“Elvis: Born to Be Seen”

— The Sacred Performer

They said Elvis is dead.

They were wrong.

I have been alive this entire time, which anyone with eyes could confirm by looking directly at me on Denise’s wall where I am, as you can see, spectacularly present and extremely well dressed.

The jumpsuit was my idea. 

The belt buckle was absolutely essential. 

The hair — and I cannot stress this enough — has never once moved in any weather condition known to science, which I consider both a personal achievement and a spiritual gift to humanity.

The hips, however, are always moving. 

This is non-negotiable and also physiologically unavoidable. 

Lizards are built for it. 

I simply perfected it.

People have theories about where I’ve been all this time. 

I don’t confirm or deny. 

Mystery is part of the performance. 

So is the entrance. 

So is the exit.  

So is the dramatic pause before the first note when the entire room holds its breath and nobody moves and the spotlight finds you like it was always going to find you because some creatures are simply made of light and the universe knows it.

A boy named Cory found me first. 

He looked at me the way audiences look at someone who was born for the stage — like he already knew. 

He gave me my name, my reputation, and my first standing ovation, which occurred in a South Texas backyard and was attended exclusively by him, but quality has always mattered more to me than quantity.

Cory understood something most people don’t.

Elvis doesn’t perform because he needs the attention.

Elvis performs because the room needs what only Elvis can give it.

I live on the wall now. 

White jumpsuit. Gold cross. 

Peace sign belt buckle catching the light just so. 

People walk in, stop, and feel something shift — something loosening in the chest, something that wants to smile before the brain has time to approve it.

That’s the performance.

It never stops.

And on Friday nights, when the house is quiet and Denise thinks everyone is accounted for —

I still get out.

The hips don’t lie.

Thank you. 

Thank you very much.