Friday, June 26, 2009
If they "why, why..?" Tell them that is Human Nature
Michael is dead.
And like most people around the world i was shoked when i heard. I mean i knew that the live that he led would soon have this ending, but regardless of whatever opinion, prejudice, pre concept idea we may have of his. This here is true there will never be any one like him. EVER.
To me he was Peter pan and he never grew out of his childhood mind. He was robed of his childhood and was and a troubled soul, and he suffered the consequences of that. Must have not been easy to live with all those demons inside of him. The world can be a cruel place for those who are truly gifted And i honestly believe that all those things that he was accused of, if they ever were indeed true. To him, it didn't meant that of which he was accuse of i believe that he genuinenly didn't see that as being a sin of something evil. His eyes didn't see that.
And on top of that he grew up in a country and in a society that has been with years and years of slave residue that is still present today.Imagine growing up in a country the color of your skin determines the quality of your life. Where being black made people hate you. Every culture around the world has its way of putting certain people down. You gotta be one bad mamma jamma to overcome all that and accomplish what you have.And thats what he did.
But he didn't and couldn't kill the beast, he didn't kill the beast of who he would turn out to be. That made him not even able to be comfortable in his own skin. Just to be accepted. Sad....
But never the less he was and always will be unique, gifted and irreplaceable
These are not my words, they are from a poet called W.H. Auden, but i find them to be very apropriate for this moment for this funeral blues:
"Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.
Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead,
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.
He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong.
The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.
For nothing now can ever come to any good."
Somehow I feel this planet is less cool now that he's gone
May he find his peace now. And rock forever. RIP