Heavy Visions have hit their breaking point. At first it was barely noticeable: ennui, a bit of malaise, the feeling of always waiting for something to happen; nothing that a ride down Brock Street on his Honda Trail 90 couldn’t fix. But then those things – little things, small things, miniscule things – started to add up. Sleep escaped him. His sclera reddened. His temperature climbed. But it was when his mouth started to bleed that he finally sought help.
So he went to the tooth doctor, who questioned him about his flossing habits.
But that’s just it, said Heavy Visions, I’ve been doing everything you’ve told me to do. I floss after every meal.
Well that narrows it down then, replied the tooth doctor, it’s either a blood-borne parasite, possibly from rodents, which would explain the constant bleeding and fever, or it’s… well, first, let me ask you this: have you ever been to Rainbow Trout Music Festival?
Yes! Yes, I have. Why?
It’s as I thought then. I’m afraid you’ve got luciferitis.
What’s that?
You’re turning into a devil. A daemon.
And I got that from Rainbow Trout Music Festival?
Undoubtedly. I’ve seen it before. It begins slow.
Yes! Yes! That’s how it started. Slow.
You see? You’re turning into a daemon. Do you remember making a pact with anyone? Possibly someone named Shirley Hamelin? Although she goes by other names.
Not that I’m aware of.
Well, no matter. Open your mouth. Ah yes, interesting. You’re growing an extra set of teeth. Classic symptom of luciferitis.
Oh no!
Oh yes. Soon your human teeth will fall out completely, leaving only the daemon teeth behind. I should warn you that daemon teeth tend to come in crooked, so you may need to get braces. Luckily, I know a great orthodontist.
It can’t be stopped?
I’m afraid not. Once you start to turn into a daemon, it’s permanent. I’m not sure of the details – you can ask Dr. Samedi, the orthodontist, he’ll know – but I think it involves not having a soul.
I don’t have a soul?
Not if it’s luciferitis, no. I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news. I know this is a lot to take in.
But what should I do?
Well, I’d recommend getting braces.
No, I mean about turning into a daemon.
Nothing you can do. Yes, the diagnosis is not ideal, but that doesn’t mean your life is over. Think of it this way: your life as a daemon has only just begun.
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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.
