1. Dude was fucked up. From the time he was little and his dad beat the shit out of him and everyone stood back and let it happen because they didn’t want to lose their meal ticket straight on through. So, I don’t know what to make of his music, you know. I’d like to see it as something apart from his suffering and the suffering he allegedly inflicted on others, but I don’t know if I can, because I don’t know if that was something he did that let him transcend his humanity or if it was just what he did because it was what he did. I don’t feel sorry or unsorry that he’s dead. I feel weird that his whole life was about the public consumption of him and so is his death. It feels like the polite thing to do is to just look away, to let there be some moment when he’s not a public spectacle.
2. I remember, though, when Thriller came out, because I had heart-shaped Michael Jackson earrings, which I wore every day until my ear got infected and I had to have my mom help me get the earring out. And I remember some of the parents were concerned about all the young girls wearing t-shirts with him on it and I couldn’t understand why. My dad said, “Because he’s black and they’re white girls.”
I was eight. We were all only eight.