“My fascination with his work has always been with how he was able to remain so innovative yet mass market; his ambition, his work ethic. In terms of work ethic, he will never be matched. He was bottom of the pyramid in terms of accessibility, yet innovative/completely unique in the way he wrote music, danced to the music, and performed the music. Very few people are able to satisfy both requirements and as such most of my respect for him lies within this fascination. It was as if he was both Thierry Mugler and Alexander Wang in one body. The power, the beauty of MJ’s music was that it didn’t matter if you were a hustler on Wall Street, a nun in rural China, a gutter punk, a socialite, or a person who hates pop music. Chances are, you liked hearing Pretty Young Thing, and you probably still do.”

“Here is my memorabilia of MJ. Since Michael Jackson was the most meticulous performer I have ever seen, I tried to apply that same meticulousness with this personal memorabilia. I doubt I came close, or ever will come close to what he became, but at least I have attempted something. I know everyone is “over hearing about it” but it took me a month to complete because I had to do it little by little, and if it was up to me, I would have shown this much earlier.”

~

And yet, in a comment here (at Rackk and Ruin) on a post about Michael Jackson’s jackets:

June 11 2009

LuxiRare Said…..

this is so funny because i bet Decarnin was inspired by these band jackets Jackson used to wear in the 80s and now he’s wearing the fashionized version…

He looks really amazing in it even though he is totally creepy .

~

Hahahahahaha! Now what?! Rock on!

One way is to buy this jacket (now available in white) from BB Dakota. $79

Or, you can wear this air-brushed t-shirt with little black rhinestones on the fro (!), even though your husband always asks “Who’s that supposed to be?” every time you’ve worn it over the last 15 years.

For the last 24 hours, I have been acutely remorseful about watching Michael Jackson’s head on fire. I watched the video online, and now it’s being played on CNN, in an endless loop of mock horror and shock. Even Mark Geragos was disgusted, noting to Larry King that beheadings were available on video but weren’t appropriate for TV viewing.

It’s wrong to observe personal suffering in such a dispassionate context, and I feel debased by doing it. I’m so sorry! If only I could expunge it from the record of my sins.

Less sensationally, Dash Snow died this week, nearly a year after making me angry by his mere existence, and I’m sorry about that, too. I still think he was a pretentious, attention-seeking hipster, but I mourn his death all the same.

Dash Snow was 27, and probably knew it was the magic number for those who think “Live Fast, Die Young” is actually good advice.   His downtown hipster friends are shocked, even though he was a heroin addict. No Diprivan here, just the usual method of going out.

Why do people have to become drug addicts and create such misery for their loved ones and such devastation for those they leave behind? Why can’t anyone save them? Why do people enable them? Why do they want to escape their lives when it’s the only one they’ve got? Why stick that first needle in your arm, you motherfuckers?

It’s a terrible mystery to me but I still want everyone who knows a drug addict to do whatever they can to lead them to safety. Rat out your friends and co-workers and children and spouses and sisters and brothers.   They’ll be mad, but that’s okay. Make them mad.

A real artist and a fake artist, both dead now, dead as a doornail, no matter how the news media recycle their stories. I wish they’d let me rest in peace.

Day six and we’re all still feeding on Michael Jackson. The more we feast, the hungrier we get. I don’t know how much more I can take. But I don’t know how I’ll handle the end of it, if an end is possible.

Have we been here before? What a sense of déjà vu! Even so, this is different because it’s bigger. It’s so big, it’s exploding everything else in its path. Iran, who gives a shit. Health care, just shut up, we need to hear more about Michael Jackson!

Now that he’s dead, he’s more alive than ever. He’s a symbol of everything terrible and tragic. Child abuse, self loathing, exploitation, loneliness, greed, the cult of celebrity, voyeurism, what am I leaving out? The more he’s dead, the more we need to pick at his carcass. There is no stadium large enough to contain all the pathology his death has triggered.

I remember being angry during his trial for child molestation. I was angry at Micheal Jackson, his legal team, the boy who accused him and the boy’s family. That’s all water under the bridge now. Now that he’s dead, who can blame him for anything? He died for our sins. His father beat him into a superstar, and super-stardom turned him into a reverse-Pinocchio whose nose grew shorter until it was gone.

Michael Jackson thrilled us alright. We are more thrilled than he could possibly have imagined. Custody, money, drugs, conspiracies, and the marketing of the marketing. The craziness and the craziness behind the craziness.

I’m sorry, Michael! I don’t want to grow up, either. I wish I could turn away from the spectacle but I need it too much, evidently.

You don’t need to spend $11,400 on that stupid Balmain military jacket!   Why not look stupid for only $39.99 in this fancy gold-trimmed Michael Jackson Costume?!

You’re welcome!