Wednesday, October 04, 2006

II



I know nothing. Or rather, what little I know is not very useful to me or I would imagine anyone else. Sometimes I marvel at how little I know (see figure I). I am the fool waxing fatalistic. As you can infer from the first figure, I know nothing of love, but I do know a little bit about hate and desire. I should say that there should be a separate subset outside of what I know and all I will ever know, a subset of all the things I don't know that I don't know, but this is sounding more and more like that Donald Rumsfeld quote about intelligence reports on terrorist sleeper cells. I don't claim to know nothing as some kind of political stance, a throwback to the xenophobic politics of the 1850s, the grand old know-nothing party, although it wouldn't be out of place in today's anti-immigrant climate.
Yes, this could be fertile territory for political satire, but I'm not clever enough to pul lit off. This is just a way to lower expectations, a fitting way to start the inescapable start, to begin the same tired beguine in this seedy ballroom.
Yes, the schemata asserts the fact that I know nothing, but then again amassing all we know as a species, every fecund seed of an idea, the human race knows very little in light of the inestimable cosmos.

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