You Always Knew I was Batty

Bats supposedly don't get arthritis and rarely get cancer.  For a mammal their size, they live a remarkably long time.  We all should all be more like them.  Not the sucking blood business, but at least the sleeping upside down bit.  Bats were yogis long before yogi had Booboo and India was invaded by the English.  Or was that the Persians.  Or the Chaka Khans.   Never forget the military prowess of the Chaka Khans.  Kubla Khan had nothing on Chaka.  Chaka will rock the shit out of your country.

Vampires are supposed to be bats, right?  So how come Vampires always slept in coffins and never upside down?  Typical Hollywood B.S.  Bats avoid arthritis because they sleep upside down.  Kinda hard to get an inflammatory disease with all those inverted poses.  It then logically follows that even thought Vampires live a long time (they are bats after all.),  if they don't sleep upside down, they must still get arthritis.  That must explain the gnarled hands of Nosferatu.  At least Hollywood got that part right.

Bats have started their own record label, you know.  An independent label.  They wanted to send their sonar sounds out in the sonosphere.  They wanted to expose the rest of us to their reality.  A reality with a small "r."  Their first song was a spiritual allegory of postwar life in Britain.  And Genghis Khan.   It was kinda difficult to follow.   I thought maybe you could hang with it more if you were upside down.  Just saying.  I wrote them a screen play once hoping to give their little allegory some structure.  But it was a non starter.

So I went to New York and started to produce some records there.  I had some initial success.   Did I ever tell this story to you?   There was alot of drugs, a lot of action.  I knew I had some great music, but I was frustrated about never having the craft and skill to really deliver it.  Maybe my mystical ideas were too mystical.  Maybe it was when the drummer ODed that brought my little project down. Maybe it was the fateful visit that wine merchant.  I remember only purchasing three bottles of wine. The receipts say otherwise.  It hurts me to talk about it anymore.

But the bats were never good at the psychology.  The deeply felt resentment that eats and eats and eats away.  They became slightly paranoid.  A type of mental illness.  Not quite in touch of reality per se.  Its up to us to bring them back.  We had to spend the money to get them out of prison.  The day after the funeral, we came here and walked into this ballroom.  And we did this melancholy sort of walz.  But we didn't want to continue anymore.  Not without the bats anyway.