The news of the death of Michael Jackson's hit me more deeply than I expected.
The death of someone you know even if Jacko ever hits you, lately, it attracted my sympathies, I will be hard but I can not stand people who, when they have all the resources and opportunities, self destructive chasing dreams and illusions. Not tolerate it among the people around me, let alone in the figures "median" already tolerate them just for this feature.
His death will not hit me for the tragic end of an eternal boy of fifty years who has had a hard life (difficult? I can think of the slums of Dakar), remains determined to overcome his own success to self unbeatable (being changed by the public and general conditions); struck me above all Jacko States as influenced by my life here in Italy.
His sudden absence has made me open the drawers of memory is dusty, but still there to form my taste and my thoughts.
Just to clarify the concept, I was reminded of a particular costume: white socks. Jacko Sdogati in the 80 short white sock that has always been, before and after, a symptom of individual loser, making it suddenly a must.
And there I was, in jeans, white socks, sneakers, black jacket over white shirt that proud smile in a picture of the time, I feel so cool, although this term came into use later.
efforts have been more than two decades that guy dressed in an objectively impossible is still inside of me (as well as a bunch of white socks in my drawer in the laundry) and the death of Jack has brought to light.
How has brought to light an endless playlist of songs from my ipod mental, especially ballads a bit 'honeyed as well suited to bask in sweet melancholy, and certainly also closely linked to episodes of my life, as a soundtrack that sometimes you never asked and that is always there in spite of yourself.
I realized once more, and direct experience than the media, the show business, help to create a common consciousness, even in me and, I repeat, in spite of myself.
The death of someone you know even if Jacko ever hits you, lately, it attracted my sympathies, I will be hard but I can not stand people who, when they have all the resources and opportunities, self destructive chasing dreams and illusions. Not tolerate it among the people around me, let alone in the figures "median" already tolerate them just for this feature.
His death will not hit me for the tragic end of an eternal boy of fifty years who has had a hard life (difficult? I can think of the slums of Dakar), remains determined to overcome his own success to self unbeatable (being changed by the public and general conditions); struck me above all Jacko States as influenced by my life here in Italy.
His sudden absence has made me open the drawers of memory is dusty, but still there to form my taste and my thoughts.
Just to clarify the concept, I was reminded of a particular costume: white socks. Jacko Sdogati in the 80 short white sock that has always been, before and after, a symptom of individual loser, making it suddenly a must.
And there I was, in jeans, white socks, sneakers, black jacket over white shirt that proud smile in a picture of the time, I feel so cool, although this term came into use later.
efforts have been more than two decades that guy dressed in an objectively impossible is still inside of me (as well as a bunch of white socks in my drawer in the laundry) and the death of Jack has brought to light.
How has brought to light an endless playlist of songs from my ipod mental, especially ballads a bit 'honeyed as well suited to bask in sweet melancholy, and certainly also closely linked to episodes of my life, as a soundtrack that sometimes you never asked and that is always there in spite of yourself.
I realized once more, and direct experience than the media, the show business, help to create a common consciousness, even in me and, I repeat, in spite of myself.
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