"Walking around looking for a way, but no one tells me which way to go. Caught up in a world, a labyrinth, a maze. Where yes Men can easily be known. I ask them no questions; they give me no answers. Following the wise, but they're walking in pampers. Give me a cigarette, smoking my cancer. Drink the pain away but I still have no answer. I'm lost on a road." -Gorilla Zoe "Lost"

Nov 29, 2010

You. Don't. Know. Jack.

I've never owned a diary. For some reason, I've always been the type to keep things clutched inside, tightly. I've always hidden myself from the world. I'm afraid. Of what, exactly? I'm not sure. Acceptance, rejection, dejection? I don't know. I don't know anything any more.

I've learned these last few years, that nothing is certain. You can't know anything for a hundred percent. It's impossible. Sure there is some mathematical law to my assertions, which are just that: Melancholy Observations made by a lost nineteen year old girl. There is always a chance that something--anything--can be off. A simple miscalculation of time, an undone button on a coat, an untied shoe lace.

Life is a web of intricacies; a delicate balance between knowledge and oblivion.

No one can know everything, but can someone know nothing?


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