And the first time you saw Michael Jackson dance, you immediately pressed record and watched his feet in slow motion for days after on VHS. Crackling in muted color, your fresh-young mind develops the understanding of movement and timing opposed to glitz and glove. Body motion bending physics beyond the common black belt, smooth trans-body manipulations, and eyes feeling almost deceived. It’s as if his dancing is more magic than skill. Pacing the VHS at snail’s pace, yet bumping the reel back and back and looping and back, it just builds in mindset, and you discover there are a multitude of skills beyond what a normal routine human is capable of doing. Now, far from Michael Jackson, sitting there absorbed in culture and entertainment, you find that being can be begotten of the beholder. Yeah-yeah, duh! It’s like obviously MJ’s feet were beat-driven. It’s clear. It’s so clear and fucking diamonds and sparkling/searing zigzags. Yet, a bit spacier now and so flexible, you put on your ᏉᎥᏒᏆuᎪᏞ fᏞᎪᏁᏁᎬᏞ jumpsuit, and then We Flyin’.
More about: ᏉᎥᏒᏆuᎪᏞ fᏞᎪᏁᏁᎬᏞ
