Who Knows Where The Time Goes

Who knows where the Time goes.

Across the evening sky all the birds are leaving. Who knows where the time goes Who knows where the time goes. If I ventured in the slipstream. The bloom hung along the bough.

Each Spring a miracle. Who knows where the time goes. Kids out in the street collecting bottle tops.

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Nothing but a stranger in this World. At my back I hear … Sad deserted Shore. Soft sift in an Hourglass. Come the storms of Winter.

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The days are hastening on. In the beginning was the Word. Through a glass darkly. Now and at the hour of our death. Is now and ever shall be. Before the Winter fire. The swift flight of the Sparrow. Ye know not when the Time Is. It will outlast The Pyramids.

So much of social media is filled with angry, frustrated, anally retentive people pounding away on keyboards in their basement over some imagined slight. Spider monkeys socialize better in their social networks. Even the media succumb to the passion to spout and strike out, rather than weigh, analyze and monitor objectively. Society depends on maturity, however. It needs effective, balanced social interaction to survive and flourish.

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Interaction over mobile or static device is not the same as interaction with people. Increasingly strident and blustering monologues. You can see it when people are so absorbed in their iPhone or iPad that they walk into cars, buildings and each other.

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Their online interactions pale against the interaction with the grill of an automobile. Online interaction is distant, inhuman, displaced and very unsocial. But easy — it requires no thought, no weighing of consequences, no consideration of others. Similarly, our civic interactions have foundered on the shoals of technology: Angry, defensive, righteous and self-centred.

If not anonymous, they are yet estranged from the social, personal and civic consequences that personal, face-to-face, human communications are subject to. Let alone to facts. They only post to hurt, to attack, to disparage, to rage against the firmament and the fates. Attack is not constructive community interaction: And that — sadly — defines much of the online community today. Death by a million small, nasty bites by fish who never learned table manners.

It takes courage to talk with people, face to face. Everyone who runs for council, successful or not, knows the stomach-rumbling moment of having to speak to a crowd, to answer questions off-the-cuff, to stand in front of an audience, to defend your beliefs to strangers. Those who do so need the strength of their beliefs to get up and speak to the crowd. Such is the impact of technology: Even talking on the phone takes courage more courage than posting online. Talking on the phone is a conversation, a social interchange: We cram into them, stuff ourselves silently into the crowd and suffer for the journey.

Susan, more socially mature than I, welcomes newcomers and converses with them. In our recent stay, a family of Brits engaged everyone in a conversation during the descent to the hotel lobby.

Fairport Convention:Who Knows Where The Time Goes? Lyrics

Online, do we have that maturity? To communicate without accusation, without rancour? To discuss with strangers without needing to impose our views, our ideas on them? Some of us, at least. The oldsters among us — me included — wonder where the time goes, and with it where the civility, the manners, the social interactions went. Indeed, my whole conception of civility seems old-fashioned, out of place today. I was raised in a bygone era where to be a gentleman was a badge of honour, something to achieve, not disparage. Like holding the door open for others, giving up my seat on public transit, saying please and thank you, letting another driver back out of a parking space on Main Street rather than pushing ahead for my own interests.

Saying hello in a crowded elevator, saying thank you to the cashier and waitress. Politeness, manners and civil debate are, it seems, dead, at least online. And if not quite dead, there are those determined to kill them. Long live the angry innuendo, the wild and virulent allegation, the defamation and the puerile nastiness. Hello, brave new world.



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Possibly the best musical ever, although West Side Story might make an argument for that title. I had so many good conversations with John and his staff about literature, writing, the future, scifi and fantasy… probably more culture than the zone could sustain… self-indulgent fashion does not like the creepiness of art and culture to intrude on its domain.

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