SURVIVAL OF THE SICKEST

“What is mine is mine and what is yours is mine too.” That attitude has pretty much brought the world to its knees. So much childish behaviour from so many allegedly brilliant human beings through the ages. But very few of us ever grow up, really, we just just become bigger children and dress more in keeping with what is expected of adults so we can get a pay cheque.

Marriages are broken because “You looked at that woman longer than you looked at me.” Friendships are destroyed because “I thought you were my friend but you stole from me. And I gave you so much!” Countries go to war because “We have bigger weapons than yours and we need someone to bow down to us so we feel important.” We see beauty in the landscape of the world and feel that something superior to us must’ve created it so we get envious and cut down the trees, pave the ground, damn the rivers, use the oceans as a rubbish dump, and build skyscrapers that are monuments to our own ego. “Look what we can do!”

But then again, calling all that childish is an insult to most children. It is, in fact, the very worst of us. At any age. Reducing the spirituality of things that there are no answers for to something we can dissect and misunderstand. Men worship at the stagnant pool of their own reflection while women get sexually excited by bank accounts and are seduced into a lifelong prison of their own making. We always aim so low. The bottom feeders. Men and women have lost their identity and their way. The first casualty was romance. Today we don’t have time for that. Let alone getting to know someone. We just want an app that tells us what street corner  you’re on and if you have 30 minutes to spare. Sex is no longer intimate. Not like a kiss used to be. Nudity is no longer revealing. Not like a conversation is. And real life is play acting the persona you think will go over best to achieve what you crave. But then the more you get the less it means until you realise it’s all been for nothing. You have nothing. You are nothing. Your relationships are nothing. Your forecast is nothing for there is nothing you can take from this life that you’ve given so little to.

God, that genius in the sky, has given us free will in which to entrap ourselves.

“It’s not fair!…it’s not fair!” We scream as we run hatless through deserted streets trying to find eyes that will look upon us with some pity for the self-inflicted mess we have found ourselves in. But we are alone. As we have always really been. And that realisation kills more than all the troops Caesar commanded.

There was a man from humble beginnings, some say a broken home, who came forward and told us he had the answer. Which, in a nutshell, was this – All we had to do was love each other, and do the right thing, and we would be filled with such an inner joy we’d think we were in heaven.

We killed him. He was obviously a lunatic. And dangerous to our view of the world and each other. Besides, his concept had nothing to  do with anything. There was no money in it. And money is the only way we can put a value on something.

After that, every few decades threw up another messianic lunatic that told us “all we need is love.” But no. All we needed, it seemed, was to kill these misguided lunatics and then we felt safe again.

Now we have evolved and have TV shows like “Survivor” that teach us, and the younger generation, that if you pretend to be someone you’re not, and lie, and plot, and betray the people you’ve hoodwinked into thinking you’re their friend, you emerge as the winner. The producers will bestow riches upon you and for 15 minutes you will be a star.

This of course confirms that the world has entered the end game and at night, if you have any spirit left, you may hear the faraway faint cries of thousands of broken, despairing messiahs who died in vain thinking they could make a difference.

I believe that the creatures of the earth have lodged a petition with the United Nations documenting their outrage at being labeled “animals” and that the title rightfully belongs to us.

Who among us could argue with that?

(C) Frank Howson

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NO GOODBYES

God said I can stay
Just long enough to save you
Then I must be on my way
I’ve kept so many waiting
On the other side
There’ll be hell to pay
I have sat in the dark
Watching you shine
Raising yourself to a height
Twice the size of mine
And it tells me it won’t be long now
Before I can slip away
Without a goodbye
(You know I hate those)
I’ve had so many goodbyes in my life
I like to go unnoticed now
The theatres won’t go dark
Nor will the taxis blow their horns
The government won’t fall
Or acknowledge my existence
I was never in their club
I just did the work and went home
Now my only joy is to see you shine
And laugh
And joke
And hold your own
Maybe I’m the father you never had
For I have no agenda
No conditions
No strings
No competition
Only concern
And hope that you soar
And leave this ground
That ties us down
I too will be leaving soon
It’s well overdue
I bought my ticket some years ago
But your existence made me saunter
And I lingered to see that you are alright
And you will be alright now
And maybe sometimes
You might stop and think of me

(C) Frank Howson 2019

THE ARROGANCE OF ENTITLEMENT

I knew her
Long ago
When the world made sense
And people listened more to their hearts
Than the spewing of ill-conceived words that never come close to what we mean to say
But back then
In the silence of that half-dark room
I loved you
More fully than I had loved anything
You were sweet
Always smiling
Tender
Caring
Creative
Alive
Open to all possibilities
And in my mind’s dream I leaned closer
And our lips kissed
And for a moment we were one breath
If I hadn’t been rendered a coward
From too many failed campaigns
On foreign battlefields
I would’ve taken you there and then
And perhaps the overpowering
Tenderness I felt
Would’ve erupted into a savage brutal act that would’ve reduced
You to pleading for mercy
As your whimpering became sobs
Confirming the declaration that man has
Once again killed the very thing
That gave him life
In my haste to act gallant
I lost you
And bearing the mark of Cain
I left your house that night
Cursing the moon
And the unmanly man
Whom you laid beside each night
Whilst thinking of someone else
Perhaps he did too
I walked many blocks
At a pace that identified me
As a madman
And yet I couldn’t escape myself
Finally
Dissolving into a dark doorway
Where I unzipped and had you
Just the way I imagined you
Wanted it
These are the rituals of
Broken men who feel too much
Who have paid so highly
There is nothing left
But shameful acts
That reduce you to something they can understand in their
Degradation
Years went by
As they do
And we met again
On a street corner at night
We smiled that smile
Pretending we hadn’t changed
But it only fooled ourselves
Your tenderness replaced by a reserved sadness caused by disappointment in human beings
My longing now disguised as a wisdom that brings no one any good
We walked through Chinatown
Talking not touching
Two fugitives from ourselves
Finding refuge in a familiar place
To eat, drink and seek common ground
In the truthful silence of things too intimate to voice
Gradually
The small talk gave way to the bigger stuff wine can produce
And you told me you had been taken
By a master in Germany
And that he had made you do unspeakable things that shocked you whilst liberating your wildness
That raged like a stormy sea until you screamed your release and found yourself naked, spent and calm
Your true self had been on display
For all to see
And it excited you
Teased you
Possessed you
Coveted you
With lust
Until you found the power
And scent
Of the hunter
And cried out for the kill
Jolting you back to reality
Although you now uttered some regret for the forced exposure
I could tell you needed to be unleashed again
Publicly paraded as the whore of Babylon through crowded rooms c
Beyond shame
And humiliation
To become god-like
Laughing with abandonment
Taunting your captors
To use you in a way that takes you by surprise
The slave as exulted queen
Demanding full attention from everyone
Mouths and hands
Everywhere
As you laugh hysterically
In the face of who you could’ve been
Missing among the timid procession of the already dead
As you damn the wasted years
Where you once lived by rote
And other peoples’ standards of polite society
And now you tease me
Whilst probably teasing yourself
And tell me you are ready for your lesson
And need to be stripped
And chained
And conquered
So you can feel the sweet bliss
Of unbridled imagination
And be set free again
Liberated
Weightless
Taken again and again
Until you lay calm
High on the satisfaction
That I have now seen everything you have
And are
And am one with you
Cradled in my arms
Your protector now
Desire subsided in you
And with dawn it becomes clear
That God is a woman
And conceived and gave birth
To all living things
Including the darkness of that bottomless well
In which all possibilities
Eternally spring
And there is no such thing as shame
Only the acceptance
And praise
Of who we are bold enough to become
I hold you
I expose you
I taste you
I take you
To somewhere where there are
No names
No shyness
No recriminations
No inhibitions
Just bliss
That we have found ourselves
At last                                                  In this darkness where I have made my home to maximise my advantage
I only feel with my hands now
My heart is closed to ignorant insults and taunts
And I see things so much clearer
Now I am blind

(C) Frank Howson 2019

THE DANGERS OF KINDNESS

I never really thought much about the future. In fact, i wasn’t really ambitious, which may come as a shock to most people who don’t know me. I was always about just getting through today. I think perhaps having been raised in showbiz from an early age I’ve seen ambition break people and destroy marriages, friendships and reputations. I’ve also seen it turn good people into the kind of person they started out loathing.

Dreams are okay. They get most of us through the night. I know I have them, but in my life there has been only a handful I remember. One memorable one was so funny that I awakened myself laughing hysterically only to find that in the clear light of day and consciousness it wasn’t funny at all! Not even remotely. So, how fucked up is our subconscious? Perhaps it’s that weird surreal night world that David Lynch captures so well. Peeking over the wall into the black abyss of madness. But from God’s point of view it may not be mad at all. Maybe that other dimension is the reality of the afterlife and our daily foibles and chores in the civilised world, of a structured life, is the true madness? I’m beginning to think so. If so, then it makes perfect sense that the zombies and vampires and other monsters of our imagination only come out at night. Night falls, indeed.

In our civilised man made conscious world there are indeed zombies and vampires. I know this for fact as I have worked for some of them. But, during the daylight hours in our conscious world, they are heavily disguised. The zombies pass themselves off as normal people and act out basic emotions by rote. They appear, for all intent and purposes, to be functioning adult human beings. But there is nobody home. Scratch the surface and all you get is another surface. Don’t believe me? Well, test it out by hitting any suspect with a question, or idea, or action, out of the box. They will, before your eyes, recoil into what they are – the walking dead. Rigid. Non-functioning. Pale. They may even look like their brains hurt. And after a given amount of time will resume their rote conversation and actions as though you haven’t spoken and the lapsed time has been rewound and erased. Vampires are another kettle of fish. They don’t want your blood, that is a metaphor for sucking your life force out of you. Their goal is higher than blood. Much higher. They are after your spirit. Hence my term “spiritual vampires.” Like the zombies they are drawn to the living. Show any signs of being alive, kind, compassionate, generous, a good listener, and you are a target.

 

(c) Frank Howson 2019

LOVE WAS HERE

TAKE THIS MAN
WHO ONCE STOOD PROUD
AND TALL
HIS EYES HAVE SEEN
ALL HIS KINGDOMS FALL
WHILE THE BLACKBIRDS PECK
AT HIS HOPES AND FEARS
HE CASTS HIS MIND BACK
TO WHEN LOVE WAS HERE

SEE THAT WOMAN?
SHE ONCE CARED FOR 
THIS MAN
BACK LONG AGO
WHEN SHE HAD A PLAN
BUT PLANS LIKE DREAMS
ALWAYS DISAPPEAR
DOES SHE STILL REMEMBER
WHEN LOVE WAS HERE?

NOW WE TURN OUR COLLARS
TO THE WINTER CHILL
NOTHING IN OUR HANDS
EXCEPT MORE TIME TO KILL
I RETURN AGAIN
TO OUR FAVOURITE PIER
AND TO ANOTHER TIME
WHEN LOVE WAS HERE

WATCH THE MOON
IT CAN BETRAY YOUR TRUST
BEFRIEND THE STARS
ONLY IF YOU MUST
THEY WILL STEAL YOUR HEART
IN THE FALL OF A TEAR
YOUR ONLY MEMENTO 
OF WHEN LOVE WAS HERE


(c) Frank Howson 2018



 

THE PRICE OF LOVE

“Hello Pooky.”

“Good morning, Schmooky.”

She had this theory that couples who called each other cute nicknames had lasting relationships. Unfortunately, like most theories, it was as effective as a feather-duster at the Alamo. Still, the memory of that naïveté still brings a tear to my eyes. It was a sweet, divine, beautiful season of delusion that also had its days of overcast skies that foretold a gloomy downpour neither of us would have the strength and wisdom to withstand. We were not Romeo and Juliet but rather two clowns in a touring circus that had seen better days. Still, we performed each show like our life depended upon it. And, looking back, it did. For neither of us would ever be the same.

At our best, on those nights when the planets aligned and the stars indulged us, we stumbled into the zone where it was real and unbridled and passionate and our fears had failed to conquer the best in us.

But you made me laugh, you gave me joy, your smile filled me with life.

“I’ve never seen two people more in love,” said one spectator.

Like the pathetic thespians we were we ate up any good reviews and dismissed the ones that were not. Perhaps we loved too deeply and such a thing can make every wound seem like a fatal diagnosis.

“I could’ve…I should’ve…I would’ve..” These words will haunt me all my life. Words that had been so good to me in the past now conspired to arrange themselves in sentences that spewed from my mouth before my heart could edit them into the beauty and respect she deserved.

We had both been broken long before that night we met on the Titanic. Broken in different ways but concealing our hurt and damage, smiling with all the bravery of idiots who have lost everything but continue to gamble what they have left in the hope that their luck has changed. And that God is compassionate enough to smile upon them.

I was hailed as your hero and love of your life and then, when rendered vulnerable by your praise, you killed me. I slowly bled to death in your arms, the Madonna and child. The fatal wounds delivered to my body, my heart, my ego, my dreams would prove to be inoperative.

What monstrous demon whispered in your ear and filled your thoughts with a negative view of our future together? Whoever it was, they lied to you and have been proven wrong. Although that fact rewards me with little pleasure this far from paradise and too many years lost. So much of us lost too, and yet, we go on. Pantomiming the actions and feelings expected of normal people. But old soldiers don’t smile, they weep when they sense no one is watching.

And now, in the winter of my vulnerability, age, recognising its cue, attacks on all fronts and I fall again and again carrying my cross to the Hill of Skulls.

I am still awaiting the right dawn for my resurrection. But you will not recognise me in that early morning mist, for I look younger in my defeat, having laid down the heavy responsibilities and weight of love.

Love came at such a cruel cost. But I would gladly pay it again for one day of being whole and loved and wanted once more.

But I only attract those who fear life and take the joy out of every situation. They ignore your financial loss but bemoan every penny they have spent on themselves. In many ways they are already dead. Like me. And so we make our home in this darkness. A cold, lonely place that has iced the veins to happiness.

 
(C) Frank Howson 2018

A MUSING

i love
laugh
desire
crash
and break like china
my reward for longing?
the moon
and
stars
“where is paris in this empty place?”
yells a fool to the drunken maitre ‘d
my taxi driver’s lost again
the eyes of st. christopher
stare down on
me
may God forgive

 
(C) Frank Howson 2018