You can't be a member of the Earth Club without hearing every detail of Michael Jackson's death just like we went through every detail of his life- from the monkey in his bedroom to the merry-go-round in his garden to his dirty drawers shoved behind the stove. He was a media construct. Of course he had choice as we all do, but perhaps he couldn't see the choices clearly in the unrelenting glare from the stage lights.
Please go and read the wonderful poem by Australian poet Maxine Clarke called Little Michael, here is an excerpt:
oh / michael / would you believe it today congress stood for you same old little michael / nobody spoke / we found gabriel in that voice of yours /
& looked past the empty eyes / childhood locked up /
behind a thug on a tour bus / nobody spoke up & little michael /
a tired twelve-year-old / sold platinum /
how ‘bout that everybody wz say in little michael /
y’know small black boy with the hair / cute smile /
sings that song / ABC & somethin‘bout salvation
Robala Ka Kagiso, Little Michael, if we will only let you.