Fuck You, I'm a Robot

I wouldn't say exactly that I conjured up the ghost, but damn me if I ain't had some sort of weird ESP-type moments, not only re Elvis, but also the whole aura of magic sonic power that surrounded Sun Records. Dig: I'm a friggin' atheist, have been since I was twelve, but I find it no surprise that into that mysterious void of the human spirit came Elvis, Led Zeppelin, and from there onward, and onward, not long after I made the break with religious foolery. And I half expected that something peculiar and synchronistic would occur when I went to Memphis two years ago, and sure enough, when I was at Sun that afternoon, and I'd missed the final tour of the day by just ten minutes, and I was bowing on the sidewalk before the building (okay, it was partly for a funny photo, but it was also something I felt in my heart that I had to do), Sam Phillips's son Jerry just happened to be walking by, and . . . and meeting him was like meeting the son of God. (Not to be confused with Jesus O'Nazareth, who did some cute magic tricks back in the day but apart from that was nothing more than the first reform, small r, rabbi.)