There's going to be a lot of pontificating about the death of Michael Jackson over the next few days and weeks. Reporters will talk endlessly about the impact of his music, his numerous controversies, and the twisted, near Shakespearean rise and fall saga that was Michael Jackson's life. I'll hold off on writing anything long-winded on Jackson's passing right now simply because the four-year-old boy inside of me is grieving for his hero and can't fully process it all.
But at the same time, I feel like Michael Jackson died a long time ago. His flesh simply gave out on him today but his spirit had been gone for years. To look at some of the images flying around on televisions today of Jackson in recent years; I have almost no connection with it because that's not the Michael Jackson that I knew. Yes, he turned into a walking freak show and was practically looked at like the elephant man everywhere he went. But that's partly because he was like a ghost, lingering hesitantly in this world although his spirit had moved onto another one. I'm glad he doesn't have to suffer through that any more. And that we no longer have to suffer watching it.