Sunday, June 28, 2009

Empire Of The Son

The family who made little effort to rescue their famous son from the throes of drug dependency are now foaming at the mouth with rage ostensibly seeking blame for his early demise. The heart doctor who had been his personal physician, who prescribed and administered painkillers appears the most likely target of their burning ire, despite that police have dismissed his presence and practise as constituting a criminal offence. Michael Jackson, after all, arranged for cardiologist Conrad Murray to look to his needs.

And the simple fact is this is not an unusual arrangement with the moneyed, the famous, the celebrity class. Demerol injections were Michael Jackson's preference, and he lived with and for his preferences. Just as he became addicted to fame, and to transforming himself from a black man of singular personal appeal to a ghoulish white transsexual. Corrupting his body, then his mind. A tragedy, that someone with his wide acclaim as an accomplished artist should have succumbed to such utter meaningless.

His nascent talents were recognized by his musician-father who then transported his son as the signal performer within the family enclave of musical talent toward an early life of slavery to the father's ambitions. It is a question whether love and emotional support was ever manifested toward this artistically gifted child. It is clear he was manipulated and heartlessly exploited. And then learned to love it, elaborating on its excesses.

Michael Jackson, entertainer extraordinaire, pathetic human being incapable of making decisions that would enhance his life, seeking instead destructive paths leading to denial and infamy, desiring nonetheless to replicate himself by whatever means he used to pass on his genes. If he could not achieve eternal life in his very own body, he would achieve it through the lives of his children.

All three, two boys, one girl, named after him. Exalted hubris; everything about this man was out of the ordinary, outrageously flamboyant, unambiguously self-adoring. Prince Michael Joseph, Paris Michael Katherine and Prince Michael II, all are in the loving care of a family, a father whose rapacious treatment of his son resulted in this psyche-stilted musical phenomenon whom fate itself kicked around.

And did Michael himself, the father of three impressionable, perhaps bright and expectant children actually love his children? Or did he envision owning them, his very own private possessions, just as he aspired to own all manner of excruciatingly odd and manifestly peculiar objects, animate and inanimate. If he loved his children, how is it he could give them to the tender loving care of those who tormented him?

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