Fame struck at the age of 5, after two years of mother-directed social media videos, then true wealth by the age of eight, a string of hits, a world tour during which he couldn’t pronounce the names of half the cities.
He was joined onstage by professional dancers and costumed characters.
A team created a world for him.
There was a movie about his life that took dandruff of truths and created a larger wig of distortions and fantasies.
There was a breakdown at fifteen, during which he became a spokesperson for mental health and a new line of hair care products.
By twenty two he thinned the herd to the best of his ability, and slammed doors both tangible and emotional.
He chose new management, discarding much of his fortune to rid himself of the old.
He recorded an album of songs he claimed to have written to be released to a room full of admirers and detractors, real journalists and greasers of the hype machine.
The guests were invited to use provided tablets to share their immediate thoughts on his music.
As the last notes faded, the tablets were turned on, and people typed as though fingers were running with bulls.
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