Took a day off from writing, since my wrist still plays up. Have been cleaning a little, since I will be moving tuesday and they want to show the place to some other renters tomorrow. Oops. Well, it almost looks presentable now. So from next tuesday I will not be living amongst the serenading fridges at 1072 Hamilton Street suite 303 anymore. Actually the biggest noise turned out to be a generator from the bar downstairs, that has been starting his disco up the last week. Time to move..
Took a walk to the swimming pool with Love Like Blood (Killing Joke) accompanying me. Great song. Always wonder why so little music can get to that intensity level. Goose bumps. Felt completely happy walking in the sun. Writing and music, writing about music. Could live like this. Practiced so hard in the pool that I felt like hamburgers and fries. Bought them from a nice Dutch lady that had moved here last year. She did not sound that happy about moving, but the burger was great. Regret it a little now, one hour later.
The eighties have brought us a lot of good music. Am almost through with the biography (unauthorized..) of Michael Jackson. Knew he was strange, to say the least. But that family just about beats everything I have read about other stars. I mean, past the mental and physical abuse his father used to 'discipline' his kids (he whipped and kicked them and he sometimes put a gun to their head and pulled the trigger, laughing through their terror, but he also kept a loaded Uzi under his bed). They were not allowed to see other kids. Michael must be schizophrenic at least, reading all the stories about his behaviour. It has been claimed he went through all his plastic surgery to erase any features connecting him to his father. But they still lived in one house until he was thirty, just like Janet and Latoya, who only married because she was afraid her parents would place her in a mental institution if she would just move out. And the rest of the family neglected to inform her that her Granny had died, just because she was the only one questioning if a run-down welfare home was the right choice for a grandmother of a bunch of millionaires. Many anecdotes, also about the way Michael invented his own PR: the stories about oxygen tanks and Elephant Man remains he wanted to buy, he thought up himself, and then made a deal with the Enquirer: they could publicize, but only if they would use the word 'bizarre' at least 3 times during the first three sentences.. Bizarre. But in the eighties, with all it's longing for heroes and legends, nobody questioned all the 'young friends' that stayed in his bedroom. Interesting, because the press already knew about it in 1985..