Michael Jackson died today. He's just a few years younger than I am. I'm listening to the television go on and on about all the awards he won, all the albums, all the sales, and all the oddities in his later years.
Look how little he is in that picture above, already part of a musical act. Can he possibly be five years old in this picture?
It's not important how I feel about this. No one ought to care what I think. But look at him in that picture above. He's a beautiful child. And I've been watching the video of him singing when he's just a little boy, then later doing the moonwalk and the way he'd spin. Singing of course, but creating too.
You can tell from this album that he's had some surgery already. His nose is thinner but he's still an extremely good looking guy. Through all the madness with the charges of abuse of children, through the strange acquisition of his children, the rumors that the mother of those children more or less sold them to him. Through the Neverland Ranch and the exotic animals and the financial garbage we'd hear...maybe true, maybe not. I mostly just viewed him as the oddest of the oddball Hollywood types.
But when he was going through that last trial about abusing that little boy, yes, I was sickened. Whether it was true or not, I was disgusted that he didn't grow up and figure out he shouldn't be having slumber parties with little boys.
I mostly believed that something bad probably was going on. A sane man would have stopped if he could. The price for continuing it was too high. Which leaves us with a man who couldn't.
But when I'd see him looking so awful, coming to court with pajama pants on, white skin, why is his skin white? Sometimes I'd remember that beautiful little boy. That amazingly talented young man. In ruins. And it made me sad.
What happens to a boy that he wants to cut his face off?
Michael Jackson died today.
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