where does the time go?

oooooooh the pleasure of writing after 7 beers. It has been so long. Since there was a blank canvas, a will to write and no pressure to write.

Some one observed a while ago that my life must be well, now that I’ve been writing more as a result of observations around (reactionary even if it were or influenced by given media surrounding us) and not about personal angst.

Ah well, I would like not to disappoint them, but this post I think will end up being more about myself than about anything else.

Why?

Blame it on the beer. There was a song that said blame it on the rain. Never caught on, I think.

So now is the point – what is it about? It can be about a seemingly racy novel I read a week ago. The Road to Gandalfo. For a long time I couldn’t figure out what Gandalfo was – by the time I did, I figured the 30 bucks I spent on it wasn’t worth it.

It could be about the November issue of Wired magazine. But I haven’t yet bought it.

It could be about love that is found, not lost but neither fulfilled. Or is it the journey that is the destination in this case too. They should tell that to us in the beginning. We’d be wiser. And perhaps less greedy?

Like the deadheads say…

It's the same story the crow told me;
It's the only one he knows.
Like the morning sun you come and like the wind you go.
Ain't no time to hate, barely time to wait,
Woh - oh, what I want to know, where does the time go?