fake reporters pushing their opinions into fake news fake views disguised as news flashes fake polls reported by fake news outlets designed to discourage people from voting how many lines have to be crossed before something is recognised as what it is and a light is shone on the darkness so that we may know its face when we see it or does it really matter? win at any price? fake scandals fake quotes fake candidates in a fake world of fake feelings and photo opportunity expressions of concern fake headlines that take the focus away from the real issues and the real scandals and nobody really cares as long as their team wins but at what price? and who do you wake to see in your mirror after such a triumph? and what is the statement you are really making? where is objectivity in a dying world rendered impotent by our naivety as we dance to the tune selected by our puppet masters thinking our opinion means anything to the NWO guys but their vision of a new world will sink as surely as Atlantis taking us all with it into the depths and darkness of a hell of our own making where is Paul Revere when you need him? silenced like them all or assassinated by a bullet from a lone crazed gunman a plane crash a sudden heart attack or a scandal or jail people keep voting for change and parties keep running on that promise only to deliver the same ol' same ol' same car, different driver and yet we complain when any change comes as we are not used to it and our stupidity even angers God and Mother Nature and not even the worst disasters can wake us from our sleep we no longer dream as our nightmares have become comforting and the great nothingness of indecision is all we are used to and crave and so we live until we don't (c) Frank Howson 2017
So many fucked up people in the world Monstrously negative feelings about every living person Every word from their mouths another poison bullet Aimed at someone, anyone Most times they actually kill the person who was attempting To help them But I guess to them we all look the same Eventually they implode and eat themselves But don't breathe easy There are many who will follow They weren't loved enough by daddy So now they reach out frantically to everyone they meet To give them the loving family they were denied But when such immediate desperation hits They frighten off their targets And their baby love turns to a cold-hearted hate Within a blink of an eye They hit out at the world For not giving them what they wanted Yet they can't tell you what that is They want to be celebrities Without doing the hard work They want to be successful writers Without facing the pain They want to top the charts with songs That touch us without ever exploring themselves They want babies But marry those who don't Almost as though this self-fulfilling prophecy Will forever more be their excuse For not having to love anyone Or give of themselves Or try If you are trapped by them There is no escape Only a small room where death awaits The living are always under attack from the dead The spiritual vampires Of the new millennium Sucking off your light force Until you are done And then they will mourn you Because now you are safe to be Whoever they choose to invent As their next excuse (c) Frank Howson 2017
I'm there for you Even when I'm ignored When you hit out at the world I sometimes get in the way Because I appear to be strong I sometimes am not watered Like the other flowers in your garden But I'm there for you Observing Protecting Advising Defending Encouraging Worrying Until I feel empty From standing in these shadows That rarely get the sun I live for the laughter The words of hope Spoken by you or others The light The common sense that wisdom brings To all But is seldom noticed Or heard I am there Waiting Longing Bleeding Hurting Renewing Carrying the weight Of every decision made in my name That scarred me Humbled me Blessed me And saved me I am there for you Every step of the way To lift you up from every fall To shoulder every tear To make sense of every confusion To call your name When it's been forgotten by others I have been there So I can be here For you (c) Frank Howson 2017
A new film about giant dildos taking over the world. People running terrified through the streets because if they get you they fuck you up real bad.
(C) Frank Howson 2017
I saw a crazy man in the heart of the city cursing the people he passed, cursing the buildings, cursing someone long gone, cursing God for this Purgatory.
People reacted in different ways. Some froze and willed themselves to be invisible, some scurried away in the opposite direction, some watched in that detached zombie way people stand transfixed at car crash sites, fascinated by the sight of real disaster and yet non-reacting as though watching a movie play out.
So what does it take to make someone just crack one day? One huge life tragedy too much, or a series of small ones too close together that defy our idea of logic and fairness? Perhaps if we raise our voices above the rumbling wearing down drone sound of the busy city traffic, God will hear us?
Why does our Maker withdraw his grace and allow us to free fall through darkness and scorn so far from home? Or are we meant to always be alone in search of ourselves in others, a perilous journey not for the fainthearted. Or the dreamers.
Maybe the crazy man in the street had been chosen to heed his inner calling to join the wild throng and it is therefore in the madness that lies the ultimate truth?
Was Don Quixote mad because he chose to see the world as it should be? Or were the people who gathered to ridicule and laugh at his expense the mad ones?
John Lennon, during his time, was called mad by many, especially the press and the conservative establishment. But his brutal death at the hands of, ironically, a mad man has now elevated him to the status of martyr and messiah. Today, his human flaws have been sanitised to fit what is acceptable in the gospel of his life. The nobody mad man who shot him for a shot at immortality got a life sentence, while the famous mad man got death. And then in death, rose again.
When you look closely at it, most of our true heroes in history were called mad during their lifetimes because they attempted to do something different. To shine a light into the darkness that most of us are afraid to acknowledge. To take us where we would never have dared go if not for them. To make us think and, more importantly, to make us feel. In achieving this, a great many of them paid with their lives so that we may live.
So next time you see a mad man or woman in the street, spare a few seconds to ponder the forces that shaped them. And perhaps in those seconds we may awaken the humanity in ourselves.
(c) Frank Howson 2017
It’s always midnight in my heart
Only the alleys have known my joy
For sometimes I have experienced a bliss that is so exquisite it can’t be verbalised to anyone
Not even to the few who would care
So I have walked it away
In the dark
Along empty city side streets We bloom on cue then disappear from view Such is life It’s a pity Oscar Hammerstein didn’t write the script for our lives
He would’ve written it just right It would’ve had its highs and lows, some humour, all the boring bits cut in Philadelphia And ending on a note of hope
Instead, here we are
What’s it all about, Alfie?
The Winner Takes It All?
A Change Is Gonna Come?
Were they just 45s from our youth?
Is this the little boy I carried? Some disappointments and betrayals can never fully be washed away We live in a world where just about everything we’ve been told for the past 50 years has been a lie and the opposite, in most cases, is true The shadow brokers are keeping the public confused by a daily avalanche of complexities, creating a terminal dose of anxiety and fear All designed to make us give up, surrendering our power and responsibilities To flee to the safety of watching mindless TV to a laugh track of mostly dead people Or turn up the doof doof music and tune out Those brave souls that come forth and tell us the truth get ridiculed by The card carrying experts who translate the news for us Because we are no longer capable of thinking for ourselves Here’s some breaking news – There is, in fact, no news anymore Just opinion pieces If the smear campaign doesn’t murder the brave truth-tellers Then the lone crazy gunman will be wheeled in again to create another convenient myth
New leaders are thrown up on a platform of change
But usually it’s just a case of
Same car, different driver
Evil does indeed exist
And those who have sold their souls
Worship at the alter of a false God –
But all it buys them is emptiness
And if there is an eternity
What a hell it would be to spend it in the state of regret
Arrogance comes before a fall
And the weather report suggests a hard rain
(C) Frank Howson 2017
I cried when they took away all the things I had loved and lived for.
My voice became ravaged and ragged when my spirit was broken and the walls came down to reveal my soul was really 500 years old. It was God’s way of humbling me which is the only way to Him/Her.
I wandered the wastelands in search of a reason to find a way out. It took years to think of one. But I thought of you long before I met you.
I have no agenda other than to do my work and treat other humans with kindness and respect. I will be damned for this and smirked at by those with no backbone or chins.
I look around at all the lost souls who act in an arrogant way, telling you things that are not true in order to impress, swearing on bibles that simple songs are too complex to play, manipulating situations that are really of no importance, protecting their over-inflated egos at any cost, convincing themselves that guests arrive to see them and not the hosts and, still, I feel sorrow at their ignorant pathetic-ness. Wasting their lives and their opportunities for inner peace by waging a war to defend their hollow delusions which are, and always were, meaningless.
We live in a world where the banks own you now. They can afford to be arrogant and rude to their customers because they need no longer keep up the pretence of performing a service.
I hope in my time I live to see the public rise up against them. Yes, there will be blood, long time coming.
The plague will descend from ourselves and inhabit the dull-eyed crowds that linger in the shadows of that which cannot be spoken. Friends, whom we thought were friends, will try and entice us to visit them whilst they are contagious so that they can infect us and watch us weaken and die as they feast on our souls. Spiritual vampires pretending to be human will survive by repeating things they have overheard in order to make small talk and fade into the scenery undetected. No empathy. No conscience. They will devour anything, anyone that gets in their way. For the mere existence of real people will torture them until they have succeeded in extinguishing the flame.
I feel like I’m dying as a result of the most selfish man in the world who gives you guilt trips if you don’t risk your life paying homage to him by breathing in his environment – and his disease. Nothing you offer as a sacrifice is good enough because he has been denied attention for 40 years and his desert is calling.
“Thou shalt not worship false gods!” I scream as I destroy his overcrowded temple to his own ego.
His family call him their stalker as they continue to feed his insatiable hunger for attention and a limelight that no longer shines and in fact only ever did in his dreams.
Thank you for weakening my already troubled heart. Your play acting concern was less than convincing to the children present and has been noted in the Book of the Dead.
My last glimpse of this world will be of my best friends clammering to be photographed with the man who destroyed me. I see they are all smiling.
(C) Frank Howson 2017.