I am strangely sad over the news of Michael Jackson's death. I heard the news via Twitter before it was actually confirmed and knew it was true. My heart hurt for a moment. It was so weird. I felt like I lost someone who I had been close with my entire life. I was though. Close with him. As were you. We all were. How could we not be. His life was a real life Truman Show. He grew up on film. He lived on a film. He died on film.
I think that my heart hurt because Michael Jackson never stood a chance. I know he was odd. He dyed his face for chrissake. Something must have happened in your past to physically alter your skin color. Besides the point. From that moment his mean daddy put him on that stage, his life had ended. A shell of a man was born. A man who we will never know the intricacies of. We will never know if he was as fucked up as he seemed. But we shouldn't know. He is not our brother. He was not our friend. Even though we were told he was by
the media's our obsession with his life from child to man.
I am sad for his family. I am sad that my kids will never see his concert live like I did. But that sadness only lasts a moment, for as I turn on the soundtrack of my childhood and dance with my own children, the sadness fades. Michael Jackson taught us that music can do that. It can make the hard times a little bit easier simply by dancing to the music.
Louisiana shocked me yesterday when she started Moonwalking during our MJ Tribute Dance Party
Catcher has some serious moves. Thinking of selling him to Michael Flately.