A Compost Post, straight from the weeds of my mind: I don’t know nuthin, I say with a sneer and a grin. I don’t know and don’t blame me, I say while trying to hide, don’t ya know I’m stupid?  I don’t know and don’t care either, I say finally, in an attempt to convince others it’s a waste of time to confront me on what I don’t know. I don’t know, say my children when I ask them what they think they’re doing, even though I don’t know what I’m doing either.  I don’t know what I’m writing but I’m writing anyway because I said I would. I don’t know what good this all is, perhaps none at all because I’ll die anyway and my ignorance won’t matter any more, not that it ever did. I don’t know and wish I did, but perhaps it would spoil the surprise of heaven.