Amberson Shelley kept his head down, didn't

Amberson Shelley kept his head down, didn't say much (which was easy because he didn't have such a head for words as his notable ancestors) and just tried to get by in the world,

Amberson Shelley went to the silent wilderness where the soul need not repress its music lest it should not find an echo in another’s mind. Sitting in a small cave, a little bat

shat square on his musing mat. Kersplat. "Drat that bat" said Shelley and let fly with a volley of bullets "rat-a-tat-tat." But the little bat used echolocation

for his elocution about an electrician. The little bat had the soul of a beat poet. And because Shelley was using mescaline, she heard the Beat Bat's poem. Everything changed.

Shelley sought her revenge on Beat Bat, sure she was the bitch in his rap. She put super glue on both sides of his scratch records. They were stuck to the turn table & he was stuck

. Without his turntables, he lost his beat. He was just a bat again. Realizing the futility of it all, he resignedly flapped his wings and flew off into the night. Shelley changed

Into a poetaster compared to his rival. The post moden era was not kind to him His income went down 29 percent. His expenses including health insurancd rose 62 percent. He was a

physical and mental wreck and survived only on what liquid and vitamins absinthe provided. He lay in a puddle of waste, thinking he was writing great things, but really he was only

bleeding out because of the broken hemoral contusion he suffered last night when he was thrown free by the Fairies who still arrived late to their show. Fuck it, at least I lived!