Thursday, July 2, 2009

Gone Too Far

How do you know when its gone too far?
It has now been a week since the news of Michael Jakcson's death and yet I find myself more disturbed by it now then seven days ago. I have been consumed with listening to his songs, watching his old music videos, sifting through photographs of him throughout the last thirty years. And at lunch I even watched the infamous 60 minute interview of Michael Jackson on Christmas Day when he finally spoke out about being charged with seven counts of child molestation. I remembered when that interview aired and I couldn't watch it because looking at his face made me feel this horrible deep depressing feeling. One of incredible loss and yet total disappointment. Michael Jackson was my very first crush and I obsessively loved him and yes, even lusted after him. When I watch his music video for BAD, the same feelings creep up and I realize that perhaps that part of me that saw him as the most incredible man I'd ever seen still exists. Even though my fanaticism for Michael stopped many years ago, my love for this artist never did and now I find myself obsessively tracking the years I missed as if I might piece together what the fuck happened to him. I also find myself consumed with remembering. Consumed with remembering me as a kid and all the years that were great in my childhood, the same years where Michael was on top. And then how everything fell to shit as did the life of my idol. Nothing is guranteed. Things fall apart. I also have to acknowledge that this obsessive chase down the rabbit hole is something I see myself doing but can never seem to stop. Its like a virus and it just has to run its course. Much like my obsession with collecting postcards of vintage Hollywood starlets which lasted several years and then one day just stopped. Like a lightswitch that had been switched off, I lost all interest. Or my obsession with James Dean whose face papered my walls. At one time I had seventeen pictures of the tragic star. I had a similar obsession with Marilyn Monroe. Perhaps all of these tragic stories so completely grip me because I am still trying to answer my own questions about the tragic figure I see in my mother. Regardless of why, I felt if I tried to write about it maybe, just maybe I could pull myself out of this Michael Jackson funk. RIP MJ.

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