WASHINGTON -- The sad tale of Michael Jackson will be retold a few thousand times more as autopsy reports and estate details emerge.
Meanwhile, the presumed verdict is that Jackson died of prescription drugs. On CNN's "The Situation Room with Wolf Blitzer" Thursday, the director of the Office of National Drug Control Policy, Gil Kerlikowske, said that Jackson's death was a wake-up call to the country about prescription drugs.
Maybe. Maybe not. We all know that abusing prescription drugs -- taking them for purposes other than prescribed -- is bad for our health. Potentially deadly, in fact.
Regardless, people choose to abuse drugs (or smoke cigarettes or drink booze) for a variety of reasons. But drugs aren't really what killed Jackson, are they? They may have led to the stopping of his heart, but Jackson's death spiral began decades ago.
You could see it in his face.
Michael Jackson's identity crisis wasn't subtle. There could hardly be a more vivid physical manifestation of a human being's chaotic psyche than Jackson's ever-changing visage. Imagine trying so hard to become whole -- however one imagines one's complete self -- that you subjected your face to multiple transfigurations until you are hardly recognizable as the person you once were.
Fame and the spiritual poverty of lost childhood are what killed Michael Jackson.
It seemed inappropriate to air these thoughts before the memorial service. It's still too soon -- and probably irrelevant -- to focus on Jackson's attraction to other people's children. New York Rep. Peter King's declaration following Jackson's death that the pop star was a "lowlife" and a "pervert" not only offended many Americans, it served no useful purpose. An online poll conducted by HCD Research, using the MediaCurves.com Web site, found that 60 percent of participants felt that King went too far and 57 percent didn't agree with his statements.
Otherwise, King's blunt-instrument analysis fell far short of insight into the truly tragic dimension of Jackson's life. Like the face Jackson tried to fashion around some ideal image, his search for that lost part of himself found expression in his Neverland Ranch.
For a man whose musical genius was unconstrained by gravity, Jackson's personal search bordered on the banal. Peter Pan?