Willy Blake

What is truth? Sure, stick your head in the blender and you�ll likely become part smoothie, but essentially human experience is fiction. One person in a wheel chair sees the morning with joy and a sense of purpose while another curses his life. I want to capture that phenomenon one line at a time. If I can make it happen then I've connected, and that would make me feel warm and fuzzy inside. Eventually a series royalty checks would be nice too. And my mom would be so proud. She�d tell all her friends and relatives that thought I would never amount to anything.

Anyways, I guess I still have some stuff to work out, internal issues, and unresolved childhood distress like the time I accidentally saw my Auntie Thelma naked cleaning her house. She chased me around with the broom. I guess I should have knocked first. It�s been hard to shake the image. There�s also impending angst which I�ve always had, but it has gained new life with the onset of my middle-age and the growing fear of shriveling up into a decrepit, semi-comatose prune while my son feeds me gruel most of which drips down my chin as I gaze out a window into a parking lot. This of course is followed by death. My writing helps me with all of that too.