Kunsten at bokse med hjertet

Samme uge som min far døde, meldte jeg mig ind i et af dens slags centre, hvor du lærer at slå andre folk til tælling. Der er mange måde at bearbejde sorgen på. Jeg kunne vælge mellem følgende metoder: boksning, Kick Boxing, MMA, Muay Thai, Krav Maga. Min plan var at begynde med MMA, men da jeg dukkede op for at melde mig ind, havde de kun boksning på programmet. Så jeg ændrede min plan.

Det vidste sig at være heldigt. Jeg genfandt min livsrytme gennem boksningen.

Min far havde problemer med hjertet. I samme uge, som jeg meldte mig ind i boksecentret, havde jeg erfaret, at jeg skulle have en hjerteoperation på grund af samme defekt: Mitralklapsutæthed.

Læse resten af kronikken her eller i Politiken her

Ja, vi bør glemme …

Det er på tide, at det enkelte menneske glemmer alle guruerne for derved at se sin egen virkelighed, se sit eget liv, skabe sin egen historie.

Sådan åbner jeg en kronik, der bl.a. handler om psykologen Svend Brinkmann, lidt om Freud, en anelse mere om Deleuze og om at handle således, at du kan gentage dine handlinger.

Læs kronikken her.

Længe leve lederen!

Forleden fortalte en ledelseskonsulent mig, at jo mere erfaren en leder er, desto mere efterspørger han eller hun filosofi. Det kunne være fristende at sige, at lederne ønsker at tænke, men enhver ved, at ikke kun filosoffer tænker. 

Det, der derimod kendetegner filosoffen er, hans eller hendes danseegenskaber, idet at tænke er at træde til siden, vige pladsen for noget, som er større end en selv. 

Det, som lederen efterlyser, er ikke blot refleksion – det håber jeg i hvert fald ikke – men evnen til at give plads til erkendelsens – til tider – smertefulde tilblivelse. Det kunne være erkendelsen af, at den gren, som vi alle sammen så mageligt sidder på, har vi snart savet over. 

Grenen kunne vi for nemheds skyld kalde planeten. 

Status og greenwashing

Lige nu værner meget få mennesker om livet – inklusive ledere. De værner om deres ego, deres karriere, deres status – en status, som endda kan vokse, hvis du lader som om, at du bekymre dig om planeten. 

Denne bekymrende velvilje er desværre mere knyttet til lederens identitet, end vedkommendes reelle handlinger.

Lederen – som alle andre levende væsener – bevæger sig mellem væren og intet. Et mellemrum fuld af angst, idet lederen ikke kun kan risikere at miste sin prestige og magt, men tabe livet. 

Skal en leders filosofiske erkendelse udvikle sig til andet end en pirrende eftermiddag på et kursus, kræver det en accept af tabet: at noget er uerstatteligt. 

Enhver form for erkendelse – inklusive selverkendelsen – kan være grusom. Den blotter vores individuelle og kollektive begrænsninger og konfronterer os med vores egen hang til selvbedrag. 

Et sådan selvbedrag kunne lyde: tingene ordner sig nok. 

Troen på videnskaben

En anden form for selvbedrag kunne være, at videnskaben nok skal redde os. 

Videnskaben er nyttig, men den er ude af stand til at identificere meningen med livet. Erfare tabet. Filosofi er ikke noget ubrugeligt, men lige præcis det, der frigør mennesket fra frygt, usikkerhed og hjælpeløshed. Giver det kraft til at handle. 

At dagens erfarne ledere efterspørger filosofi, hænger sammen med, at filosofien alt for længe har været marginaliseret. Men denne marginalisering har ikke just gjort verden bedre. Tværtimod. Når filosofien er fraværende, trives dumheden. 

Meningen er i filosofien ikke noget givet, men noget som gradvist skabes, idet det enkelte menneske alene – og sammen med andre – kritisk undersøger og udforsker livets uanede muligheder, hvorved vedkommende løbende finder ud af, hvad der er vigtigt, og hvorfor det er det. 

Det kaldes visdom. 

En mere praktisk visdom er at værne om ens eget hjem: planeten. Ikke fordi vi skal, men ene og alene fordi vi elsker den, uden den vil ingen vide, hvad det vil sige at være levende, uden den ville ingen kunne tale om frihed, erfaret kærligheden eller spillet fodbold

Nietzsche, sagde engang, at »den, der ved, hvorfor han lever, kan tåle et hvilket som helst hvordan«.

Det er dette ’hvorfor’, som gør, at mange ledere efterspørger filosofi. De har glemt, hvorfor de gør, som de gør. Den dybere mening. Den såkaldte mening med livet. 

Ifølge den franske filosof Michel Serres, består det at erkende i »at antage en form, der er analog med den, vi erkender«. Det vil sige, at for at erkende livets mangfoldighed, må jeg blive et med livet. Jeg må smide alle mine ideer, normer og forventninger i skraldespanden og bogstaveligt talt blotte mig over for livets kræfter. Jeg må ofre min status og prestige, idet jeg viger pladsen for de livskræfter, der presser sig på – give dem plads. 

Jeg må erkende, at livet kun er til låns. Og, at alt levende er forbundet, hvorved mit velbefindende er forbundet med dit, og omvendt. 

I dag taler mange konstant om, hvad vi kunne gøre, og hvordan vi kunne gøre det, som om vi endnu ikke havde et klart ’hvorfor’ at leve for. 

Ingen udsættelse

Tabet af livet – af planeten – kan ikke udsættes med ord og strategiske planlægninger. Livets overlevelse kræver, at vi sætter livet før vores eget ego. 

Hvis vi lever for livets skyld. Ikke magt, penge, sex eller en lind strøm af likes, ved vi så ikke, hvad vi skal gøre, og hvordan vi skal gøre det? 

Filosofi er altså yderst nyttig. Den kan hjælpe dig og mig og alle de andre med at leve og endda overleve. Det er ikke en disciplin, hvor den enkelte skal tilegne sig en masse informationer og begreber, fordi de sælger på direktionsgangene, men en konkret og brutal modstandsøvelse mod alt, der forsøger at ødelægge friheden, kærligheden og den mellemmenneskelige værdighed. 

Ja, alt det der ødelægger det eneste sted, hvor mennesket nogensinde har følt sig hjemme og derfor lykkelig: Planeten. 

Alt for længe har vi i Vesten, i hvert fald, ignoreret døden, som om det var noget, der ikke vedkom os. 

Spørgsmålet er nu, om den endnu igangværende pandemi har fået os til at indse vores skrøbelighed. Erkende, at vi er endelige. Fortolkningen af døden bestemmer vores holdning til tilværelsen – til livet. 

Dette er en klassisk filosofisk erkendelse. 

Fortabte ledere

Filosoffen Ludwig Wittgenstein sagde, at et filosofisk problem svarer til at føle sig fortabt. Mange ledere efterspørger filosofien, fordi de er fortabte. De har tabt kampen om planeten, de kan mærke, at de i fremtiden bliver hjemløse. 

Selv om de nok mere frygter, at blive arbejdsløse og miste status! 

Febrilsk prøver de at opruste sig moralsk, selv om det de reelt burde er, at nedruste kapitalen. 

Grådighed, opportunisme, egoisme, narcisisme, stress og depressioner er i dag ikke individuelle diagnoser, men sociale patologier. Vi mennesker – alle sammen og ikke kun lederne, selv om de selvfølgelig er mere ansvarlige qua ledere – har fejlet. 

Moralen er nemlig denne: Hvis resultatet af vores handlinger er, at planeten snart dør, hvad fortæller det så om de valg og beslutninger, der ligger til grund for vores handlinger? Hvad fortæller det om de vaner, overbevisninger, værdier og antagelser, som har formet vores beslutninger? 

Det fortæller, at livet aldrig har været første prioritet. 

Vi har ledt os selv i fordærv. Lederen er død, længe leve lederen.

Artiklen blev først gang bragt i Klimamonitor

Against revenge

“The world needs bad men. We keep the other bad men from the door,” says the character Rust Cohle in the American crime-series, True Detectives. I thought of this sentence when I read Agnes Callard’s opening essay in the book On Anger (Boston Review Forum, 2020), which ends with the words: “We can’t be good in a bad world.” 

The underlying premise of her argument is that the world is bad. And it’s because the world is bad—tattered, for example, by inequality, racism, sexism, greedy capitalism, abuse of power, hunger, fatigue, etc.—that there is moral value in anger. Social movements such as #Metoo and Black Lives Matter emphasize this point. 

Perhaps more controversially, Callard claims that “once you have reason to be angry, you have reason to be angry forever. This is the Argument for Grudges.” Resentment of this type is often seen as being impotent, as Nietzsche claimed, and yet Callard present us with “the Argument for Revenge” where she tries to make a person’s desire for revenge something rational: she says, “revenge is how we hold one another morally responsible.” 

But before I go any further, let me pause to present the writer: Callard is an Associate Professor of Philosophy at the University of Chicago; she is also a columnist for The Point Magazine and The New York Times

Returning to her essay On Anger: Callard develops her postulation further when she writes that doing wrong—through revenge—doesn’t make you a worse person than when you were being wronged. In other words: “the victims of injustice are not as innocent as we would like to believe.” 

Thus, if I am wronged and I get angry, it is my moral responsibility to act on that anger and to seek revenge. Callard doesn’t present us with what would be an appropriate form of revenge. One reason for this is that she doesn’t operate with a clear moral guideline as to what is right and wrong. Instead, she seems to base such normative judgments on the individual’s feelings. “Anger,” she writes, “feels exactly as you would expect, if it were true that my moral accountability was a matter of you seeing what’s good for you in terms of what’s bad for me.”

Unlike a moral philosopher such as Iris Murdoch, Callard doesn’t aim to overcome “the big fat ego” that Murdoch believed to be the problem in moral improvement. In contrast, Callard centers on the person’s feelings, despite the fact that most people have been seduced or manipulated to “feel” inappropriate things. It is quite possible that a person will become angry due to a mistake, a misunderstanding, or even due to pure ignorance. 

Callard’s essay is followed by nine responses. Some of these merely repeat her argument, although others demonstrate the extent to which a true philosophical discussion is a mixture of humility and courage: while I acknowledge that I may be wrong, I nevertheless have the courage to present my ideas despite the risk of being wrong and having to think it all through again. 

Among the more significant responses is that of Elizabeth Bruenig, who argues in favor of forgiveness, saying that “it may be a necessary ingredient for peace as we know it.” Bruenig goes on to stress that forgiveness is not “something one does for oneself, as pop psychologists and wellness coaches often [would have it].” Although it may bring healing, forgiving is also painful because you’re “being asked to sacrifice for some higher good: peace or egalitarian order.” This approach tries to overcome Callard’s more individual moral evaluation from a transcendent perspective. 

Continuing with this theme, Misha Cherry argues, with the support of James Baldwin, about the need “to examine the context that gave birth to them [the crimes].” Here, Cherry is redirecting our attention away from a focus on the person, the egocentric individual, which is so typical in US political debate. One only has to think how convenient it was to be angry at Donald Trump and to ignore the culture or context that brought a person with such ideas and values to power. It is because we tend to focus on egos that we often ignore the context. 

Rachel Achs challenges Callard’s argument that “anyone who is wronged does have some reason to retaliate.” On reading this, I found myself thinking about the mafia and drug cartels who have their own reasons for being angry—which problematizes the claim that all anger is morally reasonable. While paying tax might make some people in Denmark angry, taking revenge by not paying tax while still benefiting from the welfare system, would not only be an example of unreasonable anger but also of plain stupidity. 

Oded Naáman asks whether revenge is the best option for moral improvement. Instead of revenge, an angry person or society might strive to change people’s mindsets and practical norms through new laws (e.g. to secure consent before sexual interaction), or through a better educational system that brings equality, justice and freedom to all—regardless of gender (including nonbinary persons and trans-persons), race, ethnicity, or sexual preference. 

The small book ends with a comment to the responses from Callard where she writes: “we need help to become the people we want to be—we are not already, ‘best’.” While it’s obvious that we need others because they can help us understand who we are and who we might become, it’s less obvious whether revenge is helpful. For example, does the other help due to his or her altruistic interest or just well-camouflaged selfishness? Also, I am skeptical about whether all people really know whom they want to be, that is, if what they want is truly their own desire, or whether they are being subtly seduced by political narratives or social media. 

After reading Callard’s essay and the responses, I am still left with the question: Why the need for revenge? I can easily understand and sympathize with the anger, but not with the need for revenge. I think one possible answer is that revenge is fueled by our own anger towards something we can’t let go of. It’s easy to get stuck in the past instead of “just” learning from it and then trying to overcome it. There is a need to make sure that it will not repeat itself, and this may be achieved through social experiments, education, new norms and values, etc.  

Thus, while anger can be productive and morally beneficial, it is only so, I believe, when it doesn’t lead to never-ending bitterness, self-righteousness and revenge. For example, Callard claims that once you have reason to be angry, you have reason to be angry forever, but I do not find her argument and examples convincing, and I also believe she is wrong.

Overcoming problems doesn’t necessarily require revenge; it calls rather, for a more creative approach that starts to build foundations for a future where people can experience equality, justice, and peace, while freely experimenting with different ways of living. 

With Nietzsche, I see revenge as resignation or resentment, which contrasts with trying to create new values, for example, through critical and innovative thinking. Critical thinking is a constructive example of the value of anger: a critique is actually something joyous because it has the potential to make us a little bit wiser, provided it is based on facts and convincing argument rather than on feelings and opinions. 

In her final reply to all the responses, Callard writes that anger is not only in one’s own self-interest. For example, I can be angry when other people suffer. And yet, despite this claim, it appears to me that the revenge she speaks of is always personal. Even when she proposes that “Love is a kind of attachment,” as in loving people who embody justice or equality, I fear that this too can easily lead to an attachment to one’s personal feelings about what constitutes equality and justice. Vanity, egoism, and narcissism are close by. 

Another way to define love could be by relating it to freedom—that is by being unattached and open to the continual process of becoming someone else. Søren Kierkegaard once wrote in a letter that “freedom is the element of love.” A simplistic interpretation of this could be that it is only unfree people who seek revenge. This is because it is only free people who are ready to set their egos aside and go where the truth takes them. 

I have dealt mostly with Callard’s essay, but the real strength of this book comes not only from her essay but also from all the responses. On Anger is an example of how rich and beneficial it can be to participate in a philosophical discussion—even if you, like me, are sitting on a bench in a park. 

Finn Janning, PhD, a writer and a philosopher. 

First published in Metapsychology, Vol. 25, No. 32

Why I love football

No one knows for sure why so many people love football. Football is a mixture of nothing and everything. Most the latter, I will argue.

Trying to make sense of football, I am aware, there is a risk of overintellectualising the game, of ‘reading’ it metaphorically, symbolically or addressing all kinds of psychological, political and philosophical aspects of life. Nevertheless, all these aspects are part of what makes football special. There are, after all, numerous way of how and why football plays a major role in many people’s lives.

As long as I can remember, football has been a part of my life, from playing, to watching it as a neutral spectator or a fan, to selling beer and sausages at a stadium in Denmark’s best league, to being a father of children who play football in Spain.

“Football is a simple game. Twenty-two men [or women] chase a ball for 90 minutes and at the end, the Germans always win,” the English captain Gary Lineker once said. He was wrong, of course, and he knew it. In 1986, Lineker and England lost in the World Cup quarter-final to Argentina due to Maradona’s two famous goals: one with the help of God, the other godlike. In 1992, Denmark beat German in the European Cup Final.

Perhaps, football is not that simple.

Unlike many other games, it’s played at a particular time and place and for a certain time and the players change clothes before playing.

Time. Place. Clothing.

Read the rest of the essay in The Football Pink

Stakkels Jim

Min nye roman Stakkels Jim udkommer i dag på forlaget Brændpunkt!

Romanen tager os med på en episk rejse gennem døden, venskaber, kunsten, og hvad det overhovedet vil sige at være (eller ikke være) et menneske. Efter sin storebrors død går Jørgen til grunde. Ulykkelig af sorg flår han sig løs af sin fortid, og forvandler sig til kunstneren Jim. Undervejs i sin forvandling møder han den jævnaldrende Iggy, der bliver et holdepunkt i Jims turbulente liv. På en druktur lover Iggy – mest i sjov – at fortælle historien om Jims kunstnerliv. Men da Jim en dag forsvinder, føler Iggy sig forpligtet til at dele sin vens historie; en historie, der viser sig at gemme på en skræmmende hemmelighed. For hvad sker der, når vi kan se et andet menneskes liv? Skal Iggy fortælle hele historien?

Bogen kan købes i paperback eller E-bog

Læs anmeldelse fra Berlingske Tidende her.

Nietzsche and Psychotherapy

It looks like the 21st century will become one of philosophical therapy.

Philosophy has moved out of the ivory tower and back into the public sphere from where it began. At times, this trend enhances the public debate and, at others, only populates philosophy to make it more marketable. The latter is often disguised self-help literature.

Another, more important reason for the awakening of philosophy is that many of today’s illness cannot be graphed using psychology. Stress, burnout, borderline, and depression can no longer be regarded as individual diagnoses. Rather, they are symptoms of a sick society. Among the philosophers who are often used in philosophical therapy, is the late Wittgenstein and his mantra “meaning is use,” or existentialist, especially when they are dealing with a pallet of powerful concepts, such as false belief, anxiety, authenticity, responsibility, freedom, and perhaps most popular, stoicism, which some used to overcome their vulnerabilities and attain peace of mind. For example, the stoic tries to eliminate the passions that cause a person to suffer. Stoicism is closely related to religious or spiritual thinkers in that they operate based on a kind of salvation, a stage in which they no longer suffer from pain or loss.

Then, there is Nietzsche.

Psychotherapist Manu Bazzano has written Nietzsche and Psychotherapy. Unlike the stoic, Nietzsche saw suffering and loss as a part of what makes a life worth living. A full and flourishing life has something at stake. For example, my love for my wife and our children makes me vulnerable because I could lose them.

Nietzsche and Psychotherapy can be read as a Nietzschean experiment that brings some of the German thinker’s concept, including joy, becoming, will to power, etc., into psychotherapy.

Bazzano shows how radical and powerful a thinker Nietzsche is, as well as how psychotherapists can learn or be inspired by his thoughts.

 For example, he tries to compare the life-affirming and life-denying approach by taking what works from psychotherapy and adding a dose of Nietzsche where these practices do not work. “In person-centered therapy it is assumed—rightly, I think—that the person receiving therapy is in a states of incongruence… It is also generally assumed—wrongly, I think—that ‘successful’ therapy means the coming together of organism and self-concept” (p. 31).

The first is right, according to the author, because those who suffer from a crisis indirectly are inviting creative experimentation into their lives. However, they do not do so to find themselves but to overcome. The self is not found; rather, it is achieved or created.

According to Nietzsche, philosophy starts in fear. For example, fear in today’s performance or achievement society has reduced education and therapy into punishment. Here, Bazzano tries to liberate psychotherapy so it becomes more creative and less judgmental. “Therapeia means, after all, healing…The nihilistic, life-denying influence of our culture has made sure that psychotherapy replicates these principles, thus functioning as a mouthpiece for a pervasive ideology of resentment” (p. 134). Instead of a passive nihilistic approach to life, Bazzano suggests the adoption of an “active nihilism” that turns therapy into a kind of entertainment, a term that originally means  “holding together” (p. 150).

Holding what together, we might ask. A myriad of interpretations of what it is that actually is holding life together (or potentially might hold it together), and how intense it is doing so, etc. The approach related to Nietzsche goes against a mechanical, teleological or strictly normative approach; instead it opens for a more intuitive, poetic and liberating relationship to and with life. “Where you can guess, there you hate to deduce,” Nietzsche is quoted for saying. Bazzano call it “therapy without prejudice” (p. 82).

In a psychotherapeutic setting it “means that the criteria of true and false no longer have primacy and are superseded by new criteria of high and low, noble and mean. What begins to matter more is the sense and value of what one thinks, feels and says” (p. 165). In his book on Nietzsche, the French philosopher Gilles Deleuze said something like that we have the thoughts and feeling we have due to our form of life.

Reading Nietzsche and Psychotherapy, you instantly notice that Bazzano is a man with an agenda. He exemplifies Nietzsche, where the German said: “Every talent must unfold itself in fighting” (p. 50).

The book is not a critical inquiry into Nietzsche, but one using Nietzsche to conduct a critical inquiry into psychotherapy, yet always trying to do so in an affirmative way. I would not recommend the book to readers with no knowledge of either Nietzsche or psychotherapy. However, if the reader has some experience in these areas, the book is inspiring. Furthermore, the book is full of illuminating quotes by Nietzsche and Deleuze, which actually make it archaeological.

The writer ends, “We go on digging. The conversation is infinite.”

Review published in Metapsychology, Volume 23, Issue 24

Philosophy as Poetry


In 2004, the American pragmatist philosopher Richard Rorty spent three days holding his Page-Barbour lectures entitled Philosophy as Poetry. Its beautiful title captures important aspects of Rorty’s philosophy. 

Philosophy is not about presenting solutions to problems but inventing problems worth exploring. Some of the problems that Rorty addresses relate to the notion of origin and reality—both concepts are not something given or static. For example, philosophy is not a thinking tool aimed at representing reality; rather, it’s a curious and creative exploration of what is possible.

For Rorty, at least in these three lectures, philosophy begins when we overcome the representational figure of thinking (i.e. reality versus appearance); actually, it begins with a wondering imagination. Perhaps for this reason, he—like many continental philosophers—sees philosophy as a literary genre. According to the French philosopher Michel Serres, a work of fiction can often produce far more experience, knowledge, and testing of our moral limitations than some philosophical papers. 

So what is Rorty saying? 

“… we need to think of reason not as truth-tracking faculty but as a social practice,” he says, continuing, “We need to think of imagination not as the faculty that produces visual or auditory images but as a combination of novelty and luck. To be imaginative, as opposed to being merely fantastical, is to do something new and to be lucky enough to have that novelty be adopted by one’s fellow human, incorporated into their social practices.” 

Later, he clarifies: “What we call ‘increased knowledge’ should not be thought of as increased access to the Real but as increased ability to do things—to take part in social practices that make possible richer and fuller human lives.”

Philosophy is a creative and imaginative practice proposing new ways of living more humanely, which always seemed to be one of Rorty’s concerns

From Emerson, Rorty takes the notion that there “is no outside, no inclosing wall”, there is nothing outside language. Language comes to us with the world like a wave hitting the shore. 

“Every human achievement,” Rorty says, “is simply a launching pad for greater achievement … There are only larger human lives to be lived.” 

Referring to Schiller, Shelley, and Nietzsche he emphasizes that we must become “the poets of our own lives”, echoing Nietzsche’s commend; however, not just our own lives (which would be an ego trip) but for “the world in which those lives are lived is a creation of the human imagination.”

Imagination is the principle vehicle of human progress. If you can’t imagine another world, then you can’t act responsibly. Thus, the task of philosophy is to create better poems, to achieve something better, to expand life. 

In a similar way, when Nietzsche tried to overcome Platonism, he said that it’s not about self-knowledge but “self-creation through self-description.” Reason, in other words, works only within the limits set by imagination. Or, as Wittgenstein, another of Rorty’s companions, said, “We should not ask about meaning but only about use.” For example, “… if we have a plausible narrative of how we became what we are, and why we use the words we do as we do, we have all we need in the way of self-understanding.” 

Rorty’s philosophy as poetry is narrative and inconclusive—just like life is. The words we use to describe the world change because everything in life changes. Therefore, the search for truth is also a search for justification, and being “rational is a practice of giving and asking for reason, not the employment of an innate truth-tracking faculty.” 

If there is a romantic formula, it goes something like this: you imagine something novel, like catching an idea; you then test and experiment with this idea, and perhaps this novelty is so good that it will become a new social practice. 

Can I Involve You?

I took the elevator up to the third floor. Normally, I would have taken the stairs in order to get a bit of exercise. But normal doesn’t exist anymore. Did it ever?

I just turned thirty-seven and I am feeling slightly lazy after having written books for the last decade or so. Not that writing books is a cushy job. Quite the contrary. It’s freaking hard work. It’s just that I do it sitting down, five to six hours a day. And I do it every damn day! That takes its toll on the thigh muscles. At times my limbs creak more than the chair I sit on. I know, it’s an overused metaphor, but I can only blame IKEA for this unpleasant sound. Well, nevertheless, or maybe because of all this, I took the elevator. I also didn’t want to arrive sweaty or out of breath. I hate sweaty people. I hate people who are out of breath.

Up on the third floor, a youngish artist had an exhibition called Moving Borders. I had been sent to cover the exhibition for a major Spanish journal. The artist was “up and coming,” they said (the journal in Spain that is) when they called to offer me the assignment. Up and coming. Who isn’t? I thought, but of course I didn’t say that. Like so many other writers before me, I said basically nothing unless in writing. Instead, I watched everything with all of my senses open. I watched and watched until my eyes stung. I looked like the English comedian Marty Feldman. Google him, if you don’t get an instant image.

Read the rest of the short story in Daedalus Magazine

Blog at WordPress.com.

Up ↑