
Who was William Shakespeare?
If you’re sure you know, then let me shake your world.
We know who Mark Twain was. Sam Clemens never kept that a secret.
Shakesspere, Shakysper, Shaxpeer, Schakespeire, Shackper, Shexpere, Shaxkspere and Shakspeyre.
All of these refer to our boy WIlly in the records of the time.
Even those that he misspelled when he signed them himself.
If you believe he was the glovemaker’s son, the theater owner, and the character actor
Who lived in a house in Blackfriars, London, and grew up in Stratford on Avon,
I will not disrespect you for your beliefs.
But that man, if he was the greatest of all poets, owned no library of his own,
Nor had such a thing available,
Nor ever left the area of Southern England where his entire life was lived,
Nor evidenced any sort of formal schooling beyond the earliest schooling.
Reading English and Latin at the King’s School of Stratford,
Though nothing beyond the age of fourteen.
These things we are mostly sure of;
Ben Jonson knew the real William Shakespeare.
The real William Shakespeare knew Christopher Marlowe,
And the patron of his poem books, the Earl of Southhampton,
Probably knew the real Bill too.

What we know about the real William Shakespeare comes from his work.
This was perhaps the most literate man who ever lived.
Thirty-seven plays, 154 Sonnets, and two narrative poems
Demonstrate he knew the Italian countryside,
He knew the ways of European courts, especially the English court.
He understood points of English law.
He accurately portrayed emotions like depression, hatred, love, and madness.
He knew the stories of Hamlet, Prince of Denmark, Othello the Moor, and King Lear and his daughters,
Though he did not invent any of those stories collected from other lands.
So, who was William Shakespeare really?
Francis Bacon? Kit Marlowe raised from the dead? Edward DeVere, the Earl of Oxford?
Or a combination of men coordinated by Sir Francis Bacon’s secret plan?
We will never know for certain. But we can ask him through his work.
The iambic pentameter of William Shakespeare still lives and reveals the mind of Shakespeare.
Though the true name behind the pen name will never be revealed.














Naked Innocence
To be clear, I will have to write a post called Naked Experience to go with this post. It is a William Blake style of thing. You know, that English Romantic Poet guy who was into drawing naked people even more than me? The writer of Songs of Innocence and Experience? You know, this stuff;
Well, maybe you don’t know. But Blake gave the world the metaphor of the innocent lamb and the tyger of experience (tyger is his spelling, not mine, and it didn’t blow up the spell checker, even though it made the thing unhappy with me again). There is a certain something I have learned about nakedness that I mean to innocently convey. I learned it from anatomy drawing class and spending time with nudists. Naked is not evil. Naked is not pornography. Nakedness, itself, is a very good thing.
At this point the avid clothing-wearers among you are probably saying to yourself, “This guy is nuts! If God had wanted us to be nude, then we wouldn’t have been born with clothes on.” And I must admit, I cannot argue with logic like that.
But on a more serious note, I believe nudity is a fundamentally essential part of the nature of art. After all, pictures of naked people are a central part of what people have been drawing since they first started etching them with charcoal on cavern walls. And all art, including this blog, is about the human experience. What it means to be human. What it feels like to be alive on this Earth and able to feel.
And there is nothing sinister and immoral in drawing nudes to portray that fact. I am trying to show metaphorically the music of existence, the pace, the symmetry, the musical score… It isn’t focused on the private bits, what some call the naughty parts, even when those things are present in the picture. “How dare that naughty Mickey show the naked back end of that butterfly! It ought to have pants on at least!” Yes, I am making a mockery of that outrage itself. I am not a pornographer. These pictures were not created to engender any prurient interests. These pictures are part of Blake’s lamb. They will not bite you. Though blue-nosed people who wish to control what others think may very well bite me for daring to say so.
I have posted a lot of writing and artwork on this blog that I held for the longest time to be completely private and personal. I hardly ever showed any of it to anybody before I posted it here. But I am old. I no longer have secrets. I am capable of telling you everything even though I have never met most of you in real life. And I have no shame. I have become comfortable with emotional and intellectual nudity. And when I am dead, the body I have kept hidden from the world for so long will be no more. It’s just a thought. It’s a naked thought. And it is completely innocent.
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Tagged as art, literature, nudes, poetry, William Blake