Up the Belukha Mountain, within the Altai Mountains of Tibet, sits a large wooden door. The engravings on it are older than most languages and, somehow, it stands firm and beautiful within the mountain’s stone face. As it’s pushed open, it seems to breathe. Most people are both comforted and alarmed at its warmth considering the temperature and altitude. The world inside that door is not the same it is on the mountain. Grass grows fresh and long on the ground. Butterflies fly together in bundles and change colour at will. A large male elk calmly walks throughout the area as fireflies encircle and land on top of its antlers. Yet, despite all these wondrous things, that’s not what catches most people’s attention. The large tree has various doors and windows within it that don’t seem to be carved or cut, but naturally grown. The tree expands throughout the landscape, growing inconceivably tall at certain points. Its roots jump and climb throughout the earth like a monstrous snake travelling through an ocean. A beautiful young woman, half composed of various flora and fauna, walks through one of the tree’s door. As she shuts it behind her, the tree locks itself by quickly growing a large wreath on the door’s front. The air here feels crisp and electric. The more it enters someone’s lungs the more blissfully stoned they become. And, just off to the right, there’s a small cabin. It’s half-earthed with a lovely little garden out front. The chimney up top plumes clouds of smoke smelling of chocolate and good sex. From inside someone says, “My word, you finally found me. I knew you would, motherfucking audiophiliac, I knew that someday you would come find me.” There’s the sound of shuffling feet from inside. “Here I was just listening to some dope ass shit and yes, you’re right, it’s time for me to leave this fair hut and share it. Also,” the voice continues, “Have you checked out this fucking crib? Look at this shit. Sweet chocolate-Jesus-loving-tom-waits-fucking-Christ, did you know just living in here gets you high as a motherfucker? I barely know where I am. You’re the pizza-guy, right? Wait, can we even eat pizza here? Honestly, I’m asking. Good lord, there’s a monkey fucking a bat outside. Well, maybe there is, I’m not even sure what’s real or a hallucination anymore considering I’ve been stuck in here since … hold up, did Margaret Thatcher really resign as Prime Minister? Also, fucking a bat is a perfect way to start a pandemic, just saying. Goddamn hippies with all their free-fucking-love. It’s like Tolkien on acid up in this bitch. Also, am I really living in a tree god? Am I its food or or is this some sort of arboreal sex thing. I’ve got to get the fuck outta here.”
For real? Is this where I was? Fucking maybe. It could also be that a while ago some idiot was convinced to write about an album a day and shit just went from there. It could also be that this moron got fucking tired one day after two years and with *gestures vaguely everywhere* and needed a break. Who knows? And then maybe some real fucking shit happened in this jackass’s life. Shit, who can fucking tell. It might even be that this stupid bitch finally got convinced to get back to writing some shit cause of dope-ass people like you kept asking and being persistent as all hell. Who knows. But one thing is for certain, The Brightly Off-Coloured Discophile is gonna be writing some shit again, motherfucker. Not everyday cause that shit was draining as all fuck (even though it helped keep that slick bitch on track and loved every minute of it back in the day). But that doesn’t mean that this pure pimp of a creature can’t write out some shit once a week. Like, damn. Get off your ass, ya sleazy fuck. We’ve got music to talk about!
Most importantly thanks: gorgeous brutes, people of wisdom and class, royalty of sonic, kings and queens of racket/noise/and bangs, for keeping up with this shit and giving half a fuck about some motherfucker you barely know. If anything proves that this world has got what it takes to survive, it’s shit like that. So go enjoy a nice wank and give yourself a pat on the back, on me, you fucking deserve it.
And also, thanks for listening and keep listening. There’s more to come.
One thought on “All right, Already! You convinced me! I’m back! Jeeeeez-as. AKA: The Origin of The Brightly Off-Coloured Discophile”
Yesss! It’s been a long absence but guess who’s back, back again, Brightly’s back, I’m gonna tell a friend. Welcome back, in whatever Way Shape Or Form™️ works for you!