Poet/writer Mathias Svalina spends his days writing surreal stories—dreams (and sometimes nightmares), and then, at 2am he gets on his bicycle and delivers these handwritten tales on pink cards, in pink envelopes (he likes the colour), to the recipients' homes. He can make up to 40 deliveries depending on the town and city he finds himself in.
Originally from Denver, Svalina ditched his adjunct poetry professor gig at the University of Colorado to combine two things he loved—writing strange fiction and riding his bike (and travelling). After 4 years, Svalina's Dream Delivery Service is self sustaining, and what he doesn't deliver by hand, he does through the mail.
So, if you'd love to have a dream delivered to you (he delivers overseas as well), find out more about this fabulous project at the Dream Delivery Service website (here).
Here's just one of them:
Day 26: February 9, 2018.
You are walking around the city at night & see a small cocktail bar that looks inviting. You step inside & the entire place is full of people you don’t want to see, disliked co-workers, exes, that weird dude who used to follow you around. They are all there. And as you walk in, they all look up & see you. You can’t leave—that would be weird. But you don’t want them to recognize you. The host says Hello! Welcome! And then, to disguise yourself, you respond in a heavy Cockney accent Oi! ‘Ello! Ahm jus popped in from ‘cross the pond! Immediately, none of the people you don’t want to see can recognize you. The host guides you to the bar, where you order & cocktail. The cocktail, when it arrives, has a living plant in it, the roots dangling over the ice. And with each sip of the cocktail the flower grows, until, with your final sip, the plant blooms into a wide, beautiful sky-blue flower. Then later you are at Home Depot looking for a new set of windows to install into a house you just bought on an island somewhere. All the windows are too much, too ornate, too delicate, too dark. And finally you realize that on this island windows are superfluous, a waste even. Then you are in your house on the island, the ocean breeze washing over you like a calming caress. There is nothing, absolutely nothing, in the world that is permanently bad, you realize.
