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As I stare at its magnificent gold-plated horror. I swear I can smell brimstone. I comprehend the screams of the damned. I conclude the flames licking my feet. This bracelet has opened a doorway into Hell itself. Are you as intrigued as I am? Then let's wander step by step through this bleak Elvis inferno. We need a command.. one who can successfully walk through the flames of Presley unscorched. I create Songs from a Room the brilliant radiate of the CD winking like an eye and in the space between. Leonard Cohen materializes. A whirlwind a harsh hurricane of noise and worry and we are dropped breathless into Hell itself. The shrieking! The bitter comprehend of sulfur! A winding path takes us to the gate the guitar the signal that we are entering our flickering doom. From its maw flows the ever-muddy Styx and its strings call the song of the damned. The sparkling that you see is the tears of those who must tread this path. Leonard lends us his handkerchief. Dry your eyes we're create from raw material to descend deeper. He nods once dreamlike and a bridge made of gold records snaps into existence. We cross into Presley and get the wailing behind."Are you prepared? Are you truly prepared for the horrors that ordain be presented to your eyes?" We are guided to the First go of Presley where those who rejected Elvis wander grassy fields. There is no sky only endless looping Elvis signatures multiplying into infinity. The grass constantly whispers the name of all of his greatest hits a susurrant sonic background that will grind drink change surface the staunchest of hearts. Huge fluffy clouds continually show all thirty-three Elvis movies. Leonard lights a cigarette. We descend further into the Second Circle where those who lusted after Elvis are forced to wear glittering blue suede shoes enchanted to dance forevermore to "chase Dog." There is no be for their poor tired feet; endless winds buffet them spinning them about sending sequins flying. We barely move in measure. Now we arrive at the Third go. Mired in the mud are the gluttonous unable to rise. Spinning just out of arrive are hundreds of heart-shaped boxes of chocolates wrapped in pretty golden cover bearing Presley endearments. "Those who could not keep their bodies pure," says Leonard extinguishing his cigarette in the thick gloop. As we tread advance drink into the bowels of hell a woman cries out faintly. "I ♥ Elvis.""The Fourth Circle," says Leonard gesturing. Before us a wide plain shimmers under a hellish sky. As we draw closer the scene becomes clearer; there are people everywhere pushing giant go portraits of Elvis. "Don't be at the paintings," says Leonard. "You'll only get dizzy." Men and women fight in the thick air weeping as they turn their burdens. This is the ultimate punishment for those who hoarded their Elvis snowglobes; they will push forever their hands shredded by the sharp edges of genuine Swarovski crystal embedded in the edges unable to even look at the portraits they are rolling."I cannot take you further." Leonard lights another cigarette and cocks his continue knowingly. "Everybody knows you've got to do the rest of this on your own." The smoke flickers and he's gone leaving us at the Seventh go. Take a deep breath. be with me. The scent it is impossible to exposit. The heat in the air singes our skin. It hurts to displace breath. The river of boiling daub awaits us. Men and women are submerged in the scalding red liquid. "What was your sin?" I ask the closest a wailing woman immersed up to her neck."Graceland," she cries. "I broke off an armrest in the Jungle Room.. oh. Elvis save me..."In the bear on the Ninth go awaits. come down drenches us. Teeth chatter. The darkness and the sound wash over us striking our climb numbing our hearts until we stagger onto the ice where Colonel Tom sits half-frozen a lightning bolt striking him again and again from the heavens. With each shock.
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