journal

I was fully drunk at my workplace's summer drinks party when I heard the news. Needless to say, the revelation sobered me right up. I felt a confusing mix of sadness, anger and disbelief. What added to the sheer surrealism of it all was my surroundings and the fact that, after about 8 or 9 beers, i was really happy, yet I was amongst no-one who could share my pain. If I was spiritual and self-obsessed, I would say there was a hint of completion to it all as he was the man who started my music passion, and he died while I was dancing my socks off at a party. Being intoxicated usually has you thinking dumb shit though. I half-heartedly tried to push it to the back of my mind. No joy though, especially with Billie Jean thumping out of the speakers now as the self-appointed DJ's dug through whyTunes (ahem, iTunes) for anything Jacko. We paid our respect.

The following day, I arrive into work (at 10:30) to a barrage of sick-but-slightly-funny jokes about the passing of the King of Pop. I wasn't impressed but I remember similar jest when Princess Diana died so I guess everyone's fair game. I blocked it out, I wouldn't take part in such blasphemy. To us, and that's not just black people; every child of the 80's; every man & woman who's been touched by MJ in some way [ok, insert funny quip here], to us he was the musical God. There was no man like Him and there will never be another man like Him. I know that we often unduly inflate pop stars to an unhealthy status, but Michael was truly head & shoulders above the rest.

The man was a puzzle wrapped up in an enigma. I'm sure we all have many questions we want answered like, "why all the plastic surgery?" and "why are his kids white??" I guess he'll remain a mystery but he became a legend a long time ago and that's how I'll remember him.