Please enable JavaScript in your browser preferences and then Reload this page!!!

Michael Jackson Justice: January 2010

God: Reconnect to Him

The Conspiracy against God is about "The Word", and the profaning of His Holy Name within us. Adam fell in the garden, breaking the direct connection to God. Jesus, the "last Adam" was a quickening Spirit, the Word made Flesh, and the only one with whom we can re-establish our relationship with God. Michael's story is still unfolding. He is the one who is, is not. But Jesus is the only name given under heaven by which we must be saved. Many are trying to rewrite HIStory. We were given a help to instruct us. Learn more "here".

Tuesday, January 26, 2010

August Anger - Stage 2 of Mourning

August Anger – Stage 2 of Mourning

In August, as things start to come out about Michael’s death, it was becoming clear that this was no accident.

At first, I was swayed by some of the “hoax” crowd. I mean, I could definitely see Michael trying to pull something like this off to get out of performing, when he realized that like the rest of us, he ages too.

I spent maybe a week or two on one of the “Hoax” forums. Some of the information they were giving forth was compelling:

1. The name of his Concert “This is It”
2. The Memorial – Liberian Girl colors (I didn’t get this one, still don’t)
3. The Memorial – nobody in the family cried (except Paris when she spoke)
4. The Memorial – Prince looked bored, Blanket looked terrified of all the people.
5. The Memorial Banner – He Lives Forever
6. No official death certificate released
7. No Autopsy release
8. No open casket
9. Staff dismissed before police could even get there to talk to them
10. Moving vans before police could thoroughly investigate
11. Evidence tampering
12. Family looked rather happy at the actual funeral (except mom Katherine)
13. Sudden self promotion of the family following Michael’s death and memorial

Curious was the sudden appearance of Michael Jackson drug depositions, and interviews of “insiders” about Michael’s prescription drug use. Rumors of police finding Marijuana and other pain killers at the house with different aliases on them the very same day that “This is It” clips were released and a “movie” made of the rehearsals was announced.

I started other folders on my computer. This was going to get messy.

1. Michael Jackson Websites #1
2. Michael Jackson websites #2
3. MJ MTV – for his videos and songs, lyrics and tv performances
4. MJ concerts – videos of
5. MJ investigation info
6. MJ interviews
7. MJ Charities - for speeches and videos of his visits to hospitals and orphanages
8. MJ – Main for miscellaneous

I also had subfolders after a while to further organize the information. MJ MTV of course was separated into folders for different decades, MJ Investigation held folders for different sources – blogs, news sources etc, and MJ interviews, charities and websites #1 and #2 by years.

I did not even know why I was getting this deep into all this at first. I just felt I needed to do it. I wanted answers. This man was now my brother that I just learned that I had. Some of this may have been guilt related too . . . I don’t know. I just felt driven to do it.

This was turning into a puzzle that I had to solve the further I got into it.

Sometime in August, I began writing a letter to Michael. I just wrote what was in my heart. I re-wrote it eight times before I finally sent it out in October.

During one of my searches for the truth, I came across a forum that was another “Hoax” forum. Someone in there posted about the information Karen Faye posted on her Facebook page. I learned from reading the threads that Karen Faye was Michael’s makeup artist and that she had worked with him for over 20 years. The people in the forum were completely interpreting things into Karen’s post for their own purposes. I figured the closest I would get to the truth was those who actually knew Michael.

I searched for her and found her page. I “friended” her. Within a day she accepted. I cried.

I don’t know why I cried other than I felt a pain in my heart that wasn’t really my own. Someone who was that close to him that also lost him. I did not want to overstep my bounds or in any way add to her burden. I sent her a message thanking her and telling her I would pray for comfort and for answers. I really didn’t know what else to say. I had seen her in a couple of Michael’s interviews on YouTube so I felt like I knew her. She defended Michael during the Bashir documentary fallout, so I felt closer to her because of that.

What I found on Karen’s page wasn’t exactly answers . . . but a WHOLE LOT OF PEOPLE who were in the same boat I was. Sad, angry, lost and looking for answers. We all wanted to be closer to Michael in some way, but we all needed comforting. I am still in awe of the camaraderie over there as I mature in my search for Justice for Michael.

Monday, January 25, 2010

7-Month Anniversary Poem in Honor

One More Day

I cried today
Just let it go
Couldn’t help it
I miss you so

One more day
Without you here
With one last smile
You disappear

How will I cope
When will I heal
Without your hope
To stave my fears

You’re in my dreams
And when I wake
Yet more tears
I can’t escape

I cried today
Can’t let you go
I cannot help it
I miss you so

Could God grant me
Release from pain
The loss of you
From sorrow’s stain

I cried today
You need to know
Always with me
I miss you so

Your face before me
Holds my heart
Eyes embrace me
Yet we’re apart

So full of life
When you were here
A vibrant light
Divine appeal

So sad it comes
As no surprise
The aching loss
Of your demise

I miss you Mike
Why did you part?
How could you leave
And break my heart?

I cried today
Can’t let you go
I love you Mike
And I miss you so

Poem © Bonnie L. Cox

January 25, 2010 - 7 Month Anniversary

Michael, this is not a happy anniversary at all. I greet your seven months gone with news that my grandfather is dying and he’s afraid. Another laceration on my heart before it even heals from the previous one.

I had a dream, Michael, when I was sixteen. Jesus came to me three times in the same dream; each time with one message . . . “You must tell your grandfather that you saw me . . .”

I told him many times throughout the rest of my life. Each time he treated that declaration with the same disdain he treated it in my dream. I have to trust that the third time I told him, that Jesus did what he did in my dream . . . walked over and put his hand on my grandfather’s shoulder. And my grandfather accepted.

Trust is a scary thing to give away. I know you have firsthand knowledge of the results of broken trust. It makes having faith that much harder.

Faith is a concept that gets obliterated with each breach of trust you endure. As children, we have a much better relationship with trust then we do when we grow up. Funny that the ones we give it to so freely abuse it the most painfully.

I know I will get through this, and I know that my grandfather knows that I love him. I just feel so lost knowing that at the most scary time for him, I cannot be there after all the times he was there for me when I needed him. I HATE it!

I wonder, Michael, sometimes why it is taking God so long to right the wrongs in this world. You know more now what’s going on than the rest of us do. I’m glad you do. You deserve it more than anyone I know. There is too much pain. Too much loneliness, too much illness, poverty, oppression, slavery and disregard for EVERYTHING he gave us to manage. You wrote about that in many of your songs. Your lyrics are my prayers . . . many people’s prayers. Many of us are having a hard time still dealing with the pain the writer of those prayers had to endure, but you did the job God put you here to do, and you did it better than anyone else could. I should be thankful, but it still hurts too much.

It’s funny, when you first get a message like I got about my grandfather, from God, you don’t really know what to do with it. You don’t know why you were given the message until things come full circle and you see the purpose. You just keep writing, talking, singing, drawing, painting, building whatever it is that God moved you to do. The blessing is the realization of the purpose. It’s the getting to that realization that is sooooo hard! You didn’t get to see yours while you were alive . . . But I want you to know that it is being realized now.

I am just on person, Michael, getting letters from people who are also in anguish over you, wanting to know how to get closer to God because they know YOU KNEW something they didn’t. They wanted to know God because you knew him. That is your legacy. Even with everything you went through, people wanted to be LIKE you . . . not the musician, not the dancer, but the person.

You wanted people to get to know you as a person. It is happening.

You wanted people to love each other, to hold hands, to tell each other they cared. It is happening.

You wanted people to be more empathetic to others pain. It is happening.

I’ve gotten questions from faithful friends who DON’T understand. They ask me, “If he was a Christian how come I saw no evidence of it in his life?”

That question was easy for me to answer because I used to ask the same thing. It’s because WE DID NOT SEE. You have to have eyes to see and ears to hear. If they are closed because of judgment or prejudice, you will not see or hear.

It says in the Bible not to look for glory on this earth and that our rewards are in Heaven. People mistook your stage life as a search for glory. What they did not see was the charity behind the scenes. Without fanfare and without cameras and press being notified, you went undercover to children’s hospitals, orphanages, boys and girls clubs, social services groups to bring children to your ranch for a day of rides, animals, food, candy and fun that many of them never had.

You paid for supplies, beds, sheets, food, toys for third world orphanages. You paid for hospital equipment, organ transplants for kids who were abandoned by their parents. You befriended those hurt or maimed by their parents, or were ostracized because of an illness they had no control over, because of a blood transfusion. None of this was ever brought to light until your trials, and then they tried to use it against you. It was because you weren't looking for glory when you did those things. You saw the suffering.

Michael, you became one of God’s martyrs. I think many people realize it, only they don’t know how to put it into words.

Realization of the purpose is the blessing. It’s proof that God exists. You are proof that God exists. It’s one of the reasons why it hurts so much that you are gone. You shared him so openly and lovingly with us. You don’t need a doctorate in theology to be a good medium for God to work with.

I will try to remember this through my own trials and tribulations. I will try to remember how you conducted yourself through it all. I really love you for showing me that.

Now, let me get back to doing what I’m being driven to do, and work on getting the truth out. I just wanted to take a break today and tell you this.

Love you more,


Sunday, January 24, 2010

That night in August - The Kiss

That night in August

The night all that happened watching the 60 minutes interview didn’t get any better.

Preparing dinner while my husband was downstairs on his computer, I was crying.
Doing dishes while my husband went through the mail at the kitchen table after dinner, I had to turn away because I was crying.

In bed that night, I turned from my husband and with my back to him, I cried. I cried so hard I couldn’t breathe through my nose. I carefully wiped my eyes over and over again. I couldn’t stop.

“God” I said mentally, “Why didn’t you protect him? He loved you! Why did you let this happen? What did he do that was so wrong?”

I lay there and cried. I did not understand, it was like hope had died with him. Is this what we have to look forward to?

Just then, I felt this concentrated yet very soft puff of air on my right cheek, right below my eye. It was the size and shape of lips kissing softly, but it felt like air.

My eyes opened wide. I was afraid to touch my face, not because it scared me, but because I didn’t want to disrupt the feeling. It was very comforting and loving. I thought to myself, “He’s okay now.” And I was able to calm down and go to sleep.
I had a dream that night:

I was in a lady’s house. A lady from church. My sister and my brother were also in there but we were kids . . . smaller. About grade school age. It was Christmas time and the house was beautiful. The Christmas tree was beautiful and big. It was next to a large window dressed with lace and some gauzy material. We were all taking pictures of each other and this lady gave my sister and brother a present. Both were some type of mechanical animal that did things. One was a cat that arches it’s back and meowed on a platform. The other gift was a dog that flipped and did tricks and barked.

Then the lady pointed to a present and looked at me. I shook my head no, with a smile on my face, because I didn’t think I deserved a present. I wasn’t expecting one and I didn’t want her to THINK I was expecting one. She took one out of this clear, see-through plastic bag and handed it to me.

The present was a round box much like one of those old fashioned hat boxes . . . only smaller. It was also deeper. It was beautiful red with gold, glittery piping on it and silver. A ribbon joined the stripes at the top of the same color. The lid of the box came off easily and I reached in. I pulled out a small, stuffed dog with a red collar and a gold chain that was attached to . . . . I pulled out a slightly larger dog, this one a different color, with a silver collar and gold chain attached to yet a third, larger dog still. He was a black and silver German Sheppard with his tongue hanging out, almost smiling.

I held the dogs up stretched out on their chains, so they were all level, and I inspected them. They were beautiful. Three dogs, for the Son, Father and Holy Spirit. I hugged them tightly to me.

Then I heard a voice tell me “Now that your gifts are out of the box, you need to take the chains off of them so I can put them to work.

When I awoke, the words in my head were “Child in the Wings”. I wrote them down. Maverick in the spotlight, child in the wings, doors of souls are opened, everytime he sings, tears are for the lonely . . .

I ran downstairs to type it into my computer. My first of now currently five poems about Michael was born. The words just came to me so smoothly. I didn’t think about where it was coming from, I just let them out on my keyboard:

Child in the Wings

As your book of life was opened
Destined was your name
Songs laid bare before you
Childhood yields to fame
Early start at reaching back
For time lost to the lights
Sacrificing playtime smiles
To dancing in the night

Maverick in the Spotlight
A child in the wings
Doors of souls are opened
Every time he sings
Tears are for the lonely
Staging every dream
Maverick in the spotlight
A child in the wings

The message God had given
Spoken through your songs
From the heart of innocence
Tell me what went wrong
A second childhood splintered
Press denial of truth
Our maverick forced in exile
Another wounded youth

Maverick in the spotlight
A child’s folded wings
No longer his soul mourning
No longer hear him sing
Those who judged the lonely
Silencing the dream
Maverick in the lovelight
A child earned his wings

Poem © Bonnie L. Cox, 2009

I also began working on the web site that day,
I didn’t know what I was going to be using it for, but I just went with what something was telling my heart.

Saturday, January 23, 2010

Week 1 of August - Michael's 5th week gone

Week 1 of August – 01-23-2010

Since I was unemployed, I had all day to do my investigations. My husband had no idea at first. I was driven. I went back and watched interviews again and took notes. It wasn’t until later that week that I thought to start writing everything down and keeping notes on my thoughts.

Watching interviews again, all I could think was that this was another child being abused. He was being abused, ridiculed and mocked. The wounds were real. You could see the results in his face . . . in his eyes. He wasn’t a child of course, but his demeanor reminded me of a child that did not understand why people were attacking him. It was heart breaking.

I found in many of the interviews, Michael talking about children. Why he loved them. Why he related to them better than he did adults. It made sense to me. Children aren’t usually looking at what you can do for them. They just want to be loved. Children didn’t treat him differently. Children didn’t deceive him to get what they wanted, they didn’t manipulate (he’s never met my boys, but I digress . . .) they didn’t expect anything. Michael felt safe around them. Michael never really got out in the world, even though he was all over it many times. He was forever that child on stage, looking for love from an audience he has been in front of since the age of five.

One video I found was of Michael during a deposition concerning the 1993 case (taken in 1996, when they were still trying to pin that on him). At the end of the video, Michael was explaining something he had written down on a piece of paper. They were notes he had taken of an interview he was scheduled to do, to as he said, “set the record straight”. He was talking about Jesus and what he said to his disciples about children and to come to Jesus as children. Michael explained how he was raised to be like that and to imitate that. Explaining this to a lawyer is like trying to explain to the wolf that Goldilocks was trying to take care of her grandmother . . . he didn’t CARE. His job was to bury Michael.

I went back over all the interviews and sure enough, these pleadings from Michael were in just about every single one of them. He talked about Jesus in Oprah’s interview, the 1996 deposition, the Diane Sawyer Interview, Geraldo, Bashir (a number of times), Walters, and the saddest one of them all, the 60 Minutes interview with Bradley. The very interview immediately after he was arrested for the second child misconduct accusation (I don’t like typing or saying the other word, it’s ugly).

I focused on the 60 minute interview, because it was one of the last full length, televised interviews from him about his personal struggles. He granted no more after that, unless it was on music only. The 60 minutes interview. It was also the most painful of all of them to watch. Here, I could see a man’s spirit in the throes of death. I could almost see the struggle in his eyes to hold onto the last bit of light in them that he could keep a hold of. I could see a struggle not to give up. I took one day to go over and over this video. I watched his eyes, his facial expressions, his hand and body movements, even listening to his voice. Not once did I go through a whole complete minute without tears. I never felt so much anguish for another human being in all my life.

One thing that hit me was when Bradley asked Michael about his complaint of the treatment he received when he was arrested. They showed the pictures of the bruising on his wrists. Michael talked about being locked in a bathroom that was covered in human feces for 45 minutes. The look on his face when he described this actually scared ME. I don’t know why, but I got the feeling that something else happened that he didn’t want to tell. Being in a filthy bathroom is not that scary. Michael was terrified talking about it.

The second place of rest and replay I came to on that interview was when Bradley asked Michael about children sleeping in his bed. Michael said more than once that he slept on the floor, but even if he DID sleep in the bed it was okay. He chastised Bradley for thinking “sex”. Even after the second hell he had to go through, Michael still did not understand what people saw as wrong. I began to understand that it was because that is not where Michael’s head was. It was a slumber party. It was a camping trip in a bedroom with movies, popcorn, pillow fights and no “mom” to tell them to keep the noise down.

I was starting to get it. What happened next started my waterworks again.
Bradley asked Michael if, looking back now, if he would continue to host children at his ranch or do things differently. My heart broke at Michael’s answer and I will remember it for the rest of my life:

With his head down, eyes downcast, he then looked up like a wounded animal pleading with his trapper, “I will never stop helping and loving people the way Jesus said to . . .”

I stopped the video. I couldn’t see it anyway. Before I even realized I was crying, tears were dripping down my cheeks and landing on my desk calendar and keyboard. My God. I dare anyone to watch this segment of the interview and not have the same reaction.

I made room on my desk. I just sat there with my elbows on the desk, head resting in my hands and I just let it go. Many thoughts ran through my head as I cried. I thought of all the things I ever complained about. How bad I thought I had it at times. How selfish I’d been. How closed off I made myself to others in the name of self-preservation.

When we are children, before the world does things to us, our hearts are open. We are open to others, gladly accepting of differences. We’re not worried about what we look like, or what people will think of us. We don’t care about Gucci or Aigner or Coach or Georgio. Children have none of the trappings of adulthood that keep them from creating, thinking, discovering, questioning and enjoying openly the things before them in life.

Somewhere between childhood and adulthood, we become jaded, guarded, censored, burdened, self-absorbed. Everything the world does to us we carry around and our souls are dragging it on the ground, lest we forget the lesson a hardship taught us.

Michael never really became a part of the adult world. He performed in it. He could see the results of it, but he never really got to experience it. His extreme fame and the length of his career pretty much protected him from all that. But he saw it. His hand was out with his heart in it, telling us, “Look! This is me . . . It’s not that complicated.” Very few of us could do that. He had that courage to do that.

One of the biggest things we lose when we grow up is trust. Love follows closely behind. Love gets redefined for us as something obligatory . . . something another expects of you when they say the word. Love gets turned into something less than wholesome . . . dirty. And trust turns into something that is earned and not freely given. You are taught that to be trusting is to be na├»ve, idealistic and society doesn’t want that. They want smart, hardened, controlled adults. Society wants to be the dictator not only of what we do, but who we are to become.

Michael was right. Jesus spoke about coming to him as children. I was starting to understand something that throughout my whole Christian life thought I understood, when I really did not.

In Matthew 19:14, Jesus said to let the children come and do not turn them away, for such is the Kingdom of Heaven. It says the same thing in Mark 10:14, and in Luke 18:16, and John 13:33 he refers to his disciples as “little children”. In Matthew 11:19 it talks about the wisdom of children, Jesus called a child to him in Matthew 18:2, and in Matthew 18:3, I paused and re-read that a number of times. “Converted and become as little children” . . . to enter the Kingdom of Heaven. I linked these so please read them.

I continued on the video. Some time past Michael’s heart wrenching declaration to help and love people, I heard him try to explain to Bradley that he meant “not child-ISH, child-LIKE”. I got it. I got it and I was overwhelmed with what Michael just made me understand. I finally, after all these years, understood everything . . . Michael, yes, but also I understood myself and where I failed in my relationship with God. Come as children . . . without the adult baggage.

How do you dump everything the world has heaped on you and become as a child again?

At this moment, learning more about Michael was not just about defending him to some casual friend on my Facebook page. I was on the cusp of understanding. I was so in awe of what I had just learned, there was no way I could put Michael down. Yes, defending him was important . . . but this was so much bigger than that. I understood at that moment why Michael was here. Why I was here . . . what our purpose was.

It wasn't about the music at all. Music was what God gave this man to get him out in front of so many people. It was the message that was to be delivered once they were gathered, that was the purpose. And so began my journey of discovery.

I was also just starting to begin to understand the pattern of what they did to Michael, the strong resemblance to what was done to Christ, and why the viciousness of the rabid attacks on Michael Joseph Jackson.

Michael had just shown me what the true and untarnished meaning of the word "Love" was. He was leading us to it the whole time. His whole life was a testimony. And I was about to follow the road.

End of July 2009, The Awakening

End of July 2009 – The Awakening

Sometime after the Fourth of July holiday, I was reading over my new newsfeeds on my Facebook page. One of my longer term friends had posted an update on his page that caught my eye. It was a remark he made about Elvis and Michael Jackson. This is what started all this, my awakening if you will.

I read the post and read it again. What it said (and I did not copy this) this person had watched the t.v. special “The Two Kings” and he was enraged that they were comparing Elvis to Michael Jackson.

He went on to say that he thought there was NO COMPARISON (yes, he used all caps) between Elvis and Michael Jackson, that Michael Jackson was a (painful to write) “freak of nature” and a “Pedophile”.

I stared at this comment and could not believe he had posted that. The anger was a growing, festering entity within me. First, I was shocked that someone like this person could blindly call someone names like this after vilifying the press and their lack of integrity over political issues. The second thing that really enraged me was that this guy is a REVEREND! Yes, a man of the cloth.

Before I thought better of it, I pounced to reply to his comment, “What are you doing? You don’t know this man? You’re going to believe everything the press has to say NOW? Why? You know he was found innocent! You’re supposed to be a man of GOD! Would Jesus treat him like that?”

He replied back of course, with similar arguments using O.J. Simpson as an example of someone who was found “innocent”. By the time I had received that reply in my email notification, 20 other people had also jumped on this thread to comment. MOST of them were in support of Michael, but some were not.

I did not want to get into this, but I was in. I realized that I didn’t know Michael Jackson either, and If I was going to defend him, I needed to do it from a position of fact . . . not emotion based on my own childhood experiences. So I went to work in Google. I searched for everything Michael. Most of what it pulled up was news reports surrounding his death and YouTube videos of his earlier songs. That wasn’t what I was looking for.

I thought for a minute. I wanted to see Michael communicating on something other than a stage. I had never really seen that before.

I typed, “Michael Jackson Interviews” into the search bar. Paydirt! There were tons of interviews on record. Some of them were duplicates from people copying other people’s videos, but I soon began watching. The first one I ever pulled up was the Oprah Interview in 1993. I had never seen it before.

I watched it and learned many things about rumors I didn’t even know existed before. People thought he was trying to turn white? People thought he wanted to buy the Elephant Man bones? People thought he slept in an air chamber? People thought he proposed marriage to Elizabeth Taylor? Really? I never read tabloid papers before. I had just seen them on the checkout stands at the grocery store. I never picked one up because the stories were usually stupid. If I want fiction I invest in Stephen King.

So I learned a few things . . . “Freak of nature”. Okay, buddy! (I thought to myself). View this you little Pharisee!

I posted the YouTube link to that video in that thread. The beagles pounced on the fox. Mr. Reverend was now on the defensive. Good.

Thinking twice, I bookmarked the video on my own computer under a new folder “Michael Jackson Interviews”. Then I continued searching. I was looking for videos of him talking about the court cases.

This went on for eight hours. I would find videos, view them, book mark them and post them to that offending post of Mr. Reverend’s.

While watching these videos, I paid attention to Michael’s eyes, his face and his voice. Talking he was so much more different than when on stage. Meek. Humble. Shy. This was the crotch-grabbing, gyrating, moonwalking-jump-on-his-toes electric performer that sold over 750 million albums world wide?

I was mesmerized. I found more interviews . . . Diane Sawyer, Geraldo, Ed Bradley, Barbara Walters, the fated Bashir docu-lie and the Entertainment Tonight follow up that I didn’t even know existed.

I watched them and tried to book mark them in order of date. By the time I had gotten to Ed Bradley’s interview with Michael I was in tears. What in the world did they do to this man? Why?

After completing the 60 Minutes Interview with Ed Bradley (took place in 2005, after the second accusation), I just put my head down on the desk and cried. The same type of tears I cry when the news runs a special report on the rescue of some severely abused or neglected animal. I felt absolutely filthy inside.

I was beyond angry. I began writing down on paper what I wanted to look for: Interviews, depositions, appearances, fans, speeches, awards, etc . . . everything I wanted to search for.

I wanted to know Michael Jackson. I wanted to know why he was such a target.

I wanted to know what compelled people to do this to ANY human being, let alone him.

I wanted to know why someone who professed God so much in just about every interview, could not seem to find any peace . . . or the love he was looking for.

I wanted to know Michael’s pain. I don’t know why, but I did. I felt if I got to know his pain, I would know him and what drew people to hurting him.

Friday, January 22, 2010

Week of July 4th. Michael's third week gone

July 4th week

My brother arrived just in time to enjoy the week of the Independence Day holiday. His daughter is ten years old . . . that fun age. We had planned trips to D.C., the Baltimore National Aquarium, the Dolphin show, and hikes to KilGore Falls and King and Queen Seat. It was a wonderful week. We drove over the state line to Lancaster, Pennsylvania, so I could show my brother where we lived before he was born. It was a nice week.

One of the days we all went for a walk on the Ma and Pa Trail, which is within walking distance to our home. Me and my husband, my brother and his daughter, my two sons all walked the three miles.

I didn’t spend much time on Michael that week they were visiting. We did view online one evening, the released clips from the rehearsals for the London Concert. The early releases of these clips were of Michael dressed in a red shirt with a grey suit jacket and black pants, dancing to “They Don’t Care About Us.” I noticed his movements didn’t seem to support any of the media’s musings of a drug addiction. He sounded good, and he looked good, although a little thinner and older . . . but still the same Michael I remembered. I didn’t have time to really study these videos until later on.

It seemed almost unnatural to me, that this man, who had the energy of ten, would come to such a pass. I knew enough about him to know that he had children, and I could not picture him doing anything to put his children at risk. That was the thought that haunted me, as I walked the Ma and Pa Trail daily, after the holiday week.

I found myself thinking about him as I walked the trail. I’d catch people’s eyes in passing and found myself spending a little extra time making eye contact and smiling, saying hi. I felt so strange. I was looking for something in people’s eyes as I passed them on the trail. I hadn’t done that since I was a kid. What was I looking for?

The third week in July, I was getting brave enough to talk with Michael while walking the path . . . “What happened to you Michael? Why did you give up?” That kind of thing. I didn’t get any answers of course. I didn’t expect to. It was just going through my mind and I figured I’d give it to the man who knew.

Thursday, January 21, 2010

The Week after . . .

Between June 25th and the July 4th Holiday, I let Michael invade my thoughts. Curiously I was never really a Michael Jackson fan. I was more an admirer of his work and his contributions to music. He had taken the music video medium to places it had never been before. Nobody had outdone him. However, I did not follow his life. The closest I had ever gotten to having any interest in his personal life was during the 1993 trial.

This is what had invaded my thoughts during that week between June 25th and the 4th of July. The only time I ever remember having any interest in the sordid tales of any celebrity’s life was during Michael’s battle for his life. It bore a close resemblance to a struggle I went through as a child and it hit home . . . so I was glued to any news about it.

Going through my daily chores and cleaning up to get ready for holiday company, I remembered the broadcast Michael had televised to counter the mis-information the tabloids were putting out about his alleged guilt. I remembered how painful it was, watching him. I heard the panic in his voice as he described what they had already put him through. I remember focusing on his eyes while he was pleading with those beyond the camera lens . . . an old childhood habit of mine. When everything and everyone else lied, eyes told the truth. Reading people was a learned skill. As a child it was my defense siren. What I remembered seeing in Michael’s eyes was the anguish I felt as a child, buried years before.

I remember thinking throughout the week, why? Why him? What did that man ever do to deserve what he got? There was this anger building in me I couldn’t explain.

After that trial back in 1993, I remember being elated that he was found what I knew to be true . . . NOT GUILTY. However, in their zeal condemn this man, they went after a criminal trial. When I heard that he caved and paid out their demands in a multi-million dollar settlement (undisclosed sum at the time), I thought I was probably one of the few people who understood that. I knew the emotional toil, the torment and the torture of the ever-revolving hell this was going to turn into. If I had that kind of money when I was a child, I would have paid ANYTHING to not have to go through it . . . ANYTHING.

When I saw what the press, the media and the talking heads were going to turn that into, I turned away. Much like covering your eyes or your ears to avoid seeing something violent you can’t bear to watch, I turned away from Michael Jackson. I couldn’t continue. He would be okay without me watching.

From that point on, I avoided even so much as glancing at tabloids in the checkout line. I stopped watching entertainment and gossip type shows on T.V.

As many of these old thoughts flashed through my head, I welcomed the escape of my brother and my little niece visiting for the 4th of July.

June 25, 2009 . . . When Michael Died

On June 25, 2009 I know exactly where I was and what I was doing when it was announced the Michael Jackson had died. I was in my car, driving back from Hunt Valley on my way home. Early in my return trip home, I heard on the car radio that Michael had been rushed to Ronald Reagan UCLA Medical Center. I didn’t even know he was back in the United States. The last I had heard was that Michael Jackson was in the Middle East somewhere. Then London? I didn’t know. My first thought was that he had fallen, the press was making a big deal about it and he would be back home.

Twenty minutes later I am closer to home, driving on Hess Road. An announcement by a respectfully solemn news caster announced that Michael Jackson was pronounced dead at 2:26pm.

I felt like someone had punched a hole through my chest and ripped the air out of my lungs. If there was anywhere to pull over on that little back road, I would have. The grip on my airway took me by surprise. I didn’t know this man, and I didn’t know why I felt this way. But I put that feeling away until later. “I could not believe it” was my last thought. I felt like a gear inside me somewhere was slipping.

Later that evening, as I was making dinner for my husband Ed, we talked a bit about Michael. I was surprised that Michael was 50 years old. I asked my husband, “Did you like him?” His reply, “Yeah, I liked him. I never believed all that stuff about him.” Funny, I thought at that moment that I loved my husband just a little bit more. I was comforted by the fact that Ed also believed Michael was innocent of those charges.

Later that evening around midnight, I was still up. I was pulling up videos on YouTube of Michael’s “Thiller”. I pulled up all the ones I could remember watching on MTV back in the 80’s while I was rocking babies back to sleep at 3am. I found “Billie Jean”, “Don’t Stop Til You Get Enough”, “Beat It”, “Bad”, “The Way You Make Me Feel”. I just wanted to see what I had missed over the last twenty years. I remembered the excitement when MTV broadcast “Thriller” on Halloween and I saw it for the first time in 1985. I remembered in 1983, before I was married and I was watching my 12 year old brother Mike and his friends trying to do the Moonwalk in our driveway before I even knew what a “Moonwalk” was. I remembered yelling at them because I thought they had gum on the bottom of their shoe that they were trying to rub off. I remember all three of his friends turning and yelling in unison, when I asked them what a Moonwalk was . . . “MICHAEL JACKSON!”

I picked up the phone and called my brother. I asked him if he heard the news. He replied with a joke that any other time, I probably would have laughed . . . just because he’s my brother. But I wasn’t amused this time. “Mike, that’s not funny” I replied.

We talked for the next 20 minutes about his daughter. I asked if he was still planning on coming down on the 4th of July. He said he was and finalized those plans. I got off the phone.

Before I went to bed, I watched one more Michael Jackson video . . . “Black or White” was one of my favorites. I liked the message. I was still kind of detached from his death, but I still couldn’t believe it. That gear inside me was still slipping. What was off? I couldn’t think. I went to bed.

Wednesday, January 13, 2010

My First Post

I am just getting this started so please bear with me. I have MONTHS of notes to get in here. I also have a web site at which will be more interactive for those wanting to contribute to this investigation.

I am not a lawyer. I am not a police officer or detective. I have not been formerly trained in any forensic discipline. I just want you to know this before you decide to subscribe. I am a researcher.

As a previous online marketing consultant, one of my tasks was to research other companies for possible partnerships. I was the key person in uncovering ethics and contract violations in many companies and joint ventures.

The purpose of this blog is mainly to vent. Because what happened to Michael Jackson was not an accident. I don't want to ever see it happen to anyone else. All of my notes over the last six months will be posted on here, along with sources from my research. Once I catch up getting that all on here, the investigation will proceed.

Remember, if we let them get away with this with someone as prominent as Michael Jackson . . . they will do it to anyone. The next could be you or me. Let's keep others from getting hurt. The lies must be exposed.

The conspirators must be uncovered and brought to justice.

Stay tuned.