Anxious Black Woman describes the atrocity here. I need not say more.

Though I’ve read this message in many variations over the years, I needed to read it again in this way, today:

“Read as many poems as you can. Every day. Write down all lines and words that float through your skull. You must record them when they arrive because they are ghosts and will disappear into the ether unless pinned down to the page. Send out your poems. Sulk briefly about rejections and then send out some more. Be curious about everything. Listen to music. Look at art. Ride your bicycle through weedy lots and back alleys. Read the newspaper, read novels old and new, read magazines devoted to culture and trash. Find yourself a human to love. Live your life of letters, but remember to live your life outside of them too. All of it will boil down into your poems. No one knows how this happens, but it does. Keep faith. Keep writing.”

From oranges & sardines.

…and before if you count that I was hearing him while in the womb.

Though “Remember the Time” is my favorite Michael Jackson song and video for reasons even inexplicable to me (like I alluded in my last post), I found magic in every bit of what I saw of that man on television.  And every thing–no matter how simple–was epic.  Michael Jackson was an entertainer of epic proportion who is utterly impossible to duplicate.  I mean epic, “Earth Song”-epic.  To lose someone like that at 50, when I, when we, thought we had his presence for 15, 20, or more years….

I digress:

Around 5:30 yesterday, I was watching VH1’s Black to the Future series.  They had just finished the 70s section which included clips of Michael as the Scarecrow in The Wiz.  They were moving to the 80s and I was ready for him to dominate the hour.  Though I was born in 1987, I know–you know, we all know–Black + the 80s = Michael Jackson.  It is what it is.

Usually if I’m watching something else that’s relatively good, I won’t stick to my daily Monday through Friday routine of turning to 106 & Park as if I’m still in junior high.  To call Black to the Future “relatively good” is a stretch.  And I felt as if there was nothing they could tell me about MJ that I didn’t already know.  And I knew they’d crack joke upon joke I didn’t want to hear.  So to 106 and Park it was….

…where I was met with Terrence J and Rocsi apologizing for reading breaking news off of a card.  Michael Jackson had been rushed to the hospital.  Cardiac arrest.

To tell you that it felt like the floor tilted underneath me and that everything in my body was sinking down and pulling me is an understatement.

I turned to CNN to watch them tell me nothing but bad news about what it means to have cardiac arrest.

Then, he was in a coma.  Several minutes (thirty or forty painful ones) later the L.A. Times confirms his death.  But CNN pussyfoots around confirming nothing for what seems like an hour more.  And you know people wait for CNN.

When I say that Michael Jackson is magical, or at least made you believe in magic, I know every fan of his understands.  I’m not old enough to have known the progression of music and entertainment from lackluster to Michael Jackson-esque.  When I was little, Michael Jackson was fact.  Magic.  And I wondered why no one else I was seeing could do it–entertain–like him.

* * *

This BET marathon of his videos is the most wonderful thing.

In “Billie Jean,” he was a conductor of light, making it appear here and there.  Walking on the sidewalk, lighting up the ground with each step.

There were babies sitting on the earth in “Black or White.”  MJ also walks through fire in that one.  Remember the changing faces at the end?

Remember the guy moonwalking on skates in “Bad”?

“Beat It”  Mannn….  You know I would try to kick up my leg up like that.  That sweet knife fight-dance and the choreographed pure awesomeness that takes place after it?

The lean in “Smooth Criminal”?

Magic.  It was all magic to me.

[ETA: I keep coming back to this post to add more as I think of them.  It's so hard to be articulate and succinct about all of this because his repertoire is so vast; he was so prolific and indescribable.  And I loved him.]

Michael Jackson used to hit so hard.  The music was in his body from his toes up to his smirk.  Flowing through him.  He was smooth.  He had universal appeal.  He had that thing you can’t authentically describe that makes you say, “Oooh.”  Or “hee-heee.”  Or “cha-mone” (the spelling matters not…lol).  Or “OW!”  It was that “something about you, baby.”

And he was ballsy!  Creative about it, too!  Do you remember “Leave Me Alone”?

Then he’d leave the stage and be so soft-spoken.

Again, I digress:

When I was little, I wanted desperately to be a singer and performer.  Watching Michael Jackson, a man who could give you the best show you’ll probably ever see and then step away from that persona and seem so small, so shy, so delicate–made me believe I could.

To this day–this day after his death, my goodness–watching Michael Jackson makes you want to get a wind machine and rock the hell out in your living room.  Spin and scream.  In fact, I did it with a fan when I was little.  It makes you feel unconquerable.  I’d do it today if I had the right fan.  Actually, I’ve been doing it all morning long without a fan.

Watching his videos also makes you conscious in the moment of how many artists would not be household names without him.  Especially the artists of the this immediate period of music.  Their originality is scant.  It’s all Michael Jackson.

If they could blend so many genres of dance like he did.

If  they could do half of what he did to inspire people to change, to “heal the world,” by starting with “the man in the mirror.”

If they would even TRY.

I think Michael Jackson’s curse was actually caring too much in a world that is purely about not giving a damn.  Sometimes I wonder if this is what he wanted to be when grew up.  A megastar? Someone who could make a crowd of thousands in Budapest weep and faint.  (This is actually my most distinct memory of Michael Jackson from my childhood.  His impact.  I didn’t understand why the people were red-faced and passing out.  It was beyond me.)

Of course he didn’t dream of this, right? It would have been unimaginable, right? Did he want to be a singer at all? Did he ever have time to decide? I don’t know.  I don’t remember if anyone’s ever said.

Now I know there are rumors and accusations all around him, but I’ve never been able to let them in to tarnish what his music means to me.  I’m so troubled by his life yet so amazed by him.  The incredible things he was able to accomplish DESPITE it all.

Despite crying out for help and receiving none through it all.

“Leave Me Alone”

“How does it feel when you’re alone and you’re cold inside?” (from “Stranger in Moscow”)

“They Don’t Care About Us”

“Scream”

…and many others

On one hand, I’m happy that he has peace now.  (I truly hope he has that now.)  On the other, I’m devastated that he was never equipped to deal with his immeasurable success.  I think what he had was too much for any person, whether they had a “childhood” or not.

Last digression:

When I watched Martin Bashir’s interview with him in 2003, I felt like he was (perhaps, finally) irretriveably lost.  I remember crying then, thinking he’s trying to get back something he never had in the first place.  Through ridiculous possessions.  I learned a long time ago that objects won’t ever give you the feelings you (don’t realize at the time that you) really want from other human beings.

To say that Michael Jackson will be missed…. What it is to say that? It’s ridiculously not enough.  I was crossing my fingers just to have him appear on the BET Awards again.  (A show that will be completely different that what had been planned, I’m sure.)  I was wishing for something as simple as that since I’d never have the pleasure of seeing him live and at his prime.

A reminder to artists of today of what they don’t even work to be.

Something as simple as that.

Something as simple as that brought to us by the incomparable, epic, and magical, Michael Jackson.

* * *

It’s been difficult to find MJ or Jackson 5 songs that do not have embedding disabled, but I’m including a sampling below.  I urge you to go to YouTube and rock out.  It will make you feel empowered–which is the beauty of Michael Jackson’s music.  And it will make you feel better about this loss.  A little bit.

Two of my favorite people together:

Michael Jackson was like magic to me.  I don’t know how else to express it.

This is a low of lows.  Sudden and too much really.  I cannot believe he’s gone.  I want to believe it’s just a story he’s spun to finally get away from it all….

Being the fan I am, it is difficult to say one song of MJ’s is my favorite.  Still yet, “Remember the Time” is so special to me because it embodies the magic.

Almost every day I dance to this or “Don’t Stop Until You Get Enough” on my iPod.  I didn’t expect to lose Michael Jackson while only in my 20s.

I remember being little and seeing masses of people in Budapest crying at his concert on t.v.

I remember my attempts to perfect my “hee-hee.”

ETA: I remember playing “Can You Feel It” (Jackson 5) with the marching band back home!

As much as I love his music, you would think the height of his career was during my childhood–the 90s.

The way he genuinely used music to tackle serious issues.  The incredible scale of his videos.

I only wish I could have seen him in concert.

Unreal.

Dedicated Readers:

You’re probably wondering what happened to all of my blog content.  No worries.  It’s all still here.  I’ve just temporarily made my posts private to weed out a few…unnecessary…ones.

I am diligently working to make toriemichelle.com an accurate reflection me.  I have found that this work takes time.  And right now, I’ve got plenty of that.  (I’ve not yet decided whether this is a fortunate or unfortunate fact.)

The problem is that I’ve been scant of ideas.  “At a loss for words,” if you will.   I can’t really remember a time when I’ve been speechless.  Plenty of moments when I decided silence was the best option, but, seriously, none resulting from a lack of something to say.

Because of this brainstorming process, things may be a little slow around here for a short while.  A lot of my older posts will be back up within a week or two.   So for those who come here to read about the Strength of Nature/Miss Campus Fresh Face Scholarship contest or my product review of Organic Root Salon and Stimulator products, check back soon.  However, it is for the fresh content that I sincerely implore you to stay tuned.

–TM

June 11

It’s my birthday I’ve got an empty
stomach and the desire to be
lazy in the hammock and maybe
go for a cool swim on a hot day
with the trombone in Sinatra’s
“I’ve Got You Under My Skin”
in my head and then to break for
lunch a corned-beef sandwich and Pepsi
with plenty of ice cubes unlike France
where they put one measly ice cube
in your expensive Coke and when
you ask for more they argue with
you they say this way you get more
Coke for the money showing they
completely misunderstand the nature of
American soft drinks which are an
excuse for ice cubes still I wouldn’t
mind being there for a couple of
days Philip Larkin’s attitude
toward China comes to mind when
asked if he’d like to go there he said
yes if he could return the same day

- David Lehman

Dysmorphia

The body wants.  This is its sole
function: to crave sustenance
then sustain.  It is this fact
that lead you to confuse courage
and foolishness.

Your body first tricked you
in broad daylight.  Across his bed.  Exposed.
(Weren’t you brave?)
Spread there.  Waiting.

Your body’s con is not elaborate
or changing.  There is no sag,
wrinkle, or scar once you’ve
heard the lie I love
you are left suspended against
gravity, feeling no weight.

Your body assumes the burden
so you—foolish soul—can forget
to want, forget that you know wait.

In this economy that we’ve heard so much–yet at the same time, so damned little–about, the last thing I needed was a cohort of rich or relatively rich (relative to myself) actors acting…telling me absolutely nothing about how to be “unbroke.”

For several days now, financial analyst/advisor/whatever, Mellody Hobson and ABC have been pushing this special where they claimed they would discuss stocks, 401(k)s and credit cards in a way that was “cool,” helpful, and would make sense to Gen Y and Baby Boomers alike.

I just watched said special….

It didn’t get past “cool.”  And you’ll notice even that’s still in quotation marks.

I’m disappointed that there was no real push of information.  There were a few strands of common sense and a decent bit of comedy.  But concrete, useful information? Not much.

They can’t be saying it’s all just common sense.  Whereas that may be true for credit cards (interest rates/as Cedric the Entertainer said, owning a credit card is like being in a relationship) and what to do with your paycheck (don’t spend more than you earn), there’s nothing substantial about stocks in my bank of common sense.

So…are they seriously suggesting that we should laugh more about this situation? (One in which people are losing their homes, their savings, and in dire cases, their lives.)

Surely not.

And surely I’m not the only one who felt like they watched this special and didn’t get “the point.”

For the record, I’m still broke as hell.  I’m doing as much as I can about it.  And Unbroke didn’t do ish to help the matter.

Maybe Unbroke was for the folks who had never heard of terms like 401(k), don’t have credit debt, and are just starting out in the world of finances.

Maybe (and hopefully) it was the beginning of a better and prolonged effort to get people talking about and working to eliminate debt.  The same conversation that (other rich) people like Oprah, Suze Orman, and others have been having.

Maybe there’s a part two in the works that does not sacrifice true help for the sake of humor.

Click here to go to ABC’s website about the special.

Oh, Mims, how I hated and still hate that song and it’s ridiculous circular argument.

Anywho.  I’m the Fly Girl of the Week over at one of my favorite blogs: Fly.  From high fashion to furniture to graphic design to photography, Fly showcases all things and people who are “fabulously creative.”  I love it.

Most would probably argue that I haven’t been alive long enough to be unimpressed with the vast majority of every thing I see–that I’ve got lots of days ahead of me to see incredible, creative, and intriguing things.

Eh.   I’m just not easily impressed.  This has been especially true for stories and poetry that I’ve read lately.  I think I was last impressed with Raymond Carver’s short stories which–if I’m remembering correctly–aren’t even from this or the last decade.  The contemporary (post-turn-of-the-century) works I’ve read are missing something.   (That something is probably missing in my own writing as well.)   I’m rambling….

The point of this post? I just read a great story called “How She Dies” by James Fleming on failbetter.com.

Click here to read it.

…and you should be, too.

American Widow, Alissa Torres

Actually, I’ve finished this one.  It’s a graphic novel about woman widowed by the tragic events of September 11th.  The book is not what you would expect in that, after all, it is a comic book. But it also captures the disjointedness you would expect from a work that takes on 9/11 as its subject.  Look for my full review this weekend.

How God Ends Us, DéLana R.A. Dameron

[Winner of the South Carolina Poetry Book Prize.  Foreword by Elizabeth Alexander.]  I plan to start reading this collection of poetry this weekend.  Based on what I’ve read of Dameron’s work online, I believe it won’t disappoint.

———————————-

Up next:

Falling Man, Don Delillo

This is my poem “Recession” in its correct formatting.  The poem was previously published on un-mute.com in December 2008.