I always enjoyed the feeling of being onstage—the magic that comes. When I hit the stage it’s like all of a sudden a magic from somewhere just comes and the spirit just hits you and you just lose control of yourself ..
Michael Jackson, August 1982
So completely sick of overly opinionated fans. There is nothing wrong with having a different view on MichaelJackson's Xscape, the mixes or the demos, but when you are deliberately trying to persuade others to buy or boycott purely based on the fact you love it or hate it, you just come off as a conceited know-it-all whose narrow-mindedness I have absolutely no time for.
| Today in Tokyo, beneath the Eiffel Tower, in Ghana’s Black Star Square.
In Johannesburg and Pittsburgh, in Birmingham, Alabama, and Birmingham, England
We are missing Michael.
But we do know WE HAD HIM,
and We Are The World. |
This set of posts has really overwhelmed me, hope you guys enjoy it.
| We had him, beautiful, delighting our eyes.
His hat, aslant over his brow, and took a pose on his toes for all of us.
And we laughed and stomped our feet for him.
We were enchanted with his passion because he held nothing. He gave us all he had been given. |
| He came to us from the creator, trailing creativity in abundance.
Despite the anguish, his life was sheathed in mother love, family love, and survived and did more than that.
He thrived with passion and compassion, humor and style. We had him whether we know who he was or did not know, he was ours and we were his. |
| In the instant that Michael is gone, we know nothing. No clocks can tell time. No oceans can rush our tides with the abrupt absence of our treasure.
Though we are many, each of us is achingly alone, piercingly alone.
Only when we confess our confusion can we remember that he was a gift to us and we did have him. |
Part one of five or the rare Vanity Fair shots, featuring poem by Maya Angelou.
| We Had Him.
Beloveds, now we know that we know nothing, now that our bright and shining star can slip away from our fingertips like a puff of summer wind.
Without notice, our dear love can escape our doting embrace. Sing our songs among the stars and walk our dances across the face of the moon. |