Mostly, if I had to admit it, I’d rather not know.
A living nescience seems refreshing. But an attentive living nescience. Not one of those ignorant boorish types of dullardry wherein stupidity masquerades as premium sophistry and pronounces itself the wisest most accomplished being ever conceived by woman. Our current instance of such proclamation is insufferably obvious and lives between Lake America and the Gulf of America
“I think it's much more interesting to live not knowing than to have answers which might be wrong. I have approximate answers and possible beliefs and different degreeshttps://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/prolixity of uncertainty about different things, but I am not absolutely sure of anything and there are many things I don't know anything about, such as whether it means anything to ask why we're here. I don't have to know an answer. I don't feel frightened not knowing things, by being lost in a mysterious universe without any purpose, which is the way it really is as far as I can tell.”
― Richard P. Feynman
People want to know if I am well.
I don’t know. I can’t tell. And good intentions pave all the way to hell.
Although I am surprised whenever one additional breath follows another.
My new motto is “One nap at a time.”
There, at least, preludes of unknown travels speed by without coherence or prolixity.
Hence, a modest aphasia and dizzying circumlocution sweeps the path with straw broom leading to latch of hermitry gate.
