Email. The more interesting your email the greater chance I'll respond.
info{at}sleepycity{dot}net. <-- fix that up and you'll be fine grasshopper

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My name is Samuel Seed and I'm a freelance photographer but really I could be anyone you've ever met.

I'm that grimey guy on the bus you look down on because you assume I'm a grease covered construction worker. In reality I've just climbed a 60 level construction crane while you boozed it up and hit on skanks. The next morning I'm that guy on the Tube in a suit tapping away dilligently on a laptop. Maybe I'm the wild eye freak on the packed train who stands a little too close, until my crotch is ever so lightly brushing against you. It doesn't matter who I am or what else I do, we could be quite alike you and I.

The haphazard and incremental development of our cities merged with the rise and fall of economies has created a scarred urban landscape. We leave industry to rot until gentrification is profitable and bury old infrastructure with tonnes of concrete as the city swells.

The root like tunnels burrow below while the manmade spires soar far above, spindly fingers reaching for the stars. Between these two extremes the ants of this mad metrolpolis scurry about their business unaware of the back alleys, tunnels and haunts of yesteryear. Unknown to most, beyond that decaying doorframe or rusty metal portal wait adventure and sights few shall see. To reach the stasis of this parallel world all one needs is a torch and a curious spirit.

I love the adventure and the adrenaline produced by exploration and the understanding gained about how infrastructurely (someone should create that word) our cities work. School was easy, university was boring, the working life is spiritually unfilling. When I realised my daydreams could materialise into such vivid escapism the choice was never a choice.

It's a selfish pursuit, but perhaps the photos and stories here will inspire others to tear free the shackles of mindless tv, celebrity bullshit and the constant bombardment of advertising. Shed your bubblewrap suits and live a little. You'll hurt, you'll bleed and you may find yourself crouched in an tunnel alcove as a train whistles past you 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. Since ignorance is no excuse should we both be strung up and bled? It's harmless and victimless, live and let live.

The pommies may have shipped us out, but the convicts are back with a vengence bitch. That would be Australia, specifically the sunny little city of Brisbane.

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.

Generally I don't give out location details to people I don't know. That said I'm not adverse to giving out hints and cryptic clues. My email address is further up the page.

Observation, teh internets, word of mouth, rumours, stories from peoples' childhood, 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.

It's the way I talk when the suit and tie come off. The door is that way.

Horses for courses. This might help.

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.

Maybe one day I'll post them up. They're hilarious and potentially incriminating.

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 a custom package, I cannot pass on the code. Quick Sherlock affix your hunch and socket that monocle, is that a clue?

Sweet spreadable christ on a cracker you ask permission now?!

Probably.