I Don't Know
I don't know. That’s all I be able to say nowadays. Yet there's more to that simple sentence than one might realize. I ts origins are polluted with the by-products of gibberish that made me give up explaining myself years ago. Why should I bother with mechanized manipulation? For attention? For approval? For someone else's mutiny? I am a person all in myself, whole as created, willing to administer an honest opinion of my own, even if I don't know. A lot of people claim that they do then verbally vomit all over my psyche, trying to convince me of their beliefs but all at the same time, I don't know. M aybe for them, maybe for topic, maybe for media, maybe for not. All of their commentary holds some water but as for me, I don't know. Don't believe me? Just look at my own verbal graffiti splattered here, plastered there, on blogs and timelines alike. I spend hours contemplating my own writing, wanting to explore different passages, try new techniques ....