“Life Is Incurable”

Joaquin Beyond Talking - I studied at the Paris Conservatory with the famed Manuel de Falla and Paul Dukas.  Everyone who was anyone was there.  But then, I always traveled in “higher circles.”  I was practically born famous.  My father, Joaquin Nin, composer and teacher of Ravel and Lecuona, was best known for reviving the traditions and harpsichord music of Old Spain and Portugul.  My sister, Anais Nin, though perhaps best known through the perfume Anais Anais, told all in her world-renowned emancipation of women, The Diaries of Anais Nin.  I told little.  That is unless you pay attention.  There are no mistakes in my music.  I always made all the right career moves too.  I lived long enough to witness many famous trends fade out.  My great friend and interpreter, Alicia de Larrocha said modern music went mad.  Mine never did.  I was always quite stable.  I guess that makes me “suspect.”  Once beyond, the incurable skull keeps unraveling.  Things with me were never quite right, but I didn’t let THAT unravel my solidly grounded plans.  But we are all drawn to the other side.  In life I gravitated towards people with a stronger 6^th sense than I.  Now in my own other side 6^th sense beyond, my advice crossing over creators/composers has incurable skull BUSINESS PLANS AHEAD ART GRASPS BEHIND not changed:

 

walking keep we if only BUT YES……….………YES BUT only if we keep walking

 

My goose was fast and mean.  Really mean!  So many nearly got me screams it had to go.  But did they really think we wouldn’t know?  My father does not remember, my mother is no longer and I don’t even want to bother my brother because it doesn’t matter.  What does matter is I was fated to EXPERIENCE the - if only we had known The Great Goose is no longer at all mean now unbearable grief welling up served by involuntary table funeral “YOU COOKED MY GOOSE.”  You can’t choose your parents.  Not that we would have had it any other way.  We were all exceptionally fine.  But my goose is still dead.  I guess it no longer hurts but whether this story is true or not I will never forget it.  My father tried to clear up the dilemma between the real and the “just” imagined, as you know.  My mother did not struggle over THAT much as you may have figured out.  She was just the victim.  We all are.  That was what she was trying to tell you all along you fools, paradoxically only until you face it.  A mom only hope’s her influence will live on.  Mother Goose did.  See where that got her?  Mom, if maybe not in these exact words (they were “good enough” parents to make sure we didn’t hear), told dad “you could have had your god damn affair without inflicting our children to ask the one question we couldn’t - wait just a God damn all the petty little horse shits Aztec sacrificed minute - bear.”  You know, that worst of all possible questions nothing could have prepared them for “does that mean we are not going to be a family anymore?”  Neither of them knew that those words were not “original” but stolen from my brother (we were good enough kids to make sure they didn’t hear).  How could any parent ever find words to match that brilliantly naive unoriginal sinless borrowed timing.  We all steal from our brothers. I was fated to speak those, these and all of the rest of my wait just a God damn minute didn’t Stephen Sondheim already write THAT oft repeated story because Sondheim hasn’t RIGHTED my story yet either, has he?  As if anyone ever could?  Dad was soon going to marry, Mary.  MARRY!  I told him “You marry my mommy!  She’s the boss of the world!”  Little refresher for what especially dad already knew.  Not sure whose original sin, but -

 

ALL MY FAULT
%
SIN
Original
Sacrifice Aztec
Cooked your goose
“Don’t spit into the wind”
Persecutions complex existences
%CROSS incurable SKULL incurable CROSS%
Existences complex persecutions
“Wind the into spit don’t”
Goose your cooked
Aztec sacrifice
Original
SIN
%
NOT MY FAULT

But how does one un- cook their goose?  Let’s unravel the incurable skull.  I lied when I said Mom didn’t struggle with THAT and every other worthy dilemma, as you may have by now already figured out.  And she was not only “just” the victim.  None of us ever are, “just.”  My parents bonded during the McCarthy Era.  But while the whole battle invigorated mom it ended up exhausting dad.  You JUST HAPPENS divided.  Dad was moving to the barnyard while mom was moving towards a socialist utopia.  We were living in the barnyard and mom was human not animal rights advocate.  Dad grew up on a farm and often went hunting.  They should have never taken us to see Born Free and Bambi if they didn’t want this conspiracy of divided natures against us to surface.  But they did and the goose had already been tried, convicted, booked and cooked.  Problem solved quickly and painlessly because certainly neither parent believed in wasting food.  Besides, the goose was fast and it was mean.  Really mean.  Mom KNEW geese injure children.  Dad hunted lots anyway.  But if they did feed us the goose, they certainly regretted the endless pallor over our “wait just a God damn all the petty little horse shits Aztec sacrificed minutes,” every next unbearable dinner.  You can’t do more with unbearable menus than to refuse to eat that served.  From then on we never stopped sentencing moms menus.  People watch Divorce Court. Why not Dinner Court?  If you really listen, the entire history of mankind will unfold there.  Yes the entire history of human nature is inherent from the beginning.  Not just some petty, personal, my parents ruined my life psychotherapy session, though later my brother’s first girlfriend’s name was also Bambi if you want to go all therapy on us.  Each night we battled “what’s for dinner?”  Every night we disapproved of the menu.  Mom’s counterclaim was quickly and philosophically unalterably irrevocably established to each and every night answer our tiresome same old same old question with her light, swiftly spoken, clever enduring value dinner aphorism, “We’re having creamed ick” sentenced and served.  So to finally get to the point, it takes a real stroke of genius to un-cook your family goose mid life crisis with delicious “creamed ick.”  But she was merely so wait just a God damned minute quick, that “solving all our dilemmas petty little horseshits we,” never even knew what hit us.  Mid life crisis actually begins in infancy.  But at least my brother and I had bonded, were anything but bored, and finally got a new sense of purpose willing to fight for how WE FELT:

“You’re mediocre and racist too” revolved around different prejudices than our “fought for Civil Rights” parents.  The Goose, STILL DEAD, could not defend itself.

Perfect dramatic timing can always cure “It’s your own fault if you’re bored.”  Or perhaps we just got addicted to unfolding the entire history of mankind at dinner.

So “Don’t Spit into the Wind” was no longer in our way. We weren’t changing our tune.  And our Afraid to say “it will only come back to haunt me” of course merely blew back to us on a daily basis.  But not even the most brilliant comic timing was going to distract us from making sure “my mommy is the boss of the world” could never become a big enough reigning presence to stifle our dinner terror theatre.

Eternal Ancient Greek conspiratorial nature in us all had “Reasons there are so many” uncovered my parents JUST HAPPENS conspiracy against what WE FELT.

Only now we were all playing “Wait just a God damn all the petty little horse shits Aztec sacrificed minutes” and dad had through us become even more JUST HAPPENS divided.  Thus began the real on growing dilemma.  Even the children we love “so, so much” are unalterably confronting us with bigger “wait just a God damn all the petty little horse shits Aztec sacrificed minute,” problems than we can bear.

And perhaps all that was really going on was the age-old conflict between the mere trained monkey and the genuine artist.  “Does that mean we aren’t going to be a family anymore?” is a hard question to answer if you really aren’t going to be a family any more.  “All of existence is our extended family,” equals “You’re mediocre and racist too” come full incurable skull circle right back to where we wait just a god damn all the petty little horse shit’s Aztec sacrificed, started in the first place.  Both are one and one are both for over and over exactly forever the same eternally fool-proof answers.

 

Or so it first…………………………………………………………………………….
YES, BUT if only each and every one of life’s on-growing dilemma gooses to un-cook could be diagnosed, tried, sentenced, served, convicted, booked, cooked and “wait just a God damn all the petty little horse shits Aztec sacrificed minute,” unraveled and philosophically unalterably remedied by we can even go so far as to say the un-cooking of goose is the crucifix within this Skull’s incurable crux “all of existence is your extended family don’t you have any skeletons in your closet?, mess”

 

YES,………BUT only if we keep walking, walking keep we if only BUT……..,YES