DN: I feel that some people, a very small percentage of people, have an innate awareness that most others lack. A kind of sensitivity to the less physical aspects of the realms we inhabit. So to answer your question one could say that I have always been a demonologist.
MG: Neat. So what do you do exactly?
DN: You’re asking what my intellectual and spiritual pursuits entail? I seek the answers that cannot easily be seen, the outcomes of situations that a majority of us never knew existed. What are the reasons? What are these behaviours we can’t explain? There are outside forces working tirelessly all around us. The ether we walk through and consume each day.
MG: So demons, then.
DN: Excuse me?
MG: Demons are the outside forces?
DN: And inside forces. Ancient forces.
MG: Cool. Can you give me some examples?
DN: Why do some people find joy in ruin? Why do others strive madly to succeed only to paint their spheres with misery? Why do the good suffer? Why do some seemingly exist without pain or lessons?
MG: Is it demons?
DN: It has always been demons.
MG: So ancient demons are what make people act shitty?
DN: I suppose at the situation’s very root one could describe it that way, but things are far more complicated. Benevolence and malevolence intertwine, splitting and rejoining along predestined routes many of us will never discover. I chart these routes.
MG: Is that what those stones are for?
DN: These are not stones. These are amulets.
MG: They look like stones and beach glass. What makes them amulets?
DN: I don’t think you fully understand the..
MG: Is it the pewter? If I put a pewter casing on a stone it becomes an amulet?
DN: Amulets are not mere objects that one can craft in one’s home. Amulets carry much significance. You would do well to learn more about them.
MG: So where did you buy yours?
DN: I did not buy my amulets. You cannot go to a store and buy amulets. My amulets have been handed down to me by trusted figures in my field. An amulet is meant to guide. To inform. To connect you with things you wouldn’t normally be connected to.
MG: Oh. So it’s like a mystical smartphone made out of a rock.
DN: I’m quite aware of your tone, I am not a fool. Can we please continue in a less derisive manner.
MG: Sure, dog. What’s the best demon you’ve ever seen? What did he look like? Or she?
DN: You’ve fallen into the lazy trappings of popular culture. A demon is not some monster from a crude film. Demons influence and sway the course of mankind. They do not sneak into you room hissing and drooling. They exist, and have always existed, in a realm superimposed on our own. They can bridge the plane and manipulate. We cannot.
MG: Okay, never mind. I thought we were going to talk about actual demons. When I saw your ad I thought that..
DN: Make no mistake, demons are very real. Subtleties exist. Do not mock powerful and commanding forces simply because you cannot see them.
MG: I think you’re confusing demons with crappy decisions.
DN: You, my boy, are riddled with pestiferous demons. May they twist your soul. I shall take my leave.
MG: Cool. Have fun talking to your powerless stones.
DN: My amulets have seen more than a stunted mind like yours could even begin to comprehend.
CS: You always get breakfast. You’ve never tried anything here that isn’t breakfast.
MG: The breakfast here is perfect. Why wander?
CS: Because the club sandwich is fucking delicious is why. Stop being a food coward.
MG: I think bailing on a breakfast that I know will be perfect every time is far more cowardly than ordering that limp looking clubhouse. I mean, the burgers smell good, and look good, but I have other places to get burgers that don’t involve me missing out on this breakfast.
CS: Fine, you’re passionate about breakfast. Here’s your medal.
MG: Suck it. Breakfast isn’t whatever shit you eat in the morning, time has nothing to do with breakfast. Breakfast is this. Breakfast is eggs, bacon, toast, browns, and a slice of grapefruit to cleanse your fucking palate when you’re done because breakfast is fucking considerate like that. What do you get? A toothpick?
CS: No, I get whatever I want. I can have literally anything on this menu, it’s all listed right here with the hope and intent that I’ll order it. And I can order as much of it as I’m willing to pay for.
MG: Whatever. Name two things that work more perfectly together than eggs and bacon. You can’t. The combination of eggs and bacon is powerful, it’s like chemistry. They have food chemistry and they excite and please the mind and mouth and stomach and heart like nothing else, so I’ll order nothing else. Breakfast is home. Can you imagine, can you fucking imagine, that first person who made this meal, how fucking beautiful it must’ve felt? The Earth heaved.
CS: You’re still drunk from last night.
MG: Irrelevant. But true. I have the same menu options as you or anybody else. Sure, there might be something on there that I enjoy more than breakfast. But I don’t want to enjoy anything more than breakfast. I WANT breakfast to be the thing I enjoy the most.
CS: I find it truly amazing that you’re able to consume your beloved breakfast so quickly while you’re talking out of your ass. It’s actually impressive.
Mike Gillis: How much would you pay someone to be able to go back in time?
Mallory Donaldson: Well, that depends.
MG: On what?
MD: How long I can stay. What I can bring. What’s the method of transportation? Is it some kind of ship? Will it dump me naked in a parking lot Terminator-style? Will I be able to return?
MG: OK. You can only go for half an hour and you can only go back to a specific moment in your life, no dinosaurs or pioneers or shit like that. And it’s just a portal you walk through, I guess. And when your time’s up you just return to the present. You can only bring what you’re wearing.
MD: I wouldn’t pay anything for that.
MG: Really?
MD: No. I’m fine with the half hour, that’s reasonable. But if I can only go back to a specific moment in MY life, well, that’s pointless, because young me will certainly recognize future me, present me, whatever. And that’s the big no-no of time travel isn’t it? Meeting yourself and tearing a hole in space/time. I wouldn’t do it.
MG: Shit, you’re right.
MD: What I’d really like to do is be able to transport just my consciousness back to a specific moment in my life, into my body that existed in that time.
MG: Alright, I like that. Would you be able to control your body and change things? Like just send back the mind you have now, knowing everything that’s happened since?
MD: I don’t think so. I think I’d just want to enjoy that moment.
MG: So more of a memory refresh than actual time travel.
MD: Yes.
MG: Do you have a specific moment in mind?
MD: I do.
MG: I don’t think I’d choose a specific moment.
MD: Why not?
MG: Because if it’s something specific that means I already kind of remember it to a degree. I’d rather pick a random day and hopefully see something that I might’ve completely forgotten about.
MD: So just a random day in your entire past life? What if you got last week or a time you had the flu or something?
MG: I’d narrow it down to a summer afternoon, either when I was five or some time in my mid-teens. I’d flip a coin.
MD: Why those times?
MG: Because any part of a summer afternoon when you’re five would be amazing. I’d probably fucking cry. And if it’s my mid-teens and it’s a summer afternoon I’d be with my old friends, either driving nowhere and listening to tapes or sitting in the woods getting high and doing nothing. I just want the smells and the pointless conversations. See if I can feel the freedom of pure irresponsibility on my skin.
CS: You are. You’re staring at that plate of wings like you want to fuck it.
MG: Well, maybe my body is trying to tell me I’m hungry.
CS: Well, maybe your body is a liar because you had two hot dogs on the way here. And now you’re staring again.
MG: I’m sorry! I like looking at food. Who cares? I’m not looking at your food.
CS: I don’t have any food. And if I did, even if you had your own food, you’d be gazing at it while you chewed.
MG: I don’t do that.
CS: You do, though. Constantly. Last time we were here you got like three pounds of nachos FOR YOURSELF and when you weren’t closing your eyes in ecstasy you were leering at my burger. Leering.
MG: Why didn’t you say anything?
CS: Because I’m used to it and I think it’s hilarious. That lady with the wings, however, does not think it’s hilarious. That’s why she shifted her chair. See?
MG: Holy shit. She did, didn’t she?
CS: She’s trying to block you from eye-banging her meal.
Dana Brunner: No, they’re not the right shape for your face.
MG: I usually wear big ones. Not ridiculous big, but big enough to keep the sun from sneakin’ in the sides.
DB: Try these ones.
MG: Oh, these are disgusting.
DB: They are not! They look really good.
MG: No, they’re too … zany. I’d wear them to a clown wedding, but that’s about it.
DB: No, they’re good. They pop.
MG: What does ‘pop’ mean?
DB: It means they clash, but in a good way. They work. Like they clash but still kind of gel with what you’re wearing.
MG: That’s way too complicated. Do you have any Geordi’s?
DB: Geordi’s?
MG: You know, the blind guy from Star Trek, had visors that went like …
DB: Oh riiight. Reading Rainbow guy.
MG: Yes! Levar. Was also in Roots.
DB: Uggh. I hate Roots.
MG: Why? Roots is amazing.
DB: It’s long and boring.
MG: Your racism is long and boring.
DB: Shut up! What if a customer heard you say that?
MG: Would you have enjoyed Roots more if he was wearing a pair of Geordi’s the whole time?
DB: I’d enjoy it more if the whole cast wore them.
MG: I’d watch that. The lessons are still intact.
DB: Try these ones.
MG: Nope. I don’t do mirrored lenses. They get fingerprinty too easy and people just check themselves out the whole time they’re talking to you.
DB: I HATE that.
MG: It makes me feel weird.
DB: I think it’s a form of harassment. What?
MG: You’re one of those. You’re one of those people that pronounce it “harassment.”
DB: That’s how it’s pronounced. Harassment.
MG: Think about it. Say the word harass. Harass. Harassment. It fits. You’re saying something totally different. It sounds like you’re saying Harris Mint, like “Please, pass me another Harris Mint!” like they’re some kind of grandma candy or something.
DB: Well when you say it sounds like you’re saying “her ass mint” so that’s pretty weird too, mister.
MG: Ass mints are a pretty weird idea. I bet that’ll be a thing someday. Different flavours and shit. I guess asses don’t really breathe, though.
Bernard Luis: Correct! I am a saxophonist. I have been for many years!
MG: Cool. I played sax in elementary school.
BL: That’s the best! What kind of sax?
MG: Alto.
BL: Very nice! That’s an excellent sax!
MG: Thanks. You seem very excited.
BL: I am! Love talkin’ about the sax, man. Sax talk.
MG: Yes. This has been a pretty big year for the saxophone, a lot of contemporary artists have been putting sax solos in their songs. Katy Perry, Lady Gaga, and M83 have all had huge hits with prominent sax solos. Destroyer’s recent album is brimming with sax. As a lifelong player, how do you feel about this?
BL: It’s the best! Love the sax. More sax!
MG: I agree. But are you wary that maybe they’re using the saxophone solo ironically? There was a time when almost every hit song had one, it was requisite. After the sea change of grunge sax was pretty much blacklisted. Do you think it’s back for good, or being used as more of a gimmick?
BL: Sax never went away, baby!
MG: Well, yeah, for most people it did. And I’m not trying to be harsh, or feed into the whole inherent cheesiness of saxophone solos, but I think one of the main reasons it’s being embraced by younger audiences is that they don’t remember the lean years when sax was kind of a musical taboo. Maybe it’s not so much ironic for them but more of a “new” thing. Are you worried that it could wear out its welcome again? I’m pretty sure I know what you’re going to say.
BL: Never! Sax forever.
MG: You’re wearing permanent sax blinders.
BL: I’ll wear sax anything, baby!
MG: For me, a hot sax solo is the musical equivalent of whipping it out.
BL: Yeah, man! You gotta whip out that sax! Why not?
MG: No, I mean like “whipping it out.” You know …
BL: Yeah, man!
MG: Okay, never mind. If I told you that the saxophone was the moustache of the music world, both being almost inescapable in the past but returning ironically after a long period of being culturally shunned, would you agree?
BL: Sure!
MG: Are you agreeing because you also have a moustache? Nice moustache by the way.
BL: Hey, thanks a lot, man!
MG: You have an album coming out this summer. A sax album. What’s it called?
BL: Sax to Grind!
MG: That’s kind of suggestive. Would you ever call an album Consensual Sax?
