It's a warm, sunny, week-before-Carnavale Sunday in Sitges, and I am taking advantage of it in one of the ways I love best, sitting in a beachside cafe watching the passersby and taking advantage of my new laptop's eight-hour battery life to rap about a few things.
The first, as seems fitting given some of the conver- sation here recently, is a bit of a confession. Yes, I'm going to -- as requested often -- "come clean" and acknowledge my sins. Or at least one of them, which seems around here to be a big one: I don't know. So *many* folks here seem to feel that they *do* know, and actually "know that they know," and about so much stuff, that I've sometimes felt the need -- out of shame, you understand -- to hide this grievous sin from you. But no more. I'm coming out of the "I don't know" closet and confessing. I don't know shit. Wow. It felt good to get that off my chest. I feel like a new man, in an AA-meeting-Hi-my-name-is-Turq-and-I- don't-know-shit kinda way. But interestingly enough, the first thing this new man feels after "coming out" as a non-knower is a sense of not only ease but *pride* in not knowing. I don't know shit and I like it that way. I mean, think of the opposite. How BORING would it be to "know" stuff? Your sense of wonder about that subject is OVER, man -- kaput, fini. How sad. Yeah, I guess you'd have that all-prevading sense of my-shit-don't-stink-ness that knowers seem to have, but -- and call me crazy for thinking this if you want -- my shit *does* stink and I can live with that. I don't know and I can live with that, too. In fact, I believe that not knowing is a Good Thing. It not only preserves my sense of wonder about life and its mysteries, it facilitates it. Personally, I hope that I *never* know stuff. I hope that I keep wondering about stuff as long as there is an "I" to wonder. And afterwards, if creation is that cool.
