Last Saturday in June

As Saturday morning blooms in the east, looking hot and summerish in a way that we haven’t seen yet, I find myself listening to the birdsong, appreciating Willie’s continuing good energy and the deepening greens in our gardens and woods as things dry out just a little bit (hopefully) and we have a chance to catch up on outdoor work.

HollyCornblog and others commented yesterday on the hateful things being said about Michael Jackson … and what it says about us.

And HollyCornblog got me to thinking about how I can feel license to say nasty and sarcastic things about folks whom I have in a particular slot in my head.  I’m thinking of Rush and Bush and Dick and Rummy and Palin and such … I could go on and on … a rather extensive list, as I start enumerating.

The license I feel is pretty much in the same ballpark as the license that I imagine the far right Rush types feel (with the small difference that I am right and they are wrong, of course).  Nah – it’s the same flip and tawdry hatred – I can see it.  Hate to see it, to be honest, but I do.

So where’s the fun?  I don’t know.  I guess it’s kind of cheap humor – satisfying as it may feel in the moment – calling Dick a Dick and such.  I don’t know that I’ll be able to stop – but perhaps I can at least sharpen the rapier when possible – and not indulge in the obvious and blunt-edged stuff.

As for Michael Jackson – one wonders what his life might have been, had he been allowed to have a childhood … had his talent and genius not been exploited by the avaricious adults around him.  I still feel that, looking at him is like looking at ourselves and our culture’s values in a mirror – a “funhouse” mirror.

The changes in his face are what I keep coming back to … as he moved from a face that reflected a connection to self … and the true beauty that accompanies that … to some learned and assimilated idea of beauty that is, in the end, a tragic mask. 

Deepak Chopra writes of the man behind that mask.  I hope that what he says is true and there were layers of real warmth and love in MJ’s truncated life.



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