23/05/2026
I saw the Michael Jackson movie recently and I reconnected deeply with my favourite part of myselfâ my inner child.
When I was a kid, I loved Michael Jackson because I could intuitively tell he created from a love of love, innocence, gratitude.
I explicitly remember watching âHave you seen my childhoodâ when I was 10 years old, and wondering, why adults talk about Michael Jackson like he is weird? a freak? Before I even knew what s*x was people kept reminding me that MJ was a pdf, a weirdo who cuts his face... but the same logic and reactionary energy wasnât applied to any other artist (all of which had questionable behaviour as we now know openly).
Isnât it beautiful to want to see and create magic in our world? Why is romanticising life considered so strange?
I would cry and hold myself, and whisper âI wish I could give Michael a hug and tell him, theyâre wrongâ
As an adult, I understand that the reaction in me at that age meant so much more than a parasocial fan-relationship with Michael.
I felt like the kid who had to grow up too fast. I felt the environment around me that asked for relentless seriousness was violent, that I couldnât be my most whimsical self, lest people make fun of me and call me âeccentricâ
As an adult, I think about how there were hundreds of rich men with pl***oy houses, drugs and depravity in the era of MJ, and it wasnât them that were considered freaks.
The previous generation felt so f*cking threatened by whimsy: an amusement park, a monkey, a love for childish joy... that they labelled Michael Jackson a PDF while they dedicated their lives to lining the pockets of real demonic PDFs praying on the innocence of children.
Itâs 2026 and Iâm the adult now. And I will not define my adulthood based on the ânormalâ of this old world. It makes me sick. I am an early flower of a new way of being.
I am a child of Michael Jackson, and all the other innocent dreamers that came before him.
Fââck all a that, respectfully.