I’m in the middle of so many things, still, I lay out the core materials, put them up, you can see what’s coming, vibrating the rails from the distance.
Yesterday I read the Straight Dope dissing the sanity of shrinkdom, a guy thinking he was Archangel Gabriel was taken as obviously pathological …
Today I recalled a favorite old New Yorker cartoon. I loved the New Yorker in high school, continued to love it in college, an old party host’s parents had a coffee table collection of New Yorker cartoons I loved to flip through. One of the cartoons showed an executive shrink pointing through the bay window of his huge office at a guy standing on the institution’s grounds with his hand in his jacket, the bicorne hat on his head. A dime a dozen you think: except that in the distance, thousands of soldiers cover the institution’s rolling hills.
Is Gabriel just a nut if he brings heaven with him?
Now, imagine: you’re a shrink, the cops ship you a new patient, says he’s Gabriel: how do you know he isn’t?
What rational procedure will you use to falsify his claim, prove him delusory?
I’ll work Marianne Moore’s poem in next session.