Slow,
Big, One: “the three dimensions of Epic” in fantasy and myth — our main reprieves from the depressingly hurried, lean, mass-produced now. Slow liberates from “endlessly adapting to changes that don’t matter”; the farther a mythical age into the past, the more spacious its timescale: “we lust for millennia” even if what we can call ourselves is hardly centuries old. Daydreaming undisturbedly — as the world rushes by towards panpraxis — is adorable but what we really crave is to speed up the world, not turn into frozen idols ourselves; even better, we’d want to slow-mo the life we touch (but let it catch up when we look away) — to pack a maximum of perception and thinking into each physical tick, to live ages in outside-observer’s days: to gain in density and length (as in the known positive correlation between productivity and lifespan). Slow is also a way of acting adverbially — minimizing haste, disruption, fuss, avoiding irreversibles (undo); it’s a minimum-curvature spline through the given points that maximizes organic beauty: evolution is slow.