Subject: RE: Obit: Michael Jackson -age 50- Jun 2009
From:
Peace
Date: 30 Jun 09 - 06:23 PM
Michael Jackson was enormously talented and skilled. I never cared for his music or his writing, but man that guy could perform, entertain and dance. He became tremendously fucked up, and I felt a great sadness--much as I do when I see people getting themselves changed surgically so they can fit someone else's view of what they should look like. He became almost a carricature of himself. Power corrupts, and absolute power corrupts absolutely.
Hell, don't watch TV for twenty years then go watch TV for an evening. I did last night and I found it to be more disgusting than it was when I turned it off 'for good' two decades past. The lame laugh tracks, the jokes that ain't funny, the coiffed hair of men who spend more time in front of the mirror than a teenager getting ready for his first date, the women with collagened lips and breasts.
Michael Jackson's death brings to mind a song by THE Bard.
"by Bob Dylan
Who killed Davey Moore,
Why an' what's the reason for?
"Not I," says the referee,
"Don't point your finger at me.
I could've stopped it in the eighth
An' maybe kept him from his fate,
But the crowd would've booed, I'm sure,
At not gettin' their money's worth.
It's too bad he had to go,
But there was a pressure on me too, you know.
It wasn't me that made him fall.
No, you can't blame me at all."
Who killed Davey Moore,
Why an' what's the reason for?
"Not us," says the angry crowd,
Whose screams filled the arena loud.
"It's too bad he died that night
But we just like to see a fight.
We didn't mean for him t' meet his death,
We just meant to see some sweat,
There ain't nothing wrong in that.
It wasn't us that made him fall.
No, you can't blame us at all."
Who killed Davey Moore,
Why an' what's the reason for?
"Not me," says his manager,
Puffing on a big cigar.
"It's hard to say, it's hard to tell,
I always thought that he was well.
It's too bad for his wife an' kids he's dead,
But if he was sick, he should've said.
It wasn't me that made him fall.
No, you can't blame me at all."
Who killed Davey Moore,
Why an' what's the reason for?
"Not me," says the gambling man,
With his ticket stub still in his hand.
"It wasn't me that knocked him down,
My hands never touched him none.
I didn't commit no ugly sin,
Anyway, I put money on him to win.
It wasn't me that made him fall.
No, you can't blame me at all."
Who killed Davey Moore,
Why an' what's the reason for?
"Not me," says the boxing writer,
Pounding print on his old typewriter,
Sayin', "Boxing ain't to blame,
There's just as much danger in a football game."
Sayin', "Fist fighting is here to stay,
It's just the old American way.
It wasn't me that made him fall.
No, you can't blame me at all."
Who killed Davey Moore,
Why an' what's the reason for?
"Not me," says the man whose fists
Laid him low in a cloud of mist,
Who came here from Cuba's door
Where boxing ain't allowed no more.
"I hit him, yes, it's true,
But that's what I am paid to do.
Don't say 'murder,' don't say 'kill.'
It was destiny, it was God's will."
Who killed Davey Moore,
Why an' what's the reason for?"
We as a society turn people into things they're not. I think we did that to him, too. That's all I have to say.
|
sj
