I dove in. Without a parachute or wings. Head first. Into the Earth’s endless cavern, its rocky cliffs obscured in the blinding dark. I blew at the air with my body. Plummeting ever downward. I’ve never jumped out of a plane, but it must feel something like this. At least I can’t see the ground. Yet.
I’m told the falling isn’t the hard part, it’s the landing. And, so far, that’s true. It’s quite fun, actually. I’m getting the hang of spiraling. Corkscrewing around. I thought I could steer myself toward the hole’s edge, but it’s just more hole. And I keep falling. To pass the time, I’ve started to sing. I leave my voice behind me. No echoes, as far as I can tell. Who made me jump? Well, I guess nobody; I have no one else to blame but myself, really. Was it a good decision? Time will tell. It’s warm here, so I took off all my clothes. That was a bad decision – I should have at least kept my underwear. I had vertigo, up there. Before I jumped. But jumping cured it. So that’s one problem solved. But there are other problems that remain – landing, for instance. Still haven’t figured that one out. Gravity just keeps bringing me down. Except for you, I’m all alone.
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To read the rest of this review — and more by Steve Schmolaris — visit his website Bad Gardening Advice.
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Steve Schmolaris is the founder of the Schmolaris Prize, “the most prestigious prize in all of Manitoba,” which he first awarded in 1977. Each year, he awards the prize to the best album of the year. He does not have a profession but, having come from money (his father, “the Millionaire of East Schmelkirk,” left him his fortune when he died in 1977), Steve is a patron of the arts. Inspired by the exquisite detail of a holotype, the collective intelligence of slime mold, the natural world and the suffering inherent within it — and also music (fuck, he loves music!) — Steve has long been writing reviews of Winnipeg artists’ songs and albums at his website Bad Gardening Advice, leading to the publication of a book of the same name.
