slowness of the future

i wanna take lessons. i wanna learn by doing and going slowly, slowly, real slow. i don't get it. why the fuck are we always in a hurry. to do what? i'm pretty sure if i'm lucky enough to lie on my deathbed i won't be thinking and saying things like, damn i'm glad i ran around at full speed to get to one task or another. i think i'll be grateful for those moments when i took my time, and was aimless. find without seeking. be full by being empty. everyday when i walk to work invariably -- perhaps because i live in california, and who the hell would be so stupid to walk in california when you could be driving and sitting in a traffic snarl all white-knuckled and and and crimson-faced -- drivers fly thru red lights, cut off other drivers, honk at other drivers or walkers like me, and then have the bloody nerve to cut me off at intersections and crosswalks. i think, maybe they're in such a hurry because they have to pee. but hell, everyone, including me, is running late for something. and in the end, what of it? we're in a hurry because. . .? that's what you'll remember on your death bed, you're last words shall be, god i was in a hurry! i need to unlearn going fast and develop the habits of taking my time because we all in the end have only so much of it, time i mean. why use it up so quickly? the title of this rant is the title of a poem by rene char whose metaphysical poems were often alloyed with the presence of passing time. char reminds us that death in life is repugnant while death in death is 'something accessible, is nothing.' going fast, to me, is like a continual dying. i want to learn the lost art of taking my time.