If the passing of the King of Pop does nothing else (apart from divide opinion, remind us to be very careful about choosing our friends, and fuel newspaper and magazine sales, and all that stuff), then surely it gives us pause to address our own mortality?
It is, after all, a somewhat
sobering tactic, especially when you're in full-on mode, to ask yourself just what your epitaph (or obituary, if you're likely to warrant that level of attention) is likely to say?
Myself, I find
encouragement in that if a guy in the state he was in (physically, "spiritually" and mentally) could still get up there on the set, dance around and belt out (albeit by way of the "lip-syncer", or whatever) twelve songs ... then what excuse do I have not to
soldier on in my own modest fashion, with just a few age-related "deficiencies", aches and pains?
"Keep On With The Force Don’t Stop" (?)
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