The King of Pop is dead.
Physically anyway, his mind, talent and sould died a long time ago. I admit, I’ve never been a big MJ fan. I did like the Jackson 5 as I grew up, but always found Jackson, well annoying. I did like the Thriller video a lot, but never managed to like the song. I always found him to be highly overrated, and questioned people’s musical taste.
His death doesn’t change that. Nor does it change the countless surgeries, baby dangling, molestation charges, Bubbles the Chimp, Neverland and every other freakish thing printed about him.
His real legacy isn’t his music, it’s how one person, who apparently was never tightly wrapped to begin with, could be so consumed by delusions and fantasy simply because he had the money to indulge himself. In spite of what he’d done in the past, he hadn’t done much lately, other than make plans to perform with his family. his, is a story of tragedy, a tragedy of his own making. All the masks, surgery, oxygen tanks and money couldn’t save him. The statues and paintings of nude boys that had been up for auction couldn’t save him. In the end, nothing could, except himself, and he was either too arrogant, or dumb to see that.
And now, he’s finally escaped his demons, family, fame, court cases and money problems.
Which is more than he deserves.
And yet the gnashing of teeth, the wailing wall of pop culture, will forget all the things that made him a staple of jokes for the last 20-30 years. Today they shed tears for his passing, while yesterday that laughed at him for passing his skin off as white. Hypocrisy knows no bounds, and I’m beginning to think it’s become our nation’s true pasttime.