2001-09-27 || 5:10 p.m.

|| and dear michael jackson ||

and watching michael jackson thanks to melissa's cable connection did something very funny to me. dear michael jackson, i want you to go see somebody because nobody's face should look like it's made of wax and somehow the crotch grabbing and roguish flirting with beautiful women in your fourteen minute videos is no longer appropriate.

(i was just thinking about when i saw thriller for the first time. i was eight i think, sitting on our bunk bed, and the teenage babysitter yelled at us to come to the tv and watch. like it was the kennedy assassination. the moon landing. and we watched open mouthed, completely silent, and i was in love. acting out the dance moves in the backyard. saving up for posters to tape on wallpapered walls. and there was beat it and billie jean and bad and then vaguely i remember moondancer and then you went away. and i somehow lost the posters. but i rooted for you and defended you and put my hands over my ears when people starting saying things. i know all the words to captain eo, you know. but sitting there, at age twenty-five now, watching you and grabbing melissa's arm and shrieking (we were shrieking!) at the sight of your cartoon profile, the way your nose is sharpened to a point, the way you can no longer move your upper lip, the way your head is foreign to your body and the loafers and white socks, i just felt so confused.)

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