Parmenides is valuable in precisely the way that it is valuable to have an acquaintance
who reliably picks the wrong horse each and every time you take him to the racetrack.
But Zeno’s most important—wait, give me a sense of your familiarity with Swedish hip-hop.”
I could not tell if Peter Van Houten was kidding. After a moment, Augustus answered for me. “Limited,” he said.
“Okay, but presumably you know Afasi och Filthy’s seminal album Fläcken.” “We do not,” I said for the both of us.
“Lidewij, play ‘Bomfalleralla’ immediately.” Lidewij walked over to an MP3 player, spun the wheel a bit, then hit a button.
A rap song boomed from every direction. It sounded like a fairly regular rap song, except the words were in Swedish.
After it was over, Peter Van Houten looked at us expectantly, his little eyes as wide as they could get.
“Yeah?” he asked. “Yeah?” I said, “I’m sorry, sir, but we don’t speak Swedish.”
“Well, of course you don’t. Neither do I. Who the hell speaks Swedish?
The important thing is not whatever nonsense the voices are saying, but what the voices are feeling.
Surely you know that there are only two emotions, love and fear,
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