SO FUCKING WHAT, PEOPLE. As I've said before, his music is not that good, his life choices were questionable, and his knack for inter-generational sleepovers was all but damning.
For Christ's sake, where was Rev. Al Sharpton when Norman Mailer died?
Did people in Denmark amass in the street to take pictures of the ticker announcing the death of William S. Burroughs?
Did people silkscreen pillows with images of Mother Theresa's face, and clutch them like a vestige to their beloved past?
It's really sad that we are more distraught by the deaths of the Heath Ledger's, Michael Jackson's, and Princess Diana's of the world than the deaths of it's writer's, artists, philosophers, and scientists; you know, the people who earned their fame through talent and perseverence?
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