The ancient way that is Mount Pleasant has its roots in the Rosedale Ravine. Jarvis street somehow is transformed, somewhere when Jarvis runs under Bloor. Ask around, nobody knows where, exactly, Jarvis turns into Mount Pleasant. They just shrug, ignorant of the greater mystery. Nobody knows where Aylmer turns into Rosedale Valley Road, either. There is a park down in the ravine. It has park benches. But you never see people down there. Only cars zooming through, on their secret shortcuts.
If you like to smoke dope in that ravine, a good spot is at the intersection of Park road and Rosedale Valley road. Even at sunset on an overcast day in late November you can feel the pall of fear that people have in the vicinity of an entrance to the Underworld. You can see the fear in their eyes as you lean up to their windows and look into their faces. They look ahead, pretending not to look at you. Their hands clench on the steering wheel. They look and look at their command console: are the doors locked?
I won't mention the address, but there is a house on the street to the park that does not seem to have ... whatever. I asked around. Nobody has ever seen a human being go into that house. A nice house, but then again the art of reading house trim for occult meaning. The downturned cross at the apex, the downward pointing candles. Eight candles, and the cross, making nine the number. Not that nine is significant. Like nine Nazgul, nope. That is fiction. So what, some house on a slope has the iconography of a vampire town house? I know it is there. The people driving their 'shortcut' along Rosedale Valley road, they feel fear; their subconscious warns them. They rationalize their fear: fools. Sure, some Manson family derelict makes you lock your car doors. Makes sense. The yawning portal to the Underworld? It does not exist. If it did, your world view would turn to papyrus dust. Better retain your sanity and blame the derelict.
I will not mention the mysterious building on Severn street. At night, there are lights on. A casual inspection would say ... people live there. This building, you can see from the subway, just as you haul into the mighty Yonge Bloor station, or as you leave, heading north to the barbarian wastes beyond Eglinton. I always wanted to know more about that place. Then I went there on foot, and smoked a joint in the park bench nearby. There is a steady traffic of drug commerce and mafia meets between shot callers; they use the excuse of the easy parking along Severn.
Then there is the spot with the curved road, the church, and the small lot. It is exactly like a spot up where Oak Park goes into a ravine. If you walk the right way, on the right side of the street, chanting to Set, the Snake God, you can move effortlessly between the two locations. This will save you subway fare, and reinforce your belief in the unbelieveable.
So close to the heart of Toronto at Yonge and Eglinton.
I, Fenris Badwulf, wrote this. I care.
