewrote it to be sold

They buried the truth

Like they buried the light

A few shadowy figures

In the secret dead of night

They took women who were righteous

And reduced them to whores

The rest were dismissed

To do menial chores

But the rock has been rolled away

And the light let back in

On the land of two suns

And the disciples of sin

Where the weather ravages

The new Babylon

That houses the murderers

Who thought all witnesses were gone

Johnny, we hardly knew ya

But your truth is marchin’ on

Ain’t it sad how one’s never valued

Till we turnaround and they’re gone

A beautiful woman named Mia

From Canada she came

She left a husband there

So she could make herself a name

She was blonde and naive

And believed in romance

But the wolves descended

And made her dance

They took pretty Mia

And turned her into a whore

She’s been walked over now

More times than a floor

They said, “Welcome to Hollywood,

My dear

We’re gonna feed you delusion

Baffle you with power and fill you with fear

Now take off your clothes

And show us what you got

You’ll be an attractive addition

To our crowded backlot

She was used and abused

And caught the Stockholm Syndrome

From those granted absolution

From the exulted in Rome

She fell in love with her captors

And thought they were her friends

But in a cold water shack

Her story ends

I’ve lived in one rooms

And I have lived on the street

I’ve lived in mansions

That weren’t complete

Didn’t I fall?

Do you remember when?

Carrying your cross

Again and again

Blind Boy Grunt knows what it means

He’s had his ear to the tracks

And can now detect the line 

Between truth and the facts

The joker, it’s foretold

Whom everyone laughed at

Will be the one who’ll conquer

The disease of the bat

Hatched by evil men

And their New World Order

Who want the world vulnerable

Without morality or border

It’s only the madmen

Who’ll see with their hearts

The coming of the Lord

When the fighting starts

Between men and children

And women and themselves

The signs are blinding

The deeper one delves

Tyrants will hijack the world

In exchange for their souls

They’ll force feed you on fake news

And phoney polls

Everything you believe

Will be exposed as a lie

And your heroes will be exposed

And as traitors will die

Dark clouds are gathering

And we know what that brings

That slow train comin’

Carries a scorpion that stings

And the highest of high

Will appear to end the mystery 

That the meaning of life was to simply love

and to love  simply

 

(c) Frank Howson  2020

 

photograph by Vanessa Allan

YOU LOVED ME

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

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. 







A SOLDIER OF MANY CAMPAIGNS

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