On Knowing Nothing

It took me ages to figure out that I know nothing. I can only feed myself in order to stay empty in a healthy way. As soon as I stop learning, I begin to think I know things. Which is a most dangerous perspective to nurse. It is like getting sick into a snowglobe and then showing it proudly to your mother at a garden party. It is unsavory and unkosher self-style.

I keep this simple criteria of curiousty of empty headedness’s sake close to me like a parrot on the shoulder of my inner riflemaker. I tend to stick to huge unconquerable subjects that help with my subjective feeling when it comes to learning. But a dry piece of technical information can be marvellously useful and diabolical when it gets chummy in an unexpected pairing.

When I am afraid of being found out, I tend to lie about a silly little things. I have found that the key for handling this quirk is for me to be brave enough to ask very basic questions. People are usually happy to tell me about what they know. And so I find it helps me rest easy in the moments inbetween. It is like cooking with good ingredients. The quality does the work when the plate is uncluttered with rubbish.