Thursday, June 5, 2014

Voices ©2002 Steven Willows + an untitled explicit freewriting poem

Another entry from Steve.  I like this one better than the first.  It speaks to my soul.


I stand at the cliff,
one foot in the air.
Flies blaspheme and buzz
in a halo over my head

With the heavens on fire,
a pillar of salt below,
the voices of angels
rage at my soul.

Are they demons or angels,
virtues or sins?
Should I listen to Heaven
while Sodom grows dim?

Never grasping the divine,
Never grasping the design,
my frail, stubborn mind,
Praise be to my God. (note..  a handwritten note beside this line said to change it to "My endless sins.")


and embrace the fiend;
use only when passion.  (note.  handwritten in "pride")
         the soul.

I shall give you one more strange one for this night...
It looks like free writing but is quite interesting.
I hope you find it so, as well.

It is explicit so don't complain that you weren't warned.

This passage has no title.

Write without stopping whopping Whopper juicy tender delicious meat.  Good book stay up all night and read. If I didn't have to sleep.  I could read and write all the time, with some time off for good behavior.  Good behavior like good neighbors trickles down into oblivion down down down into the abyss.  I love that word abyss.  It's so . . . abyssal.  Ha ha.  I made a funny, honey.  I'd love to fuck Lee Tatum over and over again, making her cum with my excellent tongue.  Yum yum.  I wonder where she is and what she is doing now.  Probably in bed sleeping, or getting fucked by some stud who materialized from the cover of Playgirl magazine.  Fuck fuck fuck.  Are all men obsessed with sex?

Monday, June 2, 2014

In the Beginning....

My name is not important, however my mission is.  I am sure I can come up with a better beginning to this story but then it wouldn't be the truth.  Would it?  An so it starts with Steven Anthony Willows.  You can see his memorial here >>

and you can actually still buy his book here >>

I have acquired his (as I call them) "lost" material from the depths of the cave.  They were not actually lost, but dusty and somewhat forgotten.  It was my daughter who gave me the idea to search for them.  She had read The Fallen and wanted to read the sequel.  I knew there were short stories and poetry that he had written but didn't know where they were.  I even found a handwritten copy of the Nag Hammadi scrolls.  He hand copied all the ancient texts!  But why?  There must have been a reason behind his madness.  We all knew he was a tad bit eccentric but methodical in his ways.  I intend to publish all the manuscripts that I have in my possession in hopes to better understand his thoughts.  To understand the mind of a genius.  To delve into the depths of his darkness.  To remember..  To forget..

Here is the first installment of Steven's poetry.
The least dark of the writings to come...

Ode to the SUV

By Steven Willows

O monstrous SUV, thou art kin to a whale,
Thou, from whose presence the sun
Is blocked, like girls forced to wear a veil,

Yellow, and black, and pale, and lewd crimson,
They deplore the speeding laws with relish,
Like a pack of howling, writhing Huns

Who besieged Rome, furious, hellish,
Each like a malevolent tank, until
Thine American Dream can embellish

Your purchase over all the dark earth, and fill
The hungering world with red, white and blue
And with soldiers charging over the hill:

America, oh America, God
Shed his grace on thee, east of Eden, in Nod.