ICH, ELVIS UND DIE ANDEREN
OLD SUBURBAN ANGST
Elvis, Me and Everybody was published in
German translation by Ars Vivendi in 2000.
Below read an English excerpt from the book
taken from Kevin's site.  
A Message from Elvis from above
by Kevin Coyne.
This is me up here talking to all of you down there. I want you to
know I’m pretty happy. I want you to know I’m well fed. I want you to
know my mama, daddy, twin brother, Colonel Sanders and Poochie
the pooch who used to do his poo poo down by the squash court
are all doing O.K. Heaven´s mostly a fine, fine place to be. The hot
dogs really melt in the mouth.
Yesterday I met fat Al Capone for the first time. He wasn't violent
like all those movies about him. He held his umbrella over my head
when it started to rain, lit my cigar with a match from his own
personal box of matches. I was honoured. He said HE was
honoured, called `me the man with the golden tonsils`. I guess I
must have blushed. He held my right hand tightly for several
seconds, looked deep into my eyes, told me he´d never told a lie in
his life. I felt I had to believe him. Past reputations can´t be ignored
completely can they?
I've had my ups and downs since I first arrived here. It hasn't
always been as great as it is now. The sheer goodness of the Lord
was a bit of a shock in the beginning. I couldn't believe it when he
sent fresh roses to my bungalow my first day here. I thought it was
old Walt Whitman sent them and smacked him in the mouth for it. I
was awful sorry afterwards. Mama had always warned me about
weird looking old man wearing silk bows and bearing pink roses. I
suppose I took it to heart. I suppose I jumped to conclusions.
Weekends are a treat here. Famous people like Beethoven,
Handel and Fats Waller give concerts on the bandstand by the
river. I've been asked to perform a couple of times but have had to
decline. My singing voice hasn't been itself since I arrived. Mama
blames it on flying through the fog and clouds to get here. ´A boy
can catch one hell of a cold on the way to God´s Garden`, she said
after I sang her a few bars of ´Loving you` over breakfast the other
day. ´That voice need rest- lots and lots of it`.
I lose track of time. Where are the clocks round here? Mama
promised to tell me but she forgot. I've looked in every cupboard in
every room in this bungalow without success. I love to hear the
ticktock of a clock. Has God taken them all away, thrown them over
the tinkling waterfall at the silver river`s end? Do the fish chew at
their moving fingers now, erase their numerals with flashing,
swishing tails? I must make Mama tell me where they all are next
time she calls through my letter box. I`m living in the strangest of
strange places. Sometimes I think the nights are far too short.
What the hell happened to the moon? Where are those dancing
evening stars?
Colonel Sanders was crying in my back garden the other day,
sobbing pitifully about his lost fried chicken business. I tried to calm
him but daddy said it was a waste of time. ´He´s going crazy son`,
he muttered, blowing hard on his hot coffee. ´Last night he thought
he was a full grown chicken about to lay an egg, kept running to
the bathroom every ten minutes`. I`m glad I`m not wrinkled and
stupid. The girls still like the way I look. Natalie Wood called last
week. I`m due to take her out for dinner at the weekend.
I wish God came round to see me more often. I`m sick of short,
sharp phone calls wishing me well, impersonal little notes stuffed
under the doormat. More roses would be nice. A personal visit
every second week perhaps? It´s a pity I can´t receive my fan mail
up here. I used to love those sexy letters from lonely girls in
faraway places. Poochie the silly old pooch is good company
though. Daddy sends him round to poo in my garden most
mornings. It´s just like life on earth sometimes. Do I sound
ungrateful? I hope not. I moan and groan a little but I think God
understands.
He put the poetry in my soul to make me the singer I am. I`m as
grateful as hell. My twin brother Jessie is hung up on his lack of
musical ability. ´Oh I wish I could sing and play the guitar like you`,
is just about all he ever says. He gets me down. Thank God he
lives with our parents and can´t bother me all day.
Hero worship mixed up with jealousy is a very strong potion. I think
Mama should take him to see one of them psychiatrists. He needs
his head looking at. Why can´t Jessie be content with what he was
born to be? I've heard he has a real talent for flower cultivation.
Mama says he can nourish a tulip till it´s bigger than a football,
make it grow till it´s able to throw a big shadow over a small sized
bramble bush. Now isn't that something? The Lord must have put
magic in his fingers to do such a thing. If I had this kind of talent I´d
open up a flower shop by the gates of heaven immediately.
Newcomers are always asking for bunches to give to their loved
ones. It´s the obvious thing do when faced with a relation you
haven´t seen for years. It sweetens that momentous moment,
makes re-unification that little bit extra special.
I tried to write a song for mama and daddy last week. It came out all
wrong. Guess I was never too good at that kind of thing. I`m more
the interpreter than the writer. The Colonel always says I can make
a hit out of anything. It´s a pity I had to leave all my gold records
back in Memphis. I dream about them a hell of a lot. Don´t really
know why. I reckon we heavenly souls are sentimental at heart.
Daddy talks about pork and beans pretty well all day long. My
guess is he misses the taste. We´re all vegetarians now.
Well, not much more to say, not much more to report. I was always
the strong, silent type. ´A dollar a word man`, Mama always says.
Mama must know. She´s spent a stack of hours with me over the
years. Time slips by nicely here. Everything´s clean, tidy, and a
treat for the eye. I haven´t seen a rat or an overflowing garbage
can since I arrived. ´The Lord demands cleanliness`, is something
mama´s pushed into my brain from day one. Daddy´s undershorts
are still as white as driven snow. She knows what she´s talking
about. Tomorrow she´s taking her first examination in a process
that could lead to her becoming an angel on a higher plain. I think
she´ll make it. Her knowledge of spiritual things is a constant
wonder to us all. Daddy won´t make it though. He uses bad
language. The Lord would never allow a foul mouthed angel to fly
around people´s bedrooms.