child molesting freak show shell of a human

Things are quieting down, so time for a 2nd post today

So, Michael Jackson's dead ... and yet Keith Richards (and all of the Rolling Stones*) are still alive - how is that possible? Another paedophile, gone to rot in the ground, I suppose.

And yet ... what a blazing genius - a perfect showman, without peer, a poseur nonpareil, a wonderful voice, a passable talent for songwriting, all burnt and sacrificed on the bonfires of the Bitch Goddess, Fame. To quote one of my favourite writers:

Michael Jackson should have been a well-respected pop/R&B star who made his money but lived a fairly normal life of fading from the pop scene and into the vaults of those cherished by pop music amateur historians. Instead, he became a grotesque figure of how much fame can destroy a person. Like Cintra Wilson said in her book A Massive Swelling: “And who has provided us with more evidence that Big Fame will fuck you, fuck you, fuck you in the head until there’s nothing between your ears but a sour, translucent jelly?”

And of course the media are gorging themselves sick on him, one last time before the carcass decays too far. That kinda makes my blood boil - haven't you made enough money off him already? Trying not to think about how quietly Duke Ellington and the immortal Louis Armstrong were let slip when they died - after all they only, yanno, invented a whole branch of music - but of course, they were old unsexy black men, whereas Michael was ... well, what in gods name was he by the time he died? It defies definition.

And poor Farah Fawcett, what a crummy day for her to die: never a great talent, but a reliable actress who I thought played her limited hand extremely well, and then showed peerless courage and determination in her very public struggle with cancer, and in showing it to the public as a cautionary tale. Rest easy, blonde fae.