Silas was calling Joe Biden, and everybody that worked for him, a monster. He really rambled on memorial day, which was today—spouting paranoid jargon about rapists and killers from other countries getting into our country and raping and killing us—as if the white man weren’t doing that, too. I’d like to reenforce the fact that poverty—and people that need help but don’t get it, are the fundamental cause behind any crime by anybody regardless of what they looked like. Silas himself once said that he wanted to know why people from Norway weren’t immigrating to the US—he hadn’t pegged them rapists and killers. Let’s face it; Silas didn’t want to give anybody a helping hand because they’d become the competition—Silas wanted the good old boys to stick together. It was going to be interesting to see how Silas’s term played out because he was deteriorating at a rate that made it at least seem like he was going to break down. Nobody can live under the auspices of complete and total paranoia—not even the president of the US—unfortunately, that doesn’t stop people from trying.
After that long break I had, where, for unbeknownst reasons, Elvis had been inaccessible, we started to see each other more often. We were seeing each other so often, however, that we needed to stop eating all those peanut butter and jelly and bacon sandwiches. Sexual health is important, and I wasn’t going to treat myself like it wasn’t. When you have sex with someone it’s like checking your email—you need to do it to maintain relationships and make sure everybody is going in the same direction. Sex, in part, was how you went in same direction—you were improving and tuning your muscle memory, where you could store information for a few days until you were ready to read through it, sort it, and be pleased with yourself.
I couldn’t help but wonder if Elvis was interested in sex. I was into Elvis, but I wasn’t into the equipment, or at least I didn’t think I was—I say that because I didn’t get aroused by it—plain and simple. That, of course, only confirmed what I’d know about myself for the last twenty years—I didn’t like men, not even Elvis. In some ways I think I wanted to be Elvis, but that opened up a can of worms in its own right—did that mean, for example, that I was really a man? Was I transgender? I wasn’t, of course, because, again, I didn’t get turned on by it. The only thing that turned me on was Mary Lou; I don’t know why I tried to make everything so complicated, but I knew it had something to do with Elvis. I wanted him to look after me—I guess as if he were my father—I wanted him to look after me in the same way he looked after his fourteen year old wife, minus all the touching. Elvis just made me feel safe. That was what everything boiled down to—if we were looking, that is, to keep things simple.
This last time I had in the company of Elvis he had three black women singers with him—they were the same ones that were banned from playing with Elvis and Elvis, as the story goes, said that he wouldn’t perform if they didn’t. I don’t know their names, and i don’t know how it’s possible that they shifted, too. I considered the possibility that they took up a huge amount of energy in the space time continuum, and that might’ve been why I hadn’t seen Elvis for a while. He had been saving up to make this shift possible. But that didn’t make total sense because I’d seen him several times without knowing anything about these vocalists. I figured, then, that he’d saved up anyhow, and he’d just kept that money in the bank until the time was right to let these vocalists come with him.
I don’t know the names of these women, and I must admit I wondered if Elvis had slept with one or all of them—I didn’t think he had at first, but the more time went on it seemed like he had. So Elvis wasn’t necessarily as special as I thought—even he was prone to temptation. But who am I to judge? I don’t know what kind of home life Elvis had going with his little wife. I don’t know what their marriage was like—and I didn’t know these backup singers. When one of them spoke—backup singer number 1, I was astounded by the sound of her voice. It sounded like she had just broken the speed of sound—her voice made me think she was an alien. But it wasn’t that different from any other voice—it was just as if it were composed of photons that had come from a sun that didn’t have anything to do with our solar system.