The Delights of Liszt

[Gary Freedman]

OK, so I have an appointment with my new psychiatrist this afternoon. He's from Somalia. I hope he's not a pirate. I've been seeing psychiatrists since 1977--can you believe that? Readers of my posts may wonder what I gain by seeing a psychiatrist. I'm on the fringe, mentally speaking.

Last night at about 3:00 a.m. my neighbors in 135--speaking euphemistically--got frisky. Very frisky. They live across the hall. But I could still hear their antics through their door, across the hall, through my door. It's really annoying. I wish my neighbors were geriatric. As it is, most of my neighbors are in their 20s, and very "frisky."

Yesterday afternoon I experienced something poignantly nostaligic. I was listening to the radio, and the station broadcast a selection of piano pieces by Franz Liszt. These are the same pieces that I used to play when I had access to a piano, thirty years ago. I hadn't heard the pieces in 30 years. I became lost in the music. It brought me back 30 years or more. There was one piece, a Hungarian folksong, that I remember playing on the evening of June 29, 1976, the night before my father underwent major heart surgery. My father died the day following the surgery, on July 1, 1976. The music was very moving for me.

[R. Scott White]

Gary, I read what your psychiatrist apparently told you and it's very.. um... interesting, but on the whole I prefer Liszt!
RSW

[WS]

I think you are way ahead of your psychiatrist, Gary!

[SeaRain]

Well, that may be true. But not everyone wants to believe the other head has good advice. My problem with seeing a psychiatrist, or chiropractor, or analyst, since 1977 is someone is getting rich off you. My sister saw a psychiatrist until she died. He prescribed medicine but didn't talk to her. She saw analysts, who just said "Come back and tell me more." We knew what was wrong with her - but the doctors apparently didn't or didn't want to, because curing her meant not seeing her and getting paid by her anymore. So she died a prescription junky; in fact, that was a contributing factor to her death. She could be alive now, if they had only treated what was wrong with her, instead of just the symptoms with talk.

[Gary Freedman]

My analyst told me
That I was right out of my head
The way he described it
He said Id be better dead than live
I didnt listen to his jive
I knew all along
That he was all wrong
And I knew that he thought
I was crazy but Im not
Oh no

My analyst told me
That I was right out of my head
He said Id need treatment
But Im not that easily led
He said I was the type
That was most inclined
When out of his sight
To be out of my mind
And he thought I was nuts
No more ifs or ands or buts

They say as a child
I appeared a little bit wild
With all my crazy ideas
But I knew what was happening
I knew I was a genius...
Whats so strange when you know
That youre a wizard at three
I knew that this was meant to be

Now I heard little children
Were supposed to sleep tight
Thats why I got into the vodka one night
My parents got frantic
Didnt know what to do
But I saw some crazy scenes
Before I came to
Now do you think I was crazy
I may have been only three
But I was swinging

They all laugh at angry young men
They all laugh at edison
And also at einstein
So why should I feel sorry
If they just couldnt understand
The idiomatic logic
That went on in my head
I had a brain
It was insane
Oh they used to laugh at me
When I refused to ride
On all those double decker buses
All because there was no driver on the top

My analyst told me
That I was right out of my head
But I said dear doctor
I think that its you instead
Because I have got a thing
Thats unique and new
To prove it Ill have
The last laugh on you
cause instead of one head
I got two
And you know two heads are better than one.