Since we have recently "lost" two cultural icons (at least their corperal forms, but let's not open up that can of worms now!) I felt the need to expound upon this topic which is so effusive everywhere one looks, in this forum as well. Why, you may ask? Farrah Faucett was known for her sexy figure, broad smile, and most notably for her signature blonde, feathered hair style, much copied circa her heyday, The charlie's Angels era. She ended up dying of anal cancer bald and emaciated from chemo, finally succumbing to this larger than life persona's ultimate mortality. In the end, she lost her lushious mane, her golden halo. It was reported Farrah remained unphased by this change in appearance. I suppose it seemed pretty inconsequential when staring down the elusive, yet unavoidable face of Eternity that we must all oneday lay down our appearances in subservience of whether we look like a pin-up girl, a rock star, a soccer mom, or a "freak of Nature" our bodies are only a temporary vessel on loan. We all know this to be true but how often do we really let it hit home. Is all this fixation on hair or no hair as well as countless other surface concerns really just a diversion from the real issues at hand?

I heard about Michael Jackson's passing while in the waiting room at my dermatologist's office where there is a T.V. I had been there for another set of injections for Extensive AA. His death, which unlike Farrah's was if not totally "shocking" totally Surprising. There had been no identifiable and drawn out culprit a.k.a Anal cancer just a long, slow, nebulous, decline.

In the doctor's usually cold, clinical lobby where people stare at iphones and magazines, and watches, only surreptitiously glancing up at one another, rarely speaking. Everyone gathered around the newscast asking strangers questions such as"Is it True?" and Exclaiming, "I didn't even know he was sick!" We all sort of bonded in a moment of egolessness. I guess a sudden death induced a momentary freedom from self-conciousness while bringing to the forefront something we all had in common. We all knew this man well. This man was an Enigma. What is more intriuging than a Mysterious, brilliant Life followed by a Mysterious, "untimely" Death. What killed him, Was it drugs, disease, a too exhasting exercize regimen with that guy who played the Incredible Hulk, a Murderous conspiracy, too much pressure over his upcoming "This is It" 50 shows in London, a Suicide, or an unrelenting media that had turned on him along with those heinous charges forever "tainting" his legacy. Maybe, it was just his time. He gave so much, accomplished so much more than most would ever do in One-hundred, 100 years.

I really hadn't paid much attention to Michael lately. It's not like I went around slagging him I just heard the weird stories and stopped hearing his beautiful music at all. I am a child of the 80s. Jim Morrison, Elvis, and John Lennon were all dead even before I was born. I have always appreciated their "tragic genius" posthumously especially Morrison and the Doors. ("If the Doors of Perception were cleansed all things would appear as they Truely Are, Infinite.")

When JFK, Princess Diana, and Kurt Cobain died I don't remember feeling what I feel now and I was a huge Nirvana fan. I was in 8th grade when Kurt shot himself. After his suicide my bestfriend and I dressed in black, smoked cigarettes all day, and called into a radio station to express our grief. I cried when my mom casually delivered the news to me in the car.

But with MJ's death I feel something different and totally unexpected. A visceral kind of "awe full" feeling, that can only be decribed as Wonder. It wasn't until I left the doctors office with a few more dents in my head and i began listening to Jackson's music blaring on every radio station, in mourning and in celebration, that this fascination with Michael's life, death, and Music took hold. In spite of everything ,I found his music just made me happy. It made my ofen sedentary body and cerebral mind want to dance and surrender to the moment. It even made me feel sexy to dance in front of the mirror to "Billie Jean" and see the beauty of my movement not the balding of my head. Perhaps now that I might be considered a "freak" because of my Alopecia Areata or because I am kind of a hermit, often described as "eccentric" and very private about my life I feel a sudden conncection to the Kind of Pop. It's funny, now when I look at his face in all it's changing forms I see beauty and originality. He was a creative force. He elevated pop music to the status of high art and used his face as a canvas, another means of singular expression. Our lives and bodies can be desirable and captivating even in non-conventional forms whether due to choice or fate. This is one lesson I have recently learned from Michael. Another is to appreciate what we have while it is here. Not since Jesus Christ has someone been so vilified in Life yet so deified in death. MJ was so sensitive and childlike. All the ridicule I believe truely got to him. I only hope that he can somehow see or feel this overwhelming outpouring of Love and Appreciation he is now recieving, "Don't it always seem to go we don't know what we got till it's gone."
Another thing that has recently captured my immagination is his dancing, so fluid yet precise. I am not one to always notice things like that as I am more auditory than visual that way, but his movements are like nothing I have ever seen before, like the perfection of the divine. And the sheer exhuberance of his voice cannot be denied. Whether he had Vitiligo or bleached his skin what's the difference? It's a real double standard that white people are allowed to tan and no one bats an eye, infact it is an anomonly that I don't bronze my very pale skin, but as soon as a black person changes their skin color they are denying their race. As far as the child molestation charges go i guess we are all left to look with our hearts and decide what we believe the truth to be. Since his death I believe I feel his "spirit" and that it is pure. I can't stop listening to his music and am watching a VH1 tribute to him now as the video "Just Another part of me" uplifts me with its message of unity and oneness for all.
Today, I was watching his memoral service and when his little girl Paris, 11, got on stage at the end of the service for her first time in public, it suddenly began ominously thundering outside my window as the camera panned to her. When she said tearfully, barely able to get the words out in the sweetest little girl voice , " Ever since I was born daddy has been the best father, and I love him so much." while being surrounded by the loving embrace of the entire Jackson family before falling into Janet's arms. At that moment I cried for Michael for the first time as the rain outside my house came pouring down like the heaven's weaping in solidarity. It may have been a coincidence but it is a profound point in time that I will never forget. My hope is that his little girl's courageous debut onto the public arena, and her undeniable, heartbreaking sincerity will change some people's minds about who MJ really was.

Someone once said something to the effect of that we all have demons as big as our talent, maybe that is true. Perhaps, that is how duality balances itself in this world. Incidentally, or not so incidentally it is rumored that when Michael died he too was completely bald with only a bit of peach fuzz on his head which was usually concealed by a dark wig. The King of Pop may have died bald and it doesn't matter at all. Now I am not saying you have to become a cultural icon to offset your baldness but maybe just maybe if you let the light in you shine brightly enough it will glow even more luminously than that shine on your head.