"I wouldn’t call any art bad, though there’s a lot of it I don’t get. I like Realism…
though I can admire a good house painting job."

-Elvis Presley

My friend Eric called me to invite me to his wedding in Nashville, Tennessee.

My first Question: "How far a drive is it to Graceland?"

My second: "What’s your fiancée’s name?"

Eric understood my priorities. Like Fox Mulder, I pursue my own private "X-Files" of absurdity.

The X-files investigates paranormal activity in search for proof of Alien existence…I watch late-night infomercials in a quest to understand the mindset of the average Abdominizer consumer.
Perhaps we pursue the same thing?

In the Tennessee airport, I was overcome by the feeling, "Toto, we’re not, not in Kansas anymore."

And I guess I should get it all out right now. Tennessee is hot and wet. A row of beaded sweat lines everyone’s brow…Everyone’s face is flushed. All day long people look like they just finished masturbating.

I have no overt aversion to sweating. It's just that I prefer certain designated "sweating" and "non-sweating" activities. For example, exercising, sexual activity and dancing are all sweating activities. In Tennessee, reading a map in the shade is considered a "sweating" activity.

I told my host straight-up, "I’m probably not going to come back (to Tennessee) until you guys fix this humidity problem."

After the wedding I made the 4 hour trek(each way ) to Memphis. I was so close. I could feel "The Call of The King" in my bones.


Graceland is a lot like Disneyland:

There are lots of trailer-park refugees and Japanese culture-whores waddling through roped off lines.

But at the end of the wait, there’s nothing fun to do at Graceland…except maybe browse the souvenirs.

I found a beautiful Elvis collectible Spoon and a snazzy Elvis nightlight. I guess when you’re in a moment of Darkness, who better to light your path, but the King?

-The crowds of Patrons were your basic white-bread tourist-trap fodder. They looked like they certainly had an Abdominizer or two in their closet back home, but they lacked the fanaticism I was hoping to find.

The wall outside of Graceland is covered in scrawled messages of love and adoration. This is where I would find the loonies. It's one thing to buy a ticket and tour the Graceland Mansion. It's an entirely different thing to sit out in the Tennessee sun and write "I can’t cry enough for you since you left. Come back to us!" on the wall of a dead guy’s house.

I caught one woman writing in nail polish on the wall. I approached her, but like so many quasi-believers, she was writing only her name. I was discouraged, but hidden between the fabric of "Gary was here" graffiti are messages from the true Chosen people.


"I’ll see you in Heaven, Elvis."

By the way, I got lost and missed Eric’s wedding. I was pretty upset that I had traveled all that way…until something put it all in perspective for me: More people watched Elvis’ "Aloha from Hawaii" television special than Man’s first walk on the Moon…

"I’ll see you in Heaven, Elvis."

viva las kitch
animation by SPEECHLESS

Prehensile Tales saw Elvis at the Million Man March

Copyright © 1997 Prehensile Tales.

d e s i g n by h a l c y o n