Saturday, June 27, 2009

I was never a fan of Michael Jackson's music. I liked some of his recordings but was lukewarm on most. I appreciated his talent (more so his dancing than singing -- and I hate fucking dancing) but I didn't really listen to his records. In fact, I would usually change the station if one of his tunes came on. (I could be ruthless, eh?) For me, Michael Jackson was always the little dude from the Jackson 5. His voice never really changed. He always sounded ten years old.

Even in his later years he seemed like a child to me -- trapped in some kind of immature, non-evolving head space. The truth is, I don't know what the guy harbored in his head and his heart. But I'm certainly willing to give him the benefit of doubt. Not that any of this really matters. (But as always, dear patrons, I feel the need to share.)

He called his place Neverland. The place where Peter Pan lived. And as we all know from that story, all boys -- except one -- grow up.

RIP.

3 comments:

Woozie said...

You know, you really do have a gift for writing brief posts like these. Short, to the point, always an exciting gem to read. Well done.

BrightenedBoy said...

I actually feel sorry for him. I know that he likely made some victims himself--all those allegations of molestation have to be coming from somewhere--but I feel he really was a sweet person who could just never figure out how to be anything but a child.

DoctorBoogaloo said...

Woozie: Thanks. I'm a man of few

BB: I hope his good times outnumbered the bad. He was way too young to die.