BEWARE THE MAN

Beware the man who says he’s highly principled but bad mouths you behind your back.

Beware the man who is in awe of you, then wants to be you, then realises he can’t be, then resents you.

Beware the man who tells you how much his wife is worth and what he’ll get when he divorces her.

Beware the man who turns everything into a competition to compensate for his dick size.

Beware the man who tells you he’s best at everything. They are the ones who make the most mistakes.

Beware the man who is a snob and looks down his nose at everyone yet tells you he’s a Democrat. And a highly principled one at that.

Beware the man who counts your mistakes but never his own.

Beware the man who takes a commission on something he contributed nothing to. Although he’ll tell you he’s highly principled.

Beware the man who’s so dumb he doesn’t realise you are awake to him.

Beware the man whose ego is so huge he can’t see anyone else’s point of view.

Beware the man who shares the same Star Sign as Hitler but tells you the stars have moved.

Beware the man who suffers from deep depression because he knows what he is.

Beware the man who denies the existence of God because he fears being judged.

Beware the man who is scared of himself.

Beware the man whose ambition far outweighs his ability.

Beware the man who is only nice to those he thinks may be useful.

Beware the man who was born to lose. He wants you as a friend.
(C) Frank Howson 2018

(c) photograph by Frank Howson 2018

 

 

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THE BIG MOUTH STUMBLES

2 dogs barking through a symphony
A bottle of red wine gone bad
Like a new king in early spring
One never knows what one had
I lost my youth in search of truth
But it got me here
I came so neat
I’m gonna fake my death
And find some peace
Just like Elvis did
I’ll walk away my pain in the Kentucky rain
Just another face in the crowd
I never knew what love was till you broke my heart
Now I’ve got it all down I don’t know where to start
K.D is gone. And Sisto too
Maybe our world ends one at a time?
So many things lost in translation
And disguised by poets’ rhymes
Distractions invented to confuse
By some other guy’s muse
Wearing a tattoo that says “Born To Lose”
I’ve clearly overstayed my welcome
By the look on your face
I didn’t hear the starting pistol
In this human race
Well I’ve walked with kings
And I’ve walked with fools
And I’ve treated him them all the same
I judge people on your spirit
I don’t need to know a name
But you on the other hand
When I was down
I heard you laugh at me
But now I’m back you reappear
Quoting lies like poetry
Do you think I’m dumb?
Do you think I’m smart?
Or a bit of both
Cursed with a heart?
Call me Einstein or Casanova
But give me credit for once
For knowin’ it’s over
You assassinated me
And poisoned my son
You polluted the lives
Of everyone
You’re a Shakespearean character
And this story ends in death
Cursed is the one
Who steals a dying breath
Because a good life
Has belittled their evil
They can’t live till I am gone
Gone, gone, gone
But in death we are everywhere
And cannot be conquered
The evil vote for evil ones
But God is on my side
And the love I leave behind
Not even fake news could distort or hide

 
(C) Frank Howson 2018

THE DEAD SHALL NEVER AGE (for my father)

I was awakened to the end
From our waiting sleep.
He was going and it wasn’t long.
Sitting in his chair,
He bid us all farewell.
We were too scared to cry,
Too lonely to try,
Though we sat at his side.
Death left its calling cards years before,
But in morning’s safety had waited.
Gasping for breath that wasn’t there,
Holding our hands that were.
He never cried a lonely tear
Or closed eyes that knew only hope,
To those past long nights
When nightmares were life.
They came for him, ready as he was.
We brushed his hair and washed his face.
He knew, and we knew,
Though nothing did we say
Lest we frighten the other.
Yet I screamed so loud in my silence
And cried so long in my pain.
So many things left unsaid,
But, oh, think of the times we spent,
And don’t bring flowers for the dead
Unless he saw them in life.
Just think of his humour as dry as the sand,
And his smile as big as his heart,
And those eyes as blue as the sky
And twice as wise.
Even now we miss him,
Every day I’ll wish he were here.
He loved us more than he loved himself.
We loved him back as much.
Something’s gone now forever,
Part of us is gone with him,
And in the still of things a night voice screams — “God, I’m as lonely as hell.”

Dedicated to Henry (Jack) Francis Howson

By Frank Howson (c) November 1974

 

WHAT IS TRUTH?

I’m at the age when people die. I view life from the cluttered comforting living area of a mystical art space, going from room to room as inspiration strikes me. A song lyric here, a line of dialogue overheard from lunch, a painting or sketch there. It’s a very full solitary life and reduces everything to the minimalists’ joy of simplicity. I suppose I would be just as happy in a jail cell with my necessary tools, although I’d miss the occasional walk in the sun. And impromptu visit from a friend. My life has been crammed with so many adventures, tragedies, faces, external forces, Machiavellian plots, heartaches, silent joys, defeats and comebacks etc., that I sometimes feel I’m five hundred years old. Other times I forget and am back to feeling like that seventeen year old kid with it all before me. Sometimes Hercules, sometimes Norman Maine. Many memories occasionally stampede through my mind from what feels like another life. Friends and lovers long gone, but my heart still carries the weight of their memory. Although death may take a life it seems that the relationship continues for those left behind, excluded from the final mystery. Sometimes I resent the birds who are not chained to the ground like us confused humans. Our only soaring comes in those momentary waves of joy that are so overwhelmingly spectacular and personal that there are no words invented to accurately verbalise them so we walk them away in dark alleyways, alone – as alone as our birth and our death. The magic hours just before dawn. There is an exquisite sweetness in failure, just as there is a sour aftertaste in triumph. Perhaps only General Grant fully understood this when he allowed General Lee to savour the nobility of defeat in all its glory and, as Grant stood in his torn and dusty uniform, head bowed in humility, paying homage to his defeated opponent, denying himself the tacky opportunity to steal the thunder of victory from a long and vicious campaign where young boys died bewildered and despairing on battlefields made muddy from the blood of their comrades.
In my own line of work I too have known long campaigns that have left me too weary to celebrate the victory knowing how much it has cost myself and those that battled alongside to make a dream a reality. “Was it worth it?” The eternal question that is right up with Pilate’s “What is truth?”
David Lynch believes that life is just a dream. And perhaps he is right. And perhaps it does one no good to think too long and deep about such things, for to stare into the abyss too long may be as damaging as staring at the sun. You just become blinded in a different way.
Does it matter how one achieves creativity? Does anyone really care what price is paid for their entertainment? Scott Fitzgerald put something of himself into six novels and over a hundred short stories, until there was nothing left. He died a hollow, weary, flawed man, old before his time. Broken by Hollywood because he took it too seriously and led with his heart. And didn’t realise it was all just a game.
I too have worked for many people in my past that nether understood what I did, or how I did it. But that doesn’t stop them attempting to piss on the tree to claim ownership. A bet each way. If it’s a disaster it’s all my fault. If it’s a smash, it’s because of them. I don’t work for such people anymore, regardless of the dazzling upfront fees that are used to tempt you to go against your instinct. This donkey has been beaten too many times and won’t go down the dark mine shaft anymore. I now only work for people I truly trust and/or admire. I can’t be bought by money because experience has taught me that it’s a false god and to worship at its altar will never fully satisfy your hunger for more and more until there’s nothing of you left. You will die like Elvis having over-eaten, been overworked, misused and misunderstood, devalued, surrounded by carny promoters, backslapping sycophants, con artists and those who want to be you and secretly resent that they can’t be. The most desired man in the world died of loneliness. Now, if that doesn’t tell you something about our society, nothing will.
Success has to come on your terms or else you lose your identity. And to lose sight of who you are is to become a ghost ship wandering lost in that innermost night of the soul. Going through life mimicking the happy-go-lucky person others expect you to be lest you reveal that you’re haunted and thus damned from seeing too much. As my dear ol’ daddy used to tell me, “The best way to lose people is to tell ’em you have a problem.”
Those who don’t understand creativity will seek to belittle your contribution, downplay your involvement, and even humiliate you by praising everyone except you. This is a tactic and you are smart enough to recognise it. And, thankfully, so is the audience.
Wilhelm Reich once said, “The living are always under attack from the dead,” and so it is and will be till the end of days. All I know is this – it’s alright to love something, but you are damned if you love that thing too much.

What is truth? Well you sure as hell won’t find it in your newspaper or favourite news channel or the Internet. These days it seems to only exist in our hearts. Our in-built shit detector. Trust it. It’s all we have.

 

(C) Frank Howson

THE ASSURANCE OF HEAVEN

I applied for a government grant
But was knocked back on a technicality
They thought I had talent
Some asshole suggested I get a second opinion
I came wanting
Pushed into this world
A dark room
With much huffng and puffing
Blood and tears
Born into a religion
That gave me the assurance of heaven
If I followed the rules
(Made by man
To ingratiate himself to God)
I read much about this God
And learned that in his youth
He was like us
Quick tempered, revengeful, slow to forgive
But, also like us, he mellowed
In later years
And ordained a common man
As his adopted son
To bring us the good news
That God had changed
He was now non-judgmental
Forgiving, compassionate, and
Like your favourite grandfather at a Barbecue
A joy to be around
But when his chosen son
Was railroaded by a fixed jury
Of the envious and the threatened
And was killed in the most agonising and cruel death ever invented by man
God withdrew from the world
He had over estimated us
And like all those that do
We deeply disappointed him
Some say he died
Some say he’d never existed to begin with
Some say he was just sad
And a sad God cannot rule
In his absence we were left lost
And confused
And scared as to how to go on
This manifested itself
In self destruction
And we have since sought many unique ways to achieve this
For those with money
It was drugs
For those without money
It was drugs
The cowards way out
Because the burden of living
And doing the right thing by each other
Was too great a responsibility
So, like God,
We, in our own way,
Have become sad
And withdrawn from the world
Most of us can’t be bothered voting
And then complain about the leaders we are saddled with
Who, in their naive stupidity
Attempt to lead us out of the darkness, and try to sell us some strong medicine to heal our wounds
And, if they don’t succumb to compromise and side deals
The shadow people shoot them
Or they’re found hanging from doorknobs
Their deaths a question mark forevermore
In the file marked
“Believe It Or Not”
The weight of carrying the cross of responsibility
Is indeed great and we are not programmed to stand it long
Falling time and time again
On our lonely agonising walk to our own Calvary
And in those dizzy blindingly excruciating final hours we find ourselves confused and insecure and doubtful
Because we were promised
An assurance of Heaven, you see?
A free ticket
An escape route
A place where we’d be welcomed and loved and held
God shouldn’t be hated or blamed for spreading this dream
He meant well
He just forgot that we are human
Deeply flawed
And always looking for the easiest option
We have no loyalty
Other than to the junk man
And that’s because the junk man has something we want
But unlike heaven
We can see it, feel it, at a cost
It may not be paradise
But in those despairing moments
We have lowered our expectations of miracles
It numbs us and that’s enough
To get through another lonely night
But why burden ourselves
Worrying about it
When it brings momentary relief
Like a happy finish
It ain’t love
But it’ll do
Tomorrow we can wake to the aftermath nightmare
But now
Let us just drift
Into our dreamtime
Our glimpse of grace
The small change
That we don’t deserve
But were born into
Like thieves in the temple
Women are not madonnas
And men are not messiahs
We have more in common with a sewer rat
And just as much cunning
They say rats will survive the end of the world
Perhaps we will too
Having brought about the ultimate destruction
It would be just if we were made to live in it
My own condition is of great concern to no one
Well, maybe someone in Rumania
Frets about me
But if so, I am unaware
And in this state of ignorance
In some year of our Lord
I begin this…

All I know of today
Is that dawn came on time
And that I have ruined dinner
And every chance I had to be free
I mistook sex for love
A handshake as a promise
An enemy as a friend
And money as happiness
Someone more mature
Should’ve had my life
They’d have known what to do with it
But they’d have never known the exquisite bitter sweet taste of loss
Of having no further to fall
Which in fact gives you some real security
I have been betrayed by many friends along the way
But at least I drew evil into the light so that I now recognise its face
If there’s no afterllife then why have we been made to learn all this wisdom that can never be put to use in this world that is built on false values?
But maybe God’s sadness has turned to boredom
And this is some kind of ironic game for his enjoyment
Come to think of it, if there is an afterlife why the fuck would God want us there?
Perhaps we have inherited our self destructiveness from him!
Freud stumbled upon this theory whilst smoking himself to Death on a cocaine binge.
Maybe you have to be stoned in order to see through the surface bullshit and glimpse the truth?
We on earth are angry.
We have awakened to find all our heroes dead. We didn’t win the lottery. Every war fought was just a lie. And the Vatican is run by Satanists.
But apart from that everything’s just fine after a few pills.
The most damaging drug I was addicted to was women. They quite clearly got me up and then nowhere. I’ve come to realise that two people can’t live one life. Unless there’s huge compromise and compromise breeds resentment. Both have to forfeit dreams in order to keep the relationship going. This leads to you both acting roles in each other’s company making out that this dire situation of strangulation is actually bringing each other bliss. After awhile you start telling bigger and bigger lies until you get caught out and it’s over.

As a child I loved the circus. In many ways it tells you everything you need to know about Life.

Cigarettes were my friend right up until the time they weren’t.

You were my friend too. Right up until the time you weren’t.

I die so hard each time I think of you. But never learn the easy route, always doomed to take the long way home. Alone.

Born into a world hellbent on bringing about its own destruction, what hope did we have?

I drive around
At night
Going nowhere
The desert is beautiful
After nightfall
The stars are so clear
The air is so thin
Up here
One can almost forget oneself
Almost

And sometimes on the wind I hear you calling my name. But from your lips it now sounds like a curse word. And in the mist of early winter I sometimes see your vision of who I imagined you were.

And our dissolving future.

So, it’s once around the clock we go. Our history of joy squeezed into a crowded hour, before the sun set for good.

If there is a heaven, will you be there? If so, I may have to make other plans.

(C) Frank Howson 2018

ME FOR THE ROAD

Who’ll share this load?
There ain’t two
Just me for road
I’ve loved psychos and fakes
I’ve made more than enough mistakes
I did everything I could
Everything I should
But it left me empty handed
Feeling stranded
I never understood you
Payback for never seeing who
I am
A fugitive on the lam
Yet all roads lead to this
The Judas kiss
Another saviour on our block
Killed by the ticking clock
I wake today to find I’m old
And that the outside world’s too cold
My secret identity revealed
Every layer of skin’s been peeled
Still answering to the name “son”
From a time when I was one
And my dreams were bigger than me
And the world was further than the eye could see
And my princess was still undiscovered
My mission failed but I recovered
Or so they say
There’s no better way
To find yourself
Than to lose your wealth
And the love you were waiting for
Still the crowd cried out for more
But my encore went on too long
And they lowered the curtain mid-song
So now who’ll share my load?
There ain’t two
Just me
For the road

(C) Frank Howson 2018

WARNING – THE ENDING MAY BE SAD

Sometime, before I was born, I was offered a deal by God. He said, “Okay, here’s the deal. I’m going to let you go back and have another shot at Life. I will also grant you a great gift. You will experience the dizzying highs and devastating lows of human existence but you must write about it. You will have great loves and learn what it’s like to lose such a prize. Your heart will be broken to such an extent that you will develop empathy for everyone and everything. It is only through pain that one obtains true insight into the human condition. You will be broken but through that you find a humility that will enlighten you with an appreciation of how precious every second of life is. While others around you accumulate money you will see the ultimate futility in this, and realise that true wealth is found in true friendship. Your loneliness at times will make you feel like a prisoner in solitary confinement, but this will only heighten your joy of walking in the sun. You will be granted my greatest gift to all mankind, free will. It is up to you whether you choose to call this life a burden or a gift. No one is born with empathy for others, it is earned by a life well lived, the mistakes made and the knowledge that is garnered by shared loss. You will break your heart to live it, and break your heart again to relive it in words. There will be times when you curse me for being a hard God and there will be times when you weep for how compassionate my love is for you. For true love is to accept not only the best of someone, but also their worst. We all fall many times under the weight of our cross. But let me remind you that this life was never intended to be heaven. It is a learning place that prepares you for the ultimate joy of having weathered a storm and the appreciation of finding the warmth and welcoming arms of unconditional love granted to those who complete their journey without bitterness or hate. For to truly appreciate heaven, one must first pass through hell.

 

(c) Frank Howson 2018

photograph by Raija Reissenberger.