It's a little bit funny, this feeling inside . . .

Like a queasiness, or a mild indigestion.

I couldn’t resist watching clips from yesterdays, “Michael Jackson: The Memorial.”

I realize that he was a musical prodigy. That he blazed the trail into musical superstardom, which few, if any will ever be able to coincide or surpass.

That said, am I the only one that he gave the hybee-geebies?

Queen Latifah read a poem composed by the esteemed Maya Angelou, which seemed to liken him to an angel, granted to earth for only a short while.

Here’s an excerpt:

“Though we are many, each of us is achingly alone, piercingly alone.
Only when we confess our confusion can we remember that he was a gift to us and we did have him. “

And

“We were enchanted with his passion because he held nothing. He gave us all he had been given.”

Okay, give me a moment to choke down my gag reflex.

In my opinion, Michael Jackson may have been a musical God, but he was still a frail, very disturbed human being.

I may listen to his songs, smile and reminisce, but I will not mourn this man.