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Michael Jackson was born is August 1958. So was I. Michael Jackson grew up in the sunburns of Midwest. So did I. Michael Jackson had 8 brothers and sisters .So do I. When Michael Jackson was 6, he became a superstar, and perhaps was the world's most beloved child. When I was 6, my mother died. I think he got the shorter end of the stick. I never had a mother but he never had a childhood. And when you never get to have something, you become obsessed by it. My spent my childhood searching for my mother figures; sometimes I was successful. But how do you recreate your childhood, when you are under the magnifying glass of the world of your entire life?

There is no question that Michael Jackson was one of the greatest talents the world has ever known. That when he sang a song at the ripe old age of 8, he could make you feel like an n experienced adult was squeezing your heart with his words

That the way he moved had the elegance of Fred Astaire and packed the punch of Mohammed Ali. That his music had an extra layer of inexplicable magic that didn't just make you want to dance but actually make you believe that you can fly, dear to dream, be anything that you wanted to be, Because that was what heroes do .And Michael Jackson was a hero.

He performed in soccer stadiums around the world, he sold hundreds of millions of records, he dined with prime ministers and presidents. Girls fell in love with him, Boys fell in love with him. Everyone wanted to dance like him. He seemed otherworldly ,but he was also a human being. Like most performers, he was shy and plagued insecurities.

I can't say we were great friends but in 1991 I decided I wanted to know him better. I asked him to dinner. I said My treat. I will drive. Just you and me.” He agreed and showed up to my house without any bodyguards. We drove to the restaurant in my car. It was dark out but he was still wearing sunglasses. I said "Michael I feel like talking to a limousine. Do you think you could take off your glasses so I could see your eyes? He paused for a moment and he tossed his glasses out of the window looked and me with wink and a smile and said “can you see me now? Is that better?"It that moment I could see both his vulnerability and his charm. The rest of the dinner, I was hell-bent on getting him to eat French fries drink wine have dessert and say bad words, things he never seemed to allow himself to do. Later we went back to my house to watch a movie. And we sat on the couch like two kids. And somewhere in the middle of the firm his hand snuck over and held mine. It felt like he was looking for a friend more than a romance .And I was happy to oblige him. At that moment he didn't feel like a superstar .He felt like a human being. We went out a few more times together.

And for one reason or another we fell out of touch. Then the witch hunt began. And it seemed like one negative story after another coming out about Michael. I felt his pain. I know what it's like to walk down the street and felt like the whole world has turned against. I know what it's like to feel of helpless and unable to defend yourself because the roar of the lynch mob is so loud that you are convinced your voice can never be heard. But I had a childhood. And I was allowed to make mistakes, and find out my own way in the world without the glare of the spotlight.

When I first heard Michael was died, I was in London, days away from the opening of my tour. Michael was going to perform in the same venue with me a week later. All I could think about in that moment was, I had abandoned him ,that we had abandoned him, that we has allowed this magnificent creature that once set the world on fire to somehow slip through the cracks. While he was trying to built a family, and rebuilt his career, we were all busy passing judgment. Most of us had turned our backs on him.

In a desperate attempt to hold onto his memory, I went on the Internet to watch old clips of him dancing and singing on TV and on stage. And I thought my god, he was so unique,

so original, so rare. And there will never be anyone like him again. He was a king. But he was also a human being. And alas we are all human beings. And sometimes we have to lose things before we can truly appreciate them. I want to end this on a positive note and say that my son age 9 and 4, are obsessed with Michael Jackson. There's whole lot of crotch-grabbing and moon-walking going on in my house. And it seems like the new generation of kids has discovered his genius and are bringing him to life again. I hope that where every Michael is right now, he is smiling about this.

Yes.Yes, Micheal Jackson was a human being. But dammit, he was a king. Long live the king.

      窗外的阳光明媚会让人觉得宅有点罪恶。上午出太阳的时候，我受不了心中的罪恶感出门走了一趟。回来整个身心疲惫。中午太阳没了，阴天不办事天，就佯装心满意足地呆在屋子里，想干点什么就干点什么。事情就是这样，拯救我们的是天气，咖啡因而不是改变普世价值。

      最近的一次出门是米人c请吃饭，从曾经的校园游击者变成了现在的宅瓣，被逮到真是小概率。c说了将来的计划，自从神p蒸发成为首尔空中飞人之后，大家的未来还真是都变化莫测。几经周折见到米人c，她还是charming，我还是好脾气。

可见我有多么早睡。来说说最近吧， 我迟早被自己整死，乏味和费解让我不太想忍受这秋的二三事。在尝试了自我分析之后，我放弃了第七种人格的答案——也许我本来就不应该在别人的见念中找寻自我。Virginia Woolf说 The man who is aware of himself is henceforth independent; and he is never bored,and life is only too short, and he is steeped through and through with profound yet temperate happiness. 我的理解是，找到自我就万事大吉，否则重则结果了自己，轻则无聊，狂喜狂怒，自怨自艾……

也许这并不是闲来无事的人才有的忧愁，恰恰那些从来没有被自我这个问题所烦恼的人整日忙着也不知道在干些什么。我们人类从4岁开始就建立了自我意识，漫长的成长期中，我们做的更多是他人意识。有虐狂M，想破口大骂，但受虐的本性让他无法在发泄中找到出口，他只有更沉默，才能一边自虐一边享受其中。

我们都在大大小小的压力中生活，带着侥幸逃脱的快感和审判来临前的恐惧。gx贼，鸟晴，mama，周同学，群群等结束司考，脱离苦海。

要我说，没事在网上唧唧歪歪的人都有些暴露癖。谁都不例外。

最近老被爸妈说自私——实在让人有点委屈。我都这么过了20来年了，你现在才说这是自私的，不是故意耍我吗？毕竟太多人希望我们茁壮成长了。对此没有过多抵触情绪，要说年轻一代的通病不还有90后给我们垫着底么？

说到通病，我们似乎总是不太能够准确自我评估。盲目自大后终于碰壁了，于是“青春无所不能”再也支撑不了卑微的自我了。无畏，无聊，无所谓的样子，其实挺容易被看穿的，可是人不想这样，把脸凑到别人跟前，抽不抽由别人决定。

对于想法太简单的质问，我只能代表我个人回答了。虽然我思维时常处于混乱状态，很多想不通的问题就偷懒不去想了，但是我也不傻啊，知道自己幼稚到什么程度就该收手了——后果要自负的。

说道难过，我看是因为在新时代的阳光里，遇到需要难过的事情不多。有的难过，根本不需要治疗，就让它在那里，挺好的，也占不了多少内存。

入戏。坦诚应该只存在于同性之间吧。姐妹之间心灵花园的时候，有时要安慰，有时要同仇敌忾，但即使扮演的是个全能击球手，到最后仍然免不了“设身处地”地为对方想想。

对自己残忍还是不要超过四天。不管是全身心做事还是全身心难过，都极度耗费体力，到最后，脑子晕乎乎不好使了才知道还是身子说了算。

人生的低潮出现在第一次发现世界上有自己无论如何努力都做不到的事情。放弃，就像灭绝的一个朝代，颠覆了一个信仰。

自我意识与想摆脱掉某部分自我的强烈愿望关系暧昧，迂回前行。

最后，有自己喜欢的小曲儿，听着可以无限发呆下去，说是人生需要这种无焦点的投入。

自信自卑和贪念在一块叫做年少轻狂的土壤上疯狂滋长，用一颗流星坠落的时间。

    最近经历了很多次分别，我只能说，朋友，记得就很好，不用常常见面。看着各奔前程的人们，我只能说：祝君心想事成，无论去哪里都好，无论以后还有没有机会再见面。

    最近也经常听老歌。关于老歌的定义，已经很模糊了。反正去ktv新歌榜前10首居然只听过一首，所以我熟悉的歌应该算是老歌了。没有到一首歌一个故事的程度，有些歌也完全不符合心情，不过亲切感是种很珍贵的东西，包含时间啊，理解啊，感动啊……很多很多，到最后说不出是个什么滋味，不过只要熟悉，就和容易进入情绪。

    最近也经常看电影。看喜剧让人心情好些，我不知道是不是口味越来越大众了，或者说大众也挺好的。可能很多很多的人，曾经也爱那些百转千回的，或者是惨烈的故事，可是现在爱不起了。故事——romance，它曾经是令人愉悦的忧伤。

2点钟开始下雨，关窗。原来的手机可以用了，翻看半年前的短信。一句要照顾好自己让人辛酸不已——虽然不至于苦难。我只知道公车站牌变了，邻居也变了。本来就是我顾我蒸发，你管你自由。

还没出梅是个不好的消息，所幸有雨冲一下也好。3点的天空异常昏暗，雨停后的阳光完全不能预知。

这样的日子其实很琐屑，是属于以后不会被记得的日子,是被遗忘的时光。在过去时和将来时中度过，记录了太多无需用力就能回忆的事情，有点能量浪费。

老张戒烟了，想来，人真的什么的东西都能戒掉，只要不得不。写了那么久的日记也因为换了一个地方换了一种生活方式而断断续续。可能每天记日记本来就有点变态——好像是天天在写遗书。如果某天自己被杀了，被翻看了日记才发现，哦原来事情是这样。因为这样的事情不会发生，所以这些话也没有什么参考价值。

大概是不习惯一个人吃饭一个人看片了，一个人呆在房间里只能对一堆物体有爱，等天亮也等天黑。说说而已：人要是真实一点，不用很辛苦地过活，不需要很明媚。想忘的不要假装自己很纠结，也就可以忘掉。做错了事情就承认。得到的不会少，失去的不会多。

整整一天的路途颠簸之后，终于从梦幻的巴黎回到了潘普洛纳。旅行的最后一站巴黎，终于让我知道不是所有欧洲城市都可以靠暴走解决问题。全长1800的香榭丽舍终于只走了3遍，塞纳河边喝喝小咖啡的愿望没有实现。把一直烤鸡腿拆得面目全非，体无完肤之后才知道使用刀叉不是中国人民的强项。

蒙娜丽莎的微笑比想象的小一点，不过还是占了整整一堵墙。微笑因为前来膜拜人群的嘈杂而损失了些神秘，让人觉得腼腆而平易近人。加冕图在卢浮宫和凡尔赛各有一副——哪一副是原作？？绕着断臂的维纳斯走了一圈，三维确实比较有立体感。卢浮宫一天根本都不完这倒是真的。我们这么来来回回赶趟似的走一遍的确有点暴殄天物，不过老天要是能多为我点鉴赏能力，可能我就呆在那里不走了。

登埃菲尔而小巴黎好像不太现实，上了第二层也只能看看塞纳河的全景。大致拥有穹顶的楼群，小致巴黎女人细长的鞋后跟，模糊其中的巴黎无法一眼忘穿。

      在塞维利亚落地的时间是下午4点，晌午的阳光让人觉得有点可怕，马路中央的喷水池敬业工作，但水滴似乎在飞向空中前就蒸发不见了。43度的地面温度显然已经超出我的体温。想起魔神英雄坛斗士里面有一层山界就是炎热无比，具体示例是士把拉古大师在地上煎鸡蛋。

      住的地方名曰“毕加索”，多少点附庸风雅，结果一看对门是“梵高”，隔壁是“达芬奇”才知道这地方的人就好这口。

      西班牙南部满负盛名，肯定不只是因为高温。真正使这里游客接踵的是弗朗明哥，斗牛，食物以及热情的西班牙人。这样叙述似乎很官方，因为无论是我和lynne还是同住的香港mm都被高温逼得在下午4点到8点都不敢往外跑。2点左右尚还有人在路边的餐馆吃饭，一小时之后整个城市都安静下来了。街上的人都人间蒸发似的。这段时间最好是在旅馆噶三湖或者是在咖啡店吹冷气。

      身为世界第三大教堂的塞维利亚大教堂比起梵蒂冈的圣彼得大教堂要平易近人许多，上午11点开门，排了不到20分钟的队就进了教堂。据说德国人为这座教堂的建造做了不少贡献。                                                               

      隔天去了赛维利亚附近的格拉纳达看传说中的阿拉伯皇宫。爬了一个多小时的山，见到了那座已经被搬空的宫殿，在有点虚脱的同时游览了皇帝某某世修缮的半山花园。

      其实不消去抱怨欧洲人怎能花大把大把的时间去晒太阳和咖啡，他们也不能够理解像上海这样的城市，人们每天忙忙碌碌到底为什么。可能对他们来说满足感是个流量，而对我们来说满足却是个存量感。毕竟，只要愿意，生活可以美丽得一塌糊涂。