Need I say more? 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. Its 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. Maybe 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 writings, wanting to explore different passages, try new techniques. I consider it a diet of nourishing my own life. Things I don't know I want to know. Things that I know stay right there. Mommy's going hunting for something different today. I won't be too long, I'll be right back, trust me, I don't know.
One day I might change my mind. I don’t know. It seems like such a well rounded individual idea. A power point if you will, able to emulate the most critical of us all, simply by acknowledging that be that as it may, I don’t know.
Who knows? If we wait for a correct answer someone will always contradict us and or ignore it and you want to know why, possibly, could be, probably because I don’t know. They're too willing to dispose of common sense and decency for the very reason I've already stated. I wasn't interested or involved or paying any attention, so why ask me. I don't know.
Need I say more? I don't know. Isn't that enough? I just don't know.
