Email. I'm always busy so make it good.
info{at}sleepycity[dot]net. <-- fix that up and you'll be fine grasshopper

Otherwise you can try your luck with the request page.

I'm that grimey sort on the night bus you look down your nose at because I've grease smears across my face and filthy clothes. I just climbed a 60 level construction crane while you boozed it up and hit on skanks. I risked life and limb atop the latticework spire, you risked genital warts in a toilet stall with some slut whose name you can't remember. Congrats!

Three hours later I'm just another twat riding the metro tapping away on a lappy. I could be your sister, your friend, your neighbour, your son, your boss, the office girl who makes the coffee that you hassle because it makes you feel better about yourself. I could be choking myself day in day out with a silk noose or pumping concrete in a hardhat and dirty blue wifebeater. I could be indepedently wealthy and living in luxury, or squatting in a dirty hovel. What do you care? You just came here to dream a little.

I could be anyone you've ever met and you wouldn't even know it.

The haphazard and incremental development of our cities merged with economic rise and fall has formed a scarred urban landscape packed with explorable pock marks and craters. We leave industry and inner-city neighbourhoods to rot until gentrification is profitable and bury old infrastructure with tonnes of concrete below the swelling city. These spaces fall from the collective memory until someone digs 'em up.

There are root like tunnels burrowing below while manmade spires soar far above, spindly fingers reaching for the stars. Between these two extremes of the mad metropolis the ants scurry about their business unaware of the what lies hidden around them. Every place you've ever been has secrets you've never seen. Within the stasis of the parallel world await adventure and excitement, all one needs is some courage and a curious spirit.

Curious minds will always wander, the lure of the illicit and forbidden is strong. School was easy, university was boring, the working life is spiritually unfilling. When I realised those daydreams could materialise beyond such vivid escapism the choice wasn't one. The boundaries between the two world are blurring and overlap more often than they're distinct.

It's a selfish pursuit but perhaps the photos and stories here will inspire others to tear free of the shackles of mindless tv, inconsequential celebrity bullshit, terrified bureaucrats and ridiculous warning signs. All these things distract one from really living. Shed your bubblewrap suits and live a little. You'll hurt, you'll bleed and you may find yourself crouched in an tunnel alcove, nose to the third rail as a train whistles past, wondering how the fuck you ended up here. For what? Knowing you had the balls to take life by the balls and fucking live it.

Sometimes. I can't really keep track of all the laws/bylaws/rules and regulations anymore, neither can you. Chances are you broke some today you didn't even know existed. Should we both be strung up and bled? It's harmless and victimless, live and let live.

I squirmed out the womb sporting tabi and a ninjas mask to explore the birthcanal while my mum was sleeping. From then I was hooked, utterly consumed. I bit through the umbilical cord, chugged the last of the on tap nutrients and burst straight out her chest. I was a lil Indianna Jones with that umbilical cord, lasooing the bed and swinging down onto the cold floor. Even then I was on point, scurrying out of the ward backwards. You know when they found those tiny bloody footprints leading to the body they were shocked and confused.

I lived in the hospital utility tunnels, feeding off the human scraps in the medical waste bin. I'd perform random dawn raids on the morgue for fresh meat. I've eaten more livers than alcohol and more brains than a zombie. By consuming them I took their power into me, waiting and amassing strength. This is the manifestation.

I don't give out location details to people I don't know or think they have some type of entitlement. You can try your luck with the request page.

Observation, teh internets, word of mouth, rumours, childhood stories, old maps, walking around popping covers. In two words, hard work.

A delicious quote from Evasion:
The best advice I can give on hopping freights was given to me by a hobo in Missoula.
"What do you know about hopping trains?" I asked.
"Git on 'em and go" he said.
"Which ones?" I asked.
"The ones that move."

The words thundered like the voice of God.

The 12 year olds in my neighbourhood know how to explore drains and empty buildings. They don't need instructions, a manual or a step by step booklet to sweat over, intrinsically they just go out and follow their curiousity. If you're really lost then google for Predator's Approach document.

Wah wah wah fuck off.

What car should I buy? Depends champ.

Yes. Yes. No she is not in any manner affiliated with this site. No I cannot pass on your message. No she doesn't want to sleep with you.

Sure, one day.

Buy a framed print, it's more tangible than altruism and when society crumbles you can use it for firewood.

If you are seriously interested email me, I do not sell postcards.

It's custom.

You ask now?

Probably.