Shame on me for bringing this up, but I have to do it.
The first Yahoo article I saw on Michael Jackson’s death mentioned how he was in L.A. rehearsing for a huge comeback…a series of 50 shows in London beginning in mid-July. It didn’t hit me until later, but then I realized: would not a fake death and forthcoming resurrection be THE BEST PUBLICITY EVER for a make-or-break comeback?
A man is dead, yet all I can think of is whether it’s at all possible for someone to fake his own death on a scale this large: a 911 call, the family, EMS, the hospital, the cops, the coroner. Is it possible? Or am I just unwilling to accept the fact that people who live larger than life do actually die?
Somewhere, in the back of my mind, I imagine Princess Di lounging on a Riviera beach. Not because I think she is, but because I wish she is. It still surprises me when I realize she’s dead. She is glorious and immortal, too real and unreal at the same time. Michael Jackson has the same quality: too full of life to leave it. How could a brain so insane shut down?
These people who fill our imaginations and serve as a collecting point for our scorn, our love, our worship, or our condemnation—they seem so filled with our outward projections that it’s only natural to believe they can’t be dead unless we are, too. But that’s not the way it is, and I’m sure I’m not the only one who forgets it until a reminder like this.