“neversaynever” commented on my blog about my post. I thought it was dope.
“MJ never seemed like the kind of person that could, you know, die. To be honest, he never really registered in my consciousness as being a person; Michael Jackson was the androgynous sexual panic of “Billie Jean,” the breathless seduction of “P.Y.T.,” the thrilling kitsch of “Thriller,” the chattering afro-popisms of “Wanna Be Startin’ Somethin’.” The idea that he had a human body, one that needed food and air and sleep, never really clicked in my mind. But then again, I guess that’s to be expected. I mean, how can a mere human being really be thought to be capable of creating something as monstrous, as mechanical, as all-encompassing, and as awesome as Thriller? This kid wasn’t the king of pop; he was the whole damn kingdom. And we, the audience, are not his loyal subjects; we’re just reading the travel brochures”
God. Love. Life. Music. [R.I.P. MJ]