Elvis has been dead for 35 years and I have been alive for 35 years, born and bred on the King. Elvis lives, abundantly, he tops the 'dead rich' list, he hangs out with Diana, but he's trash, he's Chinese, he's black, he's female. Elvis is everyday.
This is my fourth year of living Elvisly. I starting in Bundoran, Donegal in 2009. Join me - lonesome cowboys, long-legged girls, on the mystery train, on the gravel road - on another year of the exploration of Elvisness...
Thursday, 8 July 2010
Follow that dream: Elvis invades the blogosphere's combined subconscious
Me and Sleep Talkin' Man face the facts....
This week, I woke up and mumbled that I'd dreamt that Elvis was dead. Then I fell asleep again. I don't remember the dream and my mumbling apparently wasn't very explanatory. I wouldn't have thought about it again had it not been for Sleep Talkin' Man. Yes, it seems that for Sleep Talkin' Man and I, the Sandman has been sprinkling a little bit of Dead Elvis into our dreams. Fortunately for Sleep Talkin' Man (an English man in the US) his wife, the wonderful Karen, records what he says during his sleep, and shares it with the rest of the world. STM (or Adam to his wife) seems to be taken over in sleep by either a foul-mouthed sociopathic narcissist, or his exaggerated anxieties. Makes great office reading if your colleagues don't mind hysteria. On July 7th, Adam mumbled,
"Elvis is dead. He is dead, I tell you! Buried and oh just a little bit smelly. Bad burger muncher."