A BRAND NEW YOU

I was too wise to see

What everybody else knew

To spite you I outsmarted me

I fell in love with a brand new you

She talks like you

Walks like you

Does everything except

Think like you

Everything you’ve been hearing

Is true

I fell in love with a brand new you

Now what do I do?

Let’s wait and see

Will the same ending be true?

Leave it up to me…

 

(C) Frank Howson 2020

THE DAY GEORGE ROMERO MET BOOM BOOM GECKO

It was a normal day

Like any other

Knee deep in chaos

And calls from his mother

George Romero had just flown back

A big game hunter who’d gone off-track

With a reputation of some renown

He caught a taxi into town

He’d come a long way on a wing and a song

The driver took a right but something was wrong

But George was dreaming with

His eyes wide open

Without the knowledge

Of what he needed then

George Romero’s destination

A pressing office obligation

Now just a shadow of his former self

Employees worried for his health

But neither George or friends

Knew what laid in store

Within the waiting room

Just behind the door

 

The day George Romero met Boom Boom Gecko

Is still talked about in hushed tones

The gossip mongers picked the bones

Of every sincere act

The first thing that dies is fact

Hounded when push comes to shove

Hypocrites wiped their feet on their love

 

Now Boom Boom Gecko

Was a Sydney beauty

A former door girl from

The Club Tutti Fruitti

George fell headfirst for Boom Boom’s charms

Some say he landed safe in her arms

Others snigger about the lonely wife

Who George fled from to save his life

Now he has found what he’d been looking for

With a girl like Boom Boom who could want for more

 

There’s a poet spewin’ up words

He can’t pronounce

And a sweet young chicken

Hawkin’ her ass for an ounce

A religious prisoner

Gets a knife in the back

And free falls as slowly

As Jack Kerouac

 

The day George Romero met Boom Boom Gecko

Is still talked about in hushed tones

The gossip mongers picked the bones

Of every sincere act

The first thing that dies is fact

Hounded when push comes to shove

Hypocrites wiped their feet on their love

 

 

(C) Frank Howson 2020

 

YOU LOOKED AT ME

There was a window

In the chaos

When you looked at me

Confirming my existence

And it all seemed right

Across a semi-crowded room

Of nothingness

And recycled opinions

Based upon acceptable misinformation

And yet

I saw something real

And in that brief moment

We beheld truth

Sometimes it’s the words

That get in our way

And cloud what’s true

Always keeping us at a safe distance

With a funny line

A trivial story about something

That means nothing anymore

A recalled memory of a time

Now lost

And misremembered like a scene

From a movie

The further we drift from it

The more romantic it becomes

In our mental scrapbook of lies

Rewritten so many times

That  it becomes easier to live with

These are the things we do

For self-preservation

If the world disappoints

We create another

And then another

Until we find ourselves

So far from home

We can never navigate our way back

Alone

In the dark

Eventually someone will come along

To smash all our delusions

And we will hate them for it

But they are in fact our saviour

Humbling us

Relieving us of our baggage

So that we can travel light

Into the pure existence

Of our eternal soul

Where words are no longer necessary

 

(C) Frank Howson. 2020

 

photograph by Vanessa Allan.

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

THE NEW VIRUS SPEAK.

Now is the hour of our incontinence made glory-holed by sons of Michael Yorke. “Bark” the Hells Angels sing. It is a Far East bitter thing I do now than I have ever dung. And on the bend the milk we shake is a quill to the love we break. Frankly, my deer, I don’t give a ram. And in the cruel, cruel, cruel of Jehovah, tell ‘em I’ll be bare. To flee or not to flee that is the equator. Four scored ears of men, our country assed us, “Do not ask what your country has done to you. Ask what you have done to your country.” And on the eighth day, God created mini-golf. These are a few of my Fahrenheit rings. Either this wallpaper blows or I do. “Right,” said Ted, are you having a larf?” At the third stroke, it will be a felony. Once I had a putrid glove. Love me Fender, love it tuned, all my screams are billed. When the goanna gets rough, get stuffed I’m goin’. Our father’s art is in heaven, Howard be thy blame. Twice upon a crime, a gem with windy hair lost her head in mime, and sad she loved me show. But that was ice above my lime, mammy months too low. Mammaries fight the confines of the blind. All clothed mystery mammaries of the day we stir. I luv you and dunce you regret it. It is the evening of the summer of the mourning that whence we came. The midget you fell through the floor, I could pee you were a mad ol’ distemper, a reel pig bender. I’m dreamin’ of a wide bagel, with hairy gals I sow. Fairy flossed da mercy. M-m-m-my Corona. Th-th-that’s Paul, yokes!

 

(c) Frank Howson 2020

FROM THE NEW UNDERGROUND

The emptiness of night followed me through a maze of situations that could’ve only been conceived by a drunk. 

There were rivers of regret that sprang from my life. But they were not things one could’ve sensed at the time would turn to swamp. Having crocodiles biting at my heels from an early age readied me for what would become my life. Once my parents were gone I felt like an orphan on the run. Perhaps, from myself. Sometimes heading here. Sometimes heading there. Sometimes resting my head on your breast for comfort until the dawn called me on, to face another confrontation. Another battle. Another disappointment in the human condition. Shedding skin after skin, always evolving into the person you see here today.

It’s painful when one realises that today the only truth is found in TV commercials. Everything else is a lie. At least the advertisements are honest about what they are. And what they want. We now have a Scared New World where material possessions are becoming less and less important as we’re forced to look inward for our satisfaction(s). For some of us, perhaps a first time visit to the inner world. It will be a confronting experience for quite a few who’ve filled their outer lives up with frivolous people and trinkets to distract from the reality of who they are. The bullies will discover that they’re actually scared little boys who’ve, for some time, avoided responsibility by targeting the lives of others. Some will hit a brick wall with the harsh reality that they’re not the nice, kind, giving people they have publicly projected without any actions that live up to their invented persona. This will irreparably break many and they’ll never be the same. Some will suicide rather than living with the hell of who they really are. Leaders will realise their old tried and true ways do not work, and become followers. Out of the flock will rise real leaders who’ll command not from ego, but from a true inherent spiritual wisdom.

Some will grow through adversity. It has been that way throughout history. Plagues and wars and disasters have thrown up heroes from the ranks of the ordinary.

Some will die. But this was already written, as all deaths are. Lives come to an end. It’s just a matter of when and how. Others will live on, because it was not their time.

My whole life as a creative person has prepared me for this seclusion. As a boy I’d withdraw from the world into my room to write, draw, play records and dream. I’d been born with the affliction of feeling things too deeply. A curse for my personal life, although a great bonus for my work. Where others saw beauty, I saw horror. Where others saw ugliness I saw splendour. Where some saw only desolation, I saw possibilities.

In my times of moral dilemma when one is confused as to what is the right decision, not only for you but taking into account its effect on those around you, I have sometimes thought of my literary heroes, both real and fictional, and wondered what decision they would’ve made. I’ve also thought of my historical heroes both political and spiritual for guidance. There are some decisions that are right at that moment but time eats their skin and fat away like a vulture and leaves only ugly bones that do not tell the whole picture. Yes, to fully understand, you had to be there. In that lonely moment. Yet, other decisions, thought foolish at the time, grow in rightfulness through the years, like a fine wine ripens to reveal its many magical textures until it reaches its optimum year to be savoured and appreciated.

I wonder what went through the minds of the passengers on the Titanic on that fateful, icy night when they realised there were not enough lifeboats. No doubt amongst many there’d have been panic, anger, frustration  and fear. Yet, in others I believe there would’ve been that silent resolution, and acceptance,  that this was it. The great mystery solved, and their ending revealed, as they stood motionless amidst the fanfare of screams and cries that encircled them. I imagine that quite a few would’ve looked around at the manic hysterical scene being performed all around them, and its contrast of the band calmly playing their scheduled after dinner musical programme, then, perhaps, noticing the moon and stars and night for the very first time. I mean, really seeing them. Sometimes we have to be shaken awake by tragedy to see things right under our nose that we’d never fully comprehended before. Sadly, we go through life in a half-dream state, following our standard daily motions and emotions like a blind person seeks the darkness as a level playing ground.

Sometimes we don’t even see the ones who truly love us. Such is our desperate rush to and fro seeking love in all the wrong people, as if purposely inviting disappointment to await us at each schedule stop upon our runaway train.

So, back to our time of solitary confinement. A time of soul searching (for some that won’t take long) and re-evaluation as to what we really need (now that the opium of bullshit in the material world has been stripped from us), to go forward into a new world. Hopefully. Now that the present Scared New World is ebbing, let’s hope it will be replaced by a Kind New World.

We can only hope.

In the meantime, we pass each other on the street wearing masks to protect us from the invisible enemy. We can’t tell whether the person approaching us is smiling behind their mask, or grumpy. To define that, we have to look into their eyes for the truth. But I guess that was always the case. Anyone can fool you with a smile. It’s hidden many broken hearts in the past. So, it’s the eyes that tell the real story.

“Ah, look at all the lonely people.” Yes Paul, look at them. Perhaps you’re one of them tonight. Ain’t life strange?

 

(C) Frank Howson 2020.

STAR

The thing about a star is, you can take that person and drop them into obscurity in some remote place that doesn’t know who they are, and given time, they will shine again. Stars do that. They are made tough by their early lives of not fitting in. But that very thing later became their strength and the foundation of their originality. They are conceived in darkness and magic. Pain and grit. Dreams and horrors.

Some grow a hard exterior to protect their extreme sensitivity. And most will misjudge them. Their guards are invisible to the eye, but shield the kindness that has been taken advantage of by far too many. They learn to save the very best of themselves for their work. So it is in the work that they truly live, and with some luck, live on. They appear to be social creatures but in truth are hermits. Existing only fully in the deepest, safest refuge of the soul. It is this situation that leads many observers to ponder why they are wiser in their work than they are in real life.

It is a lonely place being caught in the spotlight. There are no safety nets, no parents, no friends, no protection whatsoever, only pure sweat and talent. But it is only there, in that lonely space that has become their only world that means anything, that they know who they are. The rest of life is just hanging around and waiting. Some die from hanging too long.

The dream and the curse walk hand in hand in Lonesome Town, where the streets are deserted, and the bums possess all the knowledge of Life. The fortune tellers, having glimpsed the future, left in the dead of night. And the terminally bewildered wander aimlessly along that fine line between delusion and someone’s personal view of reality. It is a dangerous journey, without road signs, and lined with an endless array of fire-breathing windmills that will break a million Don Quixotes.

Once you have purchased your ticket for this merry-go-round, there is no getting off. You can attempt to stop what you do, but that will only create a bigger hunger for those wanting to gate-crash your fake death with more ill-informed opinions and senseless questions. There are no answers. That’s what Art teaches  us.

All there is, is a long road. A road you once tried to find love on in order to have a travelling companion.

You wonder whether you said the wrong thing, or gave too much, or gave too little. But, as already stated, there are no answers. Only questions. And these questions will surely drive you into madness.

Your torture for having finally amassed so much wisdom, is to have no one to share it with. That’s ironic.

But, that’s Life.

 

(C) 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