Me and Michael Jackson

This is most peculiar. Early this morning, I had a dream. The dream was situated in a room upstairs in my parents’ house – except of course it looked a bit different and it was like looking at it from the house on the other side of the street, because nothing in a dream is ever quite like you’d expect it to be.

For some strange reason, I was married to Michael Jackson.

Yeah. Tell me about it.

And kissing him, I remember being repulsed by his, err, less than natural look. Which is strange when you’ve obviously married the guy – being creeped out by their looks is not really something you’d be when you’ve willingly attached yourself to them. And it wasn’t for money or anything like that either, it was for love. Which is even weirder – I’ve never been a Michael Jackson fan. Some songs are okay, sure, but I couldn’t really care less, you know? (Although when he died, I did find it ironic how quickly the media went from “he’s a f***ing weirdo and a paedophile!” to “OH NOES WE’VE LOST A GREAT MUSICAL GENIUS!!”)

But there we were, in a room in a terraced house, having a heartfelt conversation and all. And kissing, I might add, but I don’t remember much about it more than the embrace, holding his back. It was a nice back. He seemed in good shape (probably younger than he actually was when he died in 2009) – although the back was neither white nor black, more of an inbetween colour. Like a tanned person. He had a white shirt.

Then there was something about me being about to comb the hair of his son, whom he was disappointed in for some reason. Don’t remember why, just that he seemed … remorseful. Perhaps not disappointed in the child, but in himself, and how he had been taking care of him or something like that? But you know what? The child in question looked NOTHING like his actual kids. I juts googled them, they look nothing like the boy in the dream, because that boy looked like this:

Yup, this is Michael Jackson back in the day.

So could it in fact have been that he was referring to himself, and being disappointed with his younger self and how his life back then turned him into the person he would later become – for better or for worse? Which in turn raises a lot of questions.

There was also something about his dad being Bill Cosby. Could be because the Squeeze and I had been talking about Bill Cosby in relation to something recently, so that’s why he snuck in there. If it’s relevant, Cosby kind of barged into the room and interrupted our chat. Bastard.

The weirdest part of all of this, I only found out later in the day, which I swear I had absolutely NO IDEA about when I had the actual dream: today would’ve been Michael Jackson’s 53rd birthday. And to me, that number is significant in itself. But it’s weird to have a dream about him on his birthday, when I really don’t know – or care – enough about him to know when his birthday is.

Well, well.

Fascinating dream.

Wouldn’t begin to claim that gosh, the spirit of Michael Jackson paid me a visit, because why the hell would he pick ME, of all people? If my late grandparents show up in my dreams just to say hello and to tell me things are okay their end, fair enough, they’re my grandparents and there’s an obvious connection. But Jackson? WTH? I find that highly unlikely and only marginally more plausible than Derek Acorah communicating with his spirit live on TV – which was the tackiest event ever, by the way.

“Why does Jacko sound like a Liverpudlian now?”

We didn’t watch it because, well, we don’t like Derek Acorah and we’re not interested in Michael Jackson either, but mainly because it crossed the line of common bloody decency. Acorah prancing around on Most Haunted talking bollocks isn’t hurting anyone – Jackson still has a family now living. If it was my dad, I wouldn’t want him contacted live on TV just for other people’s entertainment, put it that way.

So no. It would’ve been extremely interesting to have been contacted by Jacko’s spirit (kissing him … well, could do with less of that next time, perhaps?), but I severely doubt that’s what happened. Just the mind playing tricks, like it normally does in a dream. A coincidence … which in turn is interesting in itself, seeing as how that’s what the book I’m reading at the moment is about.

Anyway, I digress.

Happy birthday, Jacko. Wherever your spirit roams. Hope you have a good ‘un.

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