"Of course, it's like he's been dead for years," said a friend discussing Michael Jackson. I got her point, but, um, NOW HE'S DEAD, and any latent dreams of Jackson executing some miraculous third-act comeback (in my dreams, this always involved Rick Rubin, ala Johnny Cash) die with him.
The period has been placed at the end of the sentence. His art will not redeem him. He's a one-of-a-kind musical genius who went crazy, played with morphing his race and gender, slept with children, was repeatedly acquitted of child-molestation charges, and then died, alone and broke.
It's enough to make you cry.
Here's one of the many great songs off Michael's underrated Dangerous.
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