Oh Wow. . that was real profound, almost like. . . wow!
Once upon a time, many many ears ago, there were three Audiophile monks who lived in a strict monastery of the Holy Audiophilic Order of Saint Aloysius of Appenzell (CH), on top of Bald Mountain where they were seeking Final Audio Nirvana. For many years our little monks had respected the sacred vow of silence. They would listen in rapturous awe to their little high end audio system built into each cell, but would not utter even the tiniest sound of their own.
They communicated amongst themselves only to share their individual state of audio ecstasy, only through their Internet chat scribblings, and occasional mildly suggestive hand/finger gestures.
One day, after lengthy Internet consults, our three heros decided to visit father Abbott and request a special year end dispensation. The good Abbott agreed. They had been in fact good audiophilic monks for so many decades, that a little voice chat would not hurt the Monastery's reputation.
On the next new year's day, the first little monk would be allowed to utter a single sentence of momentus importance. The second monk would follow suit on the 1st anniversary with an appropriate repost, followed eventually by the third little monk with a final summation on the second anniversary.
On New Year's day the three little monks assembled in front of the grand audio system in the Monastery's cathedral. The first little monk gathered his courage and proclaimed ecstatically: "SACDs are dead!"
The second little monk looked as if he had just swallowed a cryo-treated blown 1959 pinched waist White labled RCA tube of ill repute, but kept his silence with wounded dignity.
On the first anniversary, once again they gathered in front of the great altar to the Goddess of Audiophilia nervosa, and the second little monk, who had held it all in for a full year, spat in a virulent outburst of most unbrotherly wrath: : "Never. . . SACDs are alive. . . and well to boot!"
The third little monk looked morose, but remembered his place. Not a peep was heard from him 'til the following New Year's day, when bowing once more together in full humility in front of the mega-galactic system created and worshipped as a supreme Goddess of Audio Nirvana by all the little audiophilic monks of the monastery of Sain Aloysius, he shouted indignantly: "I do hate so these ungodly arguments about SACDs!"
And out they filed, the little monks, each of them having uttered his piece. . . .
And they have never been heard since. . . or even seen,. . . . or at least so the story goes.
Amen!
PS. Yet there have been persistent rumours . . . after so many years. . . that in the dead of new Year's Eve. . . muffled and discordant shouting can still be heard, emanating from under the darkened krypts of the cathedral of Bald Mountain. . .
Once upon a time, many many ears ago, there were three Audiophile monks who lived in a strict monastery of the Holy Audiophilic Order of Saint Aloysius of Appenzell (CH), on top of Bald Mountain where they were seeking Final Audio Nirvana. For many years our little monks had respected the sacred vow of silence. They would listen in rapturous awe to their little high end audio system built into each cell, but would not utter even the tiniest sound of their own.
They communicated amongst themselves only to share their individual state of audio ecstasy, only through their Internet chat scribblings, and occasional mildly suggestive hand/finger gestures.
One day, after lengthy Internet consults, our three heros decided to visit father Abbott and request a special year end dispensation. The good Abbott agreed. They had been in fact good audiophilic monks for so many decades, that a little voice chat would not hurt the Monastery's reputation.
On the next new year's day, the first little monk would be allowed to utter a single sentence of momentus importance. The second monk would follow suit on the 1st anniversary with an appropriate repost, followed eventually by the third little monk with a final summation on the second anniversary.
On New Year's day the three little monks assembled in front of the grand audio system in the Monastery's cathedral. The first little monk gathered his courage and proclaimed ecstatically: "SACDs are dead!"
The second little monk looked as if he had just swallowed a cryo-treated blown 1959 pinched waist White labled RCA tube of ill repute, but kept his silence with wounded dignity.
On the first anniversary, once again they gathered in front of the great altar to the Goddess of Audiophilia nervosa, and the second little monk, who had held it all in for a full year, spat in a virulent outburst of most unbrotherly wrath: : "Never. . . SACDs are alive. . . and well to boot!"
The third little monk looked morose, but remembered his place. Not a peep was heard from him 'til the following New Year's day, when bowing once more together in full humility in front of the mega-galactic system created and worshipped as a supreme Goddess of Audio Nirvana by all the little audiophilic monks of the monastery of Sain Aloysius, he shouted indignantly: "I do hate so these ungodly arguments about SACDs!"
And out they filed, the little monks, each of them having uttered his piece. . . .
And they have never been heard since. . . or even seen,. . . . or at least so the story goes.
Amen!
PS. Yet there have been persistent rumours . . . after so many years. . . that in the dead of new Year's Eve. . . muffled and discordant shouting can still be heard, emanating from under the darkened krypts of the cathedral of Bald Mountain. . .