When I was sick this Christmas, I listened to a lot of Jackson Five songs. They made me feel much better, especially ABC. I thought a lot about the young Michael for some reason, trapped and exhausted in Gary, Indiana, being put through grueling dance routines by his father, thought about his days at Motown where he became a star. When you tour the Motown Museum, you always hear at least one Michael story or see his famous glove -- once stolen, it had been returned intact. I watched the endless television biopic about the Jacksons in my recovery bed, looking at the cold sad sky of his youth turn into the overexposed brightness of LA. I cried a lot during the whole long show for reasons I couldn't understand -- perhaps it was the percocet, or not being able to forget how it felt to have a tube rammed down my throat, breathing for me, or feeling connected to the suffering of the world in a more real way by my new scar. But a lot of it was Michael, an adorable boy forced to perform in a slightly unwholesome sexualized way for other's entertainment, to support his family, to become a star.
A child of the eighties, I remember Michael at his best times during his solo career, before things took the turn. His childhood couldn't be tamped down anymore so he set about recreating it with Neverland, with animals, by changing his appearance, a severe form of self-vandalism. Even so, people still wanted him to win, to make a comeback, to write another Thriller. I could still see him in the cold, dark places he had started: Gary, Detroit. When his life had been hard, but he had not been broken yet. Before the bright light had started to eat at his soul. Like stars do, he burned out, becoming ash, because that's what stars do.
Michelle's Spell of the Day
"Because I think every child star suffers through this period because you're not the cute and charming child that you were. You start to grow, and they want to keep you little forever." Michael Jackson
Cocktail Hour
Drinking movie suggestion: Away We Go
Bendictions and Maledictions
Happy Friday! Rest in peace to Ed, Farrah, and Michael! Everyone stay healthy, okay?!
7 comments:
Fuck me, I'm dead. Even in the grave I don't get no respect. Even the worms turn their noses up at me. But you can grab me by the neck anytime, if you know what I mean.--Rodney Dangerfield
Hey Beautiful, You and the Grouchie on another outing? Crazy kids! I think the whole world has paused to reflect on their own personal Micheal moments. Kinda like when Kennedy was shot. RIP, Micheal. xoxo
myCajunQueen
andLiLGreen
FoxlyLadyD
SadDaysB
BytheRiver
R2C2Shazammmm!!!!!
Other than that he was a child star and his father was an ass, I never really knew much about Michael Jackson. Seems he embodied the hopes and angst of many. It must have been a hard burden to bear.
A friend of mine, whom you met in a Starbucks one day, mocked me because I saw no worth in his show. I mocked her because she was going to the Palace two times to see him perform. We were at the time well into our forties.
What I didn't understand was why she was an apologist for him and his proclivities in dealing with children. I didn't think him a freak show for his friendships with young kids, I understood he was trying to see a portion of his life he was never allowed to have.
She on the other hand was trying to convince me he was not a pedophile. She was the fan and she thought that of him and I was not and didn't. To me he was a freak because of the constant surgery, melatonin treatments (I think) and trying to get physically away from what he was born to be that made him an odd duck.
Neverland and the public oddity of his persona when taken into perspective falls under the category of any publicity is good, until the money hungry came out of the woodwork it all worked well for him.
Now I am of a mind to let him be dead and rest with all them in all time who have died before him.
Are you in Windsor in this pic? (Wil not totally recalling the Detroit layout)
Wil Harrison.com
WHAT A WONDERFUL, HEART RENDERING POST. YOU HAVE A WAY OF TURNING WORDS INTO A WORK OF ART.
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