Perhaps you heard. Michael Jackson died. I don't want to be premature or negative but I suspect drugs. When the autopsy results come out, remember, 3 Ps broke this story first.
As I continue to avoid writing, I admit I've been scanning the You Tube. The memorial silks and wreaths piling up at Neverland disturb me. Why would people pay tribute to a pedophilia lair? Okay, maybe only God knows the truth about what really went on in there, but we all know this: whatever went on, it wasn't right.
I also found a live performance video, and watched thousands of people pee their freaking pants when MJ pulls a glove out of a suitcase. It's crazy that MJ could create such drama out of what, if we really think about it, is a pretty silly fashion statement. But he did. He really did. I'm not sure if that's good or bad, but it's something. One thing I know for sure, Bilie Jean has the kickenist bass line evah. And MJ singing as a young child? Undeniable. Makes me cry I am filled with such sorrow over what will happen to him.
For me, MJ died with Thriller, and the rest has been a protracted, excruciating, most ungraceful exit. I'm relieved the spectacle is over.
MJ's death inspired me to reconsider life as a bizarre recluse. Time for an activity besides lying on the floor with my cats, sweating in front of a fan. Time for an outfit besides wife beater and boxer shorts. So I went to the Seventh Ward yesterday for the MJ tribute Second Line. I have learned I do not have a future as a documentary filmmaker, but here's the vid.
And here's a little number I call "Yeah, Shake That Ass (It's On My Mind). " Man, I wish I had run the vid longer than five seconds. I swear, this is a hit.
And YSTAIOMM: A Redux
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