Showing posts with label postcards. Show all posts
Showing posts with label postcards. Show all posts

Thursday, October 5, 2017

Dream 24 "The Herd of Lambton Hall" (George Brown, 1880)

Seven weeks after being shot by a disgruntled Globe employee, George Brown dreamed that a herd of cows had come to speak with him on his deathbed. He could see them outside his window, dull bells clanking around their necks as they chewed cud and kicked up a musty cloud of dust. He could hear their hooves on the hardwood downstairs and as they clomped up to the second floor to squeeze into his room. It was tightly packed in there. The air was foul, green with the fumes of the manure that soaked into the rug, and buzzing with flies.

They had concerns, these cows. They pushed up to the side of his bed, all wet bovine noses and bad breath. One was there to talk about Bow Park. The financial situation at the farm had the beast worried. Another was upset about the poor Liberal showing in the last election. Some of them wanted jobs. One wanted money to make telephones with Alexander Graham Bell. More than a few had ideas about the newspaper’s redesign. They were all annoyed and short-tempered.

But George Brown was barely listening. His attention was fixed on the only cow in the room who hadn’t said a word. She was down closer to the foot of his bed, calmly licking at the wound in his thigh. When he tried to shake her off, he found his leg refused to move. So when she started to chew at it, there was nothing he could do — just lie there in pain and wait.

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George Brown was a Father of Confederation and the founder of the Globe newspaper. He was shot by a disgruntled newspaper employee in 1880 and, refusing to give up his demanding schedule, he died slowly of his wound. He lived in a house at the corner of Beverley and Baldwin Streets in Toronto called Lambton Hall (now a National Historic Site) and owned a farm called Bow Park just outside Brantford.

You can read more about the assassination of George Brown in Jamie Bradburn's post for Torontoist here. Explore more Toronto Dreams Project postcards here.

Tuesday, March 7, 2017

Dream 23 "Sir Henry & The Sleeping Dragon" (Sir Henry Pellatt, 1923)

Sir Henry dreamed there was a dragon living in Casa Loma. He found it in the Great Hall, asleep atop a mountain of treasure. The beast must have collected every valuable object in the castle: gold and silver, paintings and tapestries, china and books and swords. Noxious smoke curled from the reptile’s nostrils. There were scorch marks on the ceilings and the walls.

Sir Henry crept carefully forward, plucked a sword free from the pile. Then he mustered all his courage, drew himself up to his full height, and bravely cleared his throat. “Excuse me, sir,” he called out in his most commanding tone, “but that is my treasure. I demand you remove yourself this instant!”

The dragon kept sleeping; didn’t so much as twitch.

So Sir Henry tried again. “I am a knight of the British Empire and you will do as I say!” And with that, he brought his sword down upon the slumbering beast’s scaly hide with every ounce of strength he had.

The blade bounced off harmlessly. There wasn’t even a scratch.

Finally, one of the lizard’s drowsy eyes cracked open. Sir Henry found himself staring into a pupil the size of a tabletop — but only for an instant before the eyelid slid back shut. Then, with a flick of its tail, the dragon sent the knight flying through the window, out into the garden, and down the Davenport hill.

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Sir Henry Pellatt was one of the richest men in Canada in the late 1800s and early 1900s. He built Casa Loma as an opulent home for himself and his wife before his corrupt business practices destroyed his fortune — and the life savings of thousands of other Canadians along with it. 

You can read more about Sir Henry and the building of Casa Loma here. Explore more Toronto Dreams Project postcards here.

Monday, May 2, 2016

Dream 22 "The Star Harvest" (William Peyton Hubbard, 1911)

The alderman dreamed of a night when the people of Toronto climbed up onto their rooftops, up to the highest branches of all the trees, up cathedral spires and skyscrapers. He joined them, too, high up the clock tower of City Hall. From there, you could reach the stars with a butterfly net. One swipe through the sky might bring down two or three at a time. They shone a soft, cold blue and were smooth to the touch, perfect and round. All over the city, they were collected in baskets and pillowcases and brought down to earth. They were taken to the sides of the roads, along sidewalks and ditches and lawns, where they were planted in the dirt by the light of the moon. By the time the sun rose, they had sprouted into tall, slender silver birches. They lined every street in graceful rows. And when night came again, those trees unfurled lush blue flowers. Inside each one was a brand new baby star. And all of Toronto glowed.

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William Peyton Hubbard was Toronto's first Black alderman — and even served as acting mayor on some occasions. The son of a former slave, he got into politics after saving George Brown (Father of Confederation and owner of the Globe newspaper) from drowning in the Don River. In the early days of electricity, Hubbard was a champion of public ownership of power utilities, teaming up with Sir Adam Beck to bring public power to the city of Toronto and the province of Ontario. 

You can read more about Hubbard on Torontoist here. Explore more Toronto Dreams Project postcards here.

Tuesday, February 23, 2016

Dream 21 "Standard Time" (Sir Sandford Fleming, 1878)

Fleming dreamed the Institute loved his idea — wanted, in fact, to take his logic a few steps further and set the clocks back an entire 50 years. And so the City hired bricklayers to take apart all the new buildings: homes and churches and stores were turned into rubble and dust; their predecessors were rebuilt in their place. The sidewalks were pulled up by carpenters; Yonge and King and Queen Streets were returned to muddy glory. Fleming himself helped to disassemble his own railway, taking a great iron hammer to the rails. The debris was used to fill quarries back in; they were then covered with dirt and re-sodded. Trees were planted and roads were undone. Creeks were unburied and brooks let loose.

Once everything had been put back in its place, the young people hid themselves away. Most of them vanished into the ravines. Some disappeared into basements or backyard shacks. Others set off on ships to make a new life for themselves in the Old World.

As the last of the sails dipped below the lake’s blue horizon, a great cheer went up in the city. That night, the elderly would go dancing. Get drunk. Make out with strangers. Fall in love.

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Sir Sandford Fleming was one of Canada's greatest inventors and engineers. He helped to plan our earliest railroads, designed our first postage stamp and co-founded the Royal Canadian Institute to promote Canadian science. In the 1870s, he proposed a new system for the world's time: a universal 24-hour clock divided into local time zones. It would become the standard for measuring time all over the world.

You can read more about Sir Sandford Fleming on Wikipedia here. Explore more Toronto Dreams Project postcards here.

Thursday, January 14, 2016

Dream 20 "Worts & The Well" (James Worts, 1834)

In the miller’s dream, his wife Elizabeth fell into the well. He was there when it happened. He heard the splash and rushed to save her: took a deep, deeeep breath and dove in. Shocked by the cold of the black water, he swam down and down and down into the murk further and further until he found her there at the distant bottom, sinking into the mud. Already, she was almost gone; only her pale face was still visible above the silt. Her eyes were wide with fear. He dug at the mud with his hands, frantic, but try as he might he couldn’t pull her out of it, could only keep it at bay, and soon his burning lungs forced him back to the surface for another gulp of air.

By the time he dove again, she was gone.

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James Worts was born in England and moved to Toronto in the early 1800s to start a mill with his friend William Gooderhman. It would go on to become the famous Gooderham & Worts distillery — which produced the most whisky in the world and is now the historic Distillery District — but Worts didn't live to see it. He committed suicide by drowing himself in the mill's well in 1834 after his wife died giving birth.

Learn more about his true story here. Explore more Toronto Dreams Project postcards here.

Wednesday, October 21, 2015

Dream 19 "The Wolves of King Street East" (Charles G.D. Roberts, 1884)

He had the same dream every winter. He was standing on King Street, alone on a night with fresh snow, a clear sky and a full moon. Icicles hung like crystals. Every dark corner was made bright. Even then, he could only barely see them: faint lupine shadows slipping up out of the frosted forests of the Don Valley and into the sparkling heart of the city. They moved quickly and with purpose, seemed to know all of the houses and schools where the children slept. They slunk beneath the cracks of closed doors and through barely-open windows, crept up stairs and into bedrooms. Toothy muzzles were lifted up onto pillowcases, and steamy, wet breath warmed young, sleeping faces.

Those wolves whispered secrets into those innocent ears. On that night, the boys and girls of Toronto dreamed of the frozen White North. Of the wintry wilds of Canada. Of moose and of elk and of ice.

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Sir Charles G.D. Roberts was one of the very first world-famous Canadian authors. He wrote children's stories about animals in the late 1800s and early 1900s and became the first Canadian author to be knighted for his work.

You can read more about his life and his clash with U.S. President Teddy Roosevelt on Spacing here. Explore more Toronto Dreams Project postcards here.

Thursday, August 20, 2015

Dream 25 "The Lightkeeper's Daughter" (Arabella Radelmüller, 1815)

At first, everything was calm. She dreamed she was out on the sandy spit of the island with her parents. The lake was still and peaceful; the sky an endless Canadian blue. But then there came a sudden storm. The sky went purplegreen. Black waves crashed across the beach. Thunder shook the air. Her mother swept her up into her arms and rushed toward the safety of the cabin, fighting through the howling winds.

Arabella could see it all over her mother’s shoulder, moments frozen in the brief flashes of lightning: her father racing across the sand toward the darkened lighthouse; a 100-gun ship of the line heaving through the waves, dangerously close to the shoals; her father throwing back the lighthouse door and disappearing inside; a jagged bolt of electricity splitting the sky. The lightning struck the lighthouse in a shower of sparks and a billowing cloud of smoke. When it cleared, the beach sizzled, sand had turned to glass, and the lighthouse was gone. It had vanished.

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Arabella Radelmüller was the daughter of the first lightkeeper of the Gibraltar Point Lighthouse. He was murdered there in 1815; some people say his ghost still haunts it. Today, it's the second oldest lighthouse in Canada and the oldest building in Toronto still standing on the spot where it was built. 

You can read the full story of the lighthouse and Radelmüller's ghost here. Explore more Toronto Dreams Project postcards here.

Monday, July 27, 2015

Dream 18 "Russell Creek" (Peter Russell, 1799)

Peter Russell dreamed that his sister Elizabeth had fallen ill. She’d taken a drink from the creek that ran through their property at Petersfield and within moments it seemed like her mind was failing her. She went quiet; stared at him blankly. When he asked, she couldn’t even remember his name.

Russell was in a panic. With his heart hammering in his chest, he hurried off to look for help, sprinting down the path of the creek toward the town below. He met plenty of people along the way — and they all agreed to help. But every time, they paused first for a drink. And as soon as the creek water touched their lips, they forgot who Russell was and what he’d asked of them. By the time he reached the outskirts of the town, there didn’t seem to be anyone left in York who remembered anything about him at all.

He collapsed — out of breath, dejected, exhausted — in the middle of the road. And when the new Lieutenant Governor came to him with a cup and suggested that a drink might do him good, Russell didn’t fight it. He just dipped the cup into Russell Creek and drank deep until he forgot who he was.

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Peter Russell was a slave owner, a gambling addict and Toronto's first truly terrible leader. He temporarily filled in as the head of the province while John Graves Simcoe, the Lieutenant Governor who founded our city, was sick at home to England.

You can read more about Russell's life on Spacing here. Explore more Toronto Dreams Project postcards here.

Monday, May 11, 2015

Dream 17 "The Arts & Letters Club" (Tom Thomson, 1914)

In his dream, he stepped outside for a moment — to take the air while he smoked his pipe. That’s when the first drop hit him, a wet drip on the brim of his hat. When he touched it, his fingers came away with a mustard slime of paint. Then there was a splatter of ochre on the sidewalk beside him; globs of crimson splashing in the street. A heartbeat later it was pouring, a deluge of plums and maroons and forest greens and aquamarines.

Thomson opened his umbrella. Puffed at his pipe. The city washed away into colour.

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Tom Thomson was one of the greatest painters in Canadian history, an important part of the circle of aritsts who would later become the Group of Seven. He spent his summers in Algonquin Park where he mysteriously died — possibly murdered — in 1917.

You can read more about his life, his art and the mystery of his death on Wikipedia here. Explore more Toronto Dreams Project postcards here.

Wednesday, March 11, 2015

Dream 16 "The Bombing of Toronto" (Billy Bishop, 1941)

Billy Bishop dreamed that the first few people to spot them that night saw little more than dark splotches on the horizon. But soon they were clear to everyone: mammoth zeppelins floating in across the lake, soaring above the islands toward the sleeping city. As their shadows reached the shoreline, it began. Deep concussive thuds. Flashes of red and silver and green. Railway lines snapped in half. Buildings of stone and brick crumbled into the streets. Air raid sirens wailed.

With the blimps came small planes with four wings, crude wooden dragonflies buzzing along King Street, up Yonge, down Bay. Bullets sprayed across storefronts and streetcars. Fires raged. None other than the Red Baron himself shot up past Union Station, darted between the smouldering boulders of the collapsed Stock Exchange, and fixed his sights on City Hall.

By then, Billy Bishop had already scrambled into his cockpit and lifted his plane into the air. He might be an old man now, but he’d have one last chance to save the day. 

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Billy Bishop was one of the most famous fighters pilots of the First World World. He shot down 72 German planes, more than nearly any other pilot in the world. The Canadian government forced him to retire before the end of the war, worried about what would happen to morale if he died. Bishop would be treated as a celebrity for the rest of his life, making public appearances on behalf of the military even during WWII.

You can true stories about Billy Bishop here. Explore more Toronto Dreams Project postcards here.

Wednesday, January 14, 2015

Dream 15 "The Winter Beaver" (Anna Jameson, 1837)

Anna Jameson was lulled to sleep by the jingle of sleigh bells and the rocking of her sled as she was pulled through the slumbering pine forests north of the city. The night was frozen and still, but as she drifted off, warm and drowsy beneath layers of bearskin, she imagined the sky had come alive with the blues and pinks and greens of the Aurora Borealis. The woods around her danced; snows flickering with colour, shadows leaping from between the majestic bark columns that lined the wintry road.

In her dream, she thought she caught a glimpse of a beaver through the trees. His flat black tail was laid out behind him; his great yellow teeth tore through the trunk of an enormous white pine. But as her sled drew nearer, she saw that he was no beast at all; he was a bearded man wearing pelts from head to toe and a beaver tail hat pulled down around his ears. In his hand, there was an axe. And as he swung it back and forth through the forest, the trees crashed aside like waves.

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Anna Jameson was a British writer and feminist who live in Toronto during the winter of 186-37. Her husband, who she separated from, was the Attorney General of Upper Canada (the province that became Ontario). While she was here, she wrote a diary called "Winter Studies and Summer Rambles in Canada".

Learn more about Anna Jameson and her time in Toronto here. Explore more Toronto Dreams Project postcards here.

Tuesday, December 16, 2014

Dream 14 "The Great Fire" (Lucie Blackburn, 1849)

Lucie Blackburn dreamed that she saw the Devil on King Street. She was crossing the road and there he was, leaning up against the wall of Post’s Tavern, flickering in the lamplight, waiting. He wore a black suit and a short beard. His eyes were coal. She knew the instant she saw him that he had come for her.  He would take her back south, to Kentucky, to Hell.

He saw her too, and smiled. It was a horrifying grin. It grew until it split his face in half. His skin fell away like a snake's as he swelled up out of himself, horns, scales and putrid flesh, rising until he was taller even than the steeple of St. James, great leathery wings unfurling behind him with a gust of hot wind. All along King Street, buildings burst into flame. Fire and smoke poured from windows and doors. People screamed and ran.

She couldn't move. The mud in the street was deep; it had her by the ankles. She could do nothing but pray. And pray she did. Lucie Blackburn prayed hard for that angel who came sweeping down from the heavens above Toronto, all fury and wrath, eager to cast out Evil, and with war in its eyes.

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Learn more about Lucie Blackburn and her escape from slavery here. Explore more Toronto Dreams Project postcards here.

Monday, October 20, 2014

Dream 11 "Feeding The Annex" (Dennis Lee, 1974)

One humid night in August, Dennis Lee dreamed that there was a street party in the Annex. People milled about in the middle of the road, chatting and drinking under the giant oaks. There were familiar faces in that crowd: Peg, Steve and Paul; he could see bpNichol’s wild smile and the full moon of Gwendolyn MacEwen’s round cheeks. But the poet was filled with a terrible sense of foreboding. And before he shared it with anyone, it was already too late.

In an instant, all the houses came to life. Old Victorian homes rose up off their foundations in a shower of red brick and sod. They lunged into the street, the ground pitching violently under their weight. People scattered and fled, abandoned glasses shattering on the pavement behind them, but in vain. Everywhere they turned, another black doorway swooped down, twisted wide and toothless, hungry. One by one they disappeared behind slamming doors. Thick, fleshy curtains lapped up pools of blood and red wine. Windowsills chewed on broken glass.

When it was over, and all of the houses had lumbered back into place, the street was quiet and still. So, as a new crowd formed, delighted to find unfinished drinks and half-eaten sandwiches, the poet’s warnings seemed like the ravings of a madman: nothing to fear at all.

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Explore more Toronto Dreams Project postcards here.

Monday, September 22, 2014

Dream 09 "The Ghost of John Ridout" (Samuel Jarvis, 1826)

Nearly ten years after he killed the man in a duel, Samuel Jarvis dreamed that he was being haunted by John Ridout’s ghost. The young man appeared at the foot of his bed, naked, dead, pale gray and blue, with a messy, gaping hole in the middle of his chest. You could see straight through it to the wall beyond. And all along the wound’s edges, rotting flesh twisted and squirmed, made alive by the gluttonous writhing of maggots and worms.

Jarvis froze. His breath caught in his throat. His eyes slammed shut. Tight. His heart hammered in his ears. He tried to keep still, perfectly still, to not flinch or twitch a single muscle as he felt his feet go cold. The blood and pus was oozing out of Ridout’s wound and dripping wet onto his naked toes.

Jarvis woke with a start. The ghost was gone. Mary slept peacefully beside him. He was safe. He caught his breath, pulled the linens down over his feet, and lay there, awake, until the sun rose.

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Learn more about the true history of Samuel Jarvis and the Jarvis family here. Explore more Toronto Dreams Project postcards here.

Monday, April 21, 2014

Dream 10 "The Battle of Montgomery's Tavern" (William Lyon Mackenzie, 1837)

The night before the Battle of Montgomery’s Tavern, William Lyon Mackenzie dreamed that someone was shaking him awake. Something strange had happened. He could feel it even in those first few drowsy moments of consciousness before he opened his eyes. And when he did, it was true: his sheets, the floors, the table, the bed, everything was made of newspaper. Even the walls; they were so thin that he could see straight through them to the papery trees beyond. Even his own hands and legs and arms. Even Van Egmond, commander of their troops, who had him by the shoulders, shaking him roughly from his sleep.

"Get up," the Dutchman barked. “We need to leave. They’re here."

And that’s when Mackenzie saw them through those thin, newspaper walls: thousands of them in red coats, steadily approaching, rifles drawn. A few had torches; soon the whole world would be in flames.

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Before his famously failed revolution, Mackenzie went to England hoping the British government would respond to his grievances. It didn't work. I'll be telling that story — and leaving copies of this dream at the places he visited — as part of the Toronto Dream Project's UK Tour. You can help make it happen by supporting my Indiegogo crowd-funding campaign, which you can check out here. Today, is the VERY LAST DAY you can contribute.

Explore more dreams about the history of Toronto here.

Monday, April 7, 2014

Dream 12 "John Rolph's Beard" (John Rolph, 1867)

John Rolph dreamed that there were people living in his beard. They were tiny pioneers, so small that he didn’t even notice them at first. By the time he did, there was a whole little village of them. He could just make out the church steeple, no bigger than a needle, sticking up from between his grey hairs. When it was quiet, he could hear the soft hum of the market square. And on some evenings, wisps of chimney smoke drifted up toward his nose, whispering aromas of boiled potatoes and venison stew.

He grew fond of his little villagers; proud of them even. So it was bittersweet when one night a tiny mayor climbed down out of the beard, struck out across an expanse of pillow and arrived, safe but exhausted, at John Rolph’s right ear.

“Sir,” the little mayor said as he caught his breath, his voice the faintest murmur, “We demand to be free.”

It took only a moment. John Rolph’s scissors sliced clean through his beard. Then he carried it carefully outside, down to the lake, and set it gently upon the grass. As the bells of St. James Cathedral rang out twelve times, miniature fireworks flashed scarlet, blue and gold, puffs of magic dust sparkling in the midnight air.

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This is one of more than a dozen dreams that I'll be taking on The Toronto Dream Project's UK Tour. I'll leave copies of it in Rolph's hometown of Thornbury and share the story of how he was chosen to become the first President of Canada by William Lyon Mackenzie. You can help make it happen by supporting my Indiegogo crowd-funding campaign, which you can check out here.

Explore more Toronto Dreams Project postcards here.

Tuesday, February 25, 2014

Dream 07 "The Lake Sturgeon" (Ernest Hemingway, 1923)

As Hadley lay awake beside him, desperately pregnant and uncomfortable, Ernest Hemingway dreamed that it was raining. It had been raining for days, coming down in vast, endless torrents. It hammered at the treetops and at the ground and at the tiles of the roofs in a steady, wet roar.

It rained so hard for so long that Castle Frank Brook swelled and broke its banks. It climbed up the sides of the valley, swamped muddy Bathurst Street and rose higher still. Soon it was spilling in through the open window and lapping up against the edges of their bed.

With the flood came great fish that swam up from the lake. They glided by through the murky water; an enormous old sturgeon circled the dresser and chairs, eyeing Hemingway with an ancient gaze. It seemed as if at any moment, the beast would speak, tell forgotten stories, tales of Huron and Iroquois and of mammoths and wolves. But instead, it opened its jaws, swam toward the bed and swallowed it whole: the sheets, the mattress, the headboard, and Hemingway and Hadley with them, all tumbling down into a dark, fishy abyss.

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Explore more Toronto Dreams Project postcards here.

Thursday, August 29, 2013

Dream 06 "The Murderer & His Landlord" (John Boyd, 1908)

John Boyd slept poorly. In a few hours, he would wake, have a small breakfast, spend some time in prayer, and be hanged.

He dreamed that he had escaped from the Don Jail, and was rushing home to his apartment. But just as he slid his key into the lock, his landlord opened the door. "I'm sorry," the old man said, blocking his way. "But you can’t come in."

Boyd tried to shoulder his way by, but the landlord wouldn’t budge. "There’s nothing I can do," he insisted. "They hanged you. Can’t you see? Your lips are blue. Your skin is peeling. There’s an odour. I can’t rent an apartment to a dead man."

Boyd pleaded with him, begged him and threatened him, but the landlord led him out of the building and down the front steps. He took him out into the street and left him there, letting the door lock behind him as he returned up the stairs.

Boyd just stood there, defeated, and waited for the flies.

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John Boyd was executed at the Don Jail in 1908 for the murder of a love rival at a restaurant on York Street. You can learn more about his crime, his execution and his executioner from the Toronto Star here. The Globe writes about his remains — now lying in an unmarked grave at St. James Cemetery along with those of 14 other condemned men — here.

Explore more Toronto Dreams Project postcards here.

Friday, March 8, 2013

Dream 08 "The Still-Beating Heart of Dr. Emily Stowe" (Emily Stowe, 1883)

She dreamed they had cornered her in the basement at the university, dragged her into an operating theatre and forced her up onto the table. Three medical students, young and strong, held her arms and legs while the doctor drew his scalpel straight down the centre of her chest. She couldn’t feel a thing, but watched, helpless, as the blade cut clean through skin and muscle and bone. She fell open. There was a pop; her ribs came apart like a pair of storm cellar doors.

And from between them came her heart, angry, like a chained dog. It thundered and roared. Leapt halfway out of her chest with every beat. Spit blood like venom. Splattered boiling crimson across the walls and four surprised faces.

The men, they fell back, stunned, and were gone.

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Explore more Toronto Dreams Project postcards here.

Friday, February 15, 2013

Dream 05 "The Man in the Clouds" (Nino Ricci, 2003)


Nino Ricci dreamed that there was a strange man living in the clouds above Toronto. He was short, with thin-rimmed spectacles and an elaborately curled moustache. It was cold up there and windy at night; his only shelter was a small tent pitched near the fluffy white edge. Standing just outside it, you could see all the way to the horizon, past the miniature twinkling of skyscrapers, highways and roads.

“I’ve been making trips down there for years!” The man was shouting over the stiff wind, as he pulled a pair of scissors out of his suit pocket. “I’ve collected them all: books, letters, pamphlets, poems, even shopping lists and love notes. These clouds are stuffed full of them!”

And with one quick, dizzying motion, the man leaned out over the side and drew his scissors across the cotton, slicing it open. Flurries of paper spilled out of the wound, were caught up by the wind and swept down toward the sleeping city.

In the morning, tiny people would come out of their homes armed with shovels and snow-blowers and brooms, eager to dig themselves out from beneath the fresh snow.

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Explore more Toronto Dreams Project postcards here.