October 11th, 2002

I Will Not Defame New Orleans.

Franz Liszt Can Just Blow Me

Stare into the face of eeeeevil!

AIEEEE!

Facing my own inadequacies never fails to make me angry. I've hit a block with this one. I just cannot get through this one single measure of "Liebesträume."

After over twenty years of classical piano, this really shouldn't be a problem, and yet I find myself for twenty minutes at a time plodding through this mess and trying to bring it up to speed and failing each time. I can feel a clot in my brain about half way through and my fingers trip up like a Down Syndrome baby on ice skates.

Nothing angers me more than having to say, "Okay, I can't do … this." Like, for example, "Okay, I'm not a surgeon," or, "All right, I admit it, I am not made of sufficient timbre to be organized in a corporate executive way."

Great, now I have another to add to my list of can't-do's: "Fucking fantastic, I guess I'll never be able to play a cadenza of rapid opposing descending chromatic mis-matched major/minor thirds. I'm such a 'tard!"

(Or is it that Liszt was a masochist?)

(No. I'm the 'tard.)
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