decadence

OK i apologise for the low-quality pics i've been posting. I've got an iPhone and it really isn't any good at taking photos. Also i spend much of my time in dark, dingy and disgusting parts of the city and without a flash you can pretty much lick your own balls before i have crisp photographics happening.

To the point of this pizzle (post) and we are at the Ruby Rabbit nightclub in Darlinghurst, lounging on a luggish Victorian armchair on the 'exclusive' (wank-wank) top floor.

It's hella dark in there, the furniture is archaic and the people...interesting. When i was there last Saturday not one person was good-looking. But they were all rich. I know that because they were dancing raucously to pointless 80s classics (Prince, INXS et. al.), paying $10 for spirits and taking turns in the bathroom, filled with mirrors and sofa toilets...yes fucking SOFA TOILETS, to rack up their Eastern Suburbs substances.

A very cool venue, just lacking music i liked that night. The opulence was sickening, in a decadent way - hello Joris-Karl Huysmans - and i had to get out.

Before leaving i'd like to thank the lady that got me in. She hopped in my cab and dragged me on her midnight drug-run, got my arm stamped at the door for any of the three levels then motioned with her scaly fingers "Go, have fun" then sniffed the words back through her hollow nostrils.

the myth

There's a joint called Not the Old Fish Shop Cafe near Central. Weird name huh? I grabbed a coffee there this morning.

I asked the barista why it has such an enigmatic yet stimulating name.

"Apparently the woman that started it about 15 years ago owned a place called The Fish Shop Cafe in Newtown with her husband. They got divorced and she started this place up. That's the myth, i don't know if it's true or not. That'll be $3 thanks," she said.

Why would you call a cafe a fish shop? Ironic fucking hipsters.

exploding hipsters

Ok it happened again - fuck me this is getting epic. Inspector Gadget found another pair of shoes on the streets of Surry Hills last night, this time on Bourke St.

They're salmon pink heels from Red or Dead and, if i was a cross dresser, i would defs leave these in my back pocket. Who knows when i'd need to get my homo on in this place. Reow.

2 hipsters, 1 cup

I moved to an apartment in seedy Surry Hills just over a week ago. I fell in love with the place last year and finally got around to making it happen.

It's quieter than it's reputation suggests. It's ethnically diverse, civilised on weekdays and crawling with young urban families. Not the amphetamine coated gang-fuck people think it is.

Walking from Redfern after eating at a Lebanese restaurant last night - pissed as a parrot - i saw these two pairs of shoes on the Cleveland St sidewalk. Wanted to tax the pair on the right so bad, but i didn't. I'm an 11.

But in that drunken haze i realised Surry Hills is good for one thing. Making hipsters explode.