If he could have started over, Michael Jackson would have done it differently. He would have quit after Dangerous. He would have sold Neverland. He would have gone into therapy. He would have laughed at his former self in a revealing E! special. He would have had a couple of reality television shows where he capitalized on his fame. He would have had an aquarium where he had fish that he could stare at and say, “that one, that one right over there, is my favorite.” He would have actually fallen in love and that person would have changed everything because finally, finally, finally someone understood him and knew what he wanted for breakfast on his birthday – that it wasn’t everything, that it actually was frosted flakes with strawberries or something normal like that. He would have gone fishing in the mountains, and gone into a bait n’ tackle shop where people kind of recognized him, but no one was really sure.
He would have started over, which is completely different than trying to forget. He would have started over, which is completely different than getting away. He would have started over, which is completely different than restarting.
But he didn’t. Because he couldn’t. And because he couldn’t, he died. And, for some fucked up reason, I feel that, now, he is finally happy.
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Angelo Gladding
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Angelo Gladding
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