For your reading pleasure, we here at Woroni put together a team of elite psychonauts to blast off in the magical place where the system of transportation first took root in the golden soil girt by sea that we now call Australia. Below is a direct copy of the field notes from that day:
I know mushrooms are no joke, because like many young men doing an Arts degree, I frequently masturbate to the writings of Hunter S. Thompson and the Joe Rogan podcast — ideally, both at once. As such, I understand starting relatively early in the day is imperative, lest darkness descend on the earth before you do from your high, which any seasoned tripper will tell you, is bahd vibez mahhn. We head out to meet the dealer.
The closest I will ever feel to the elephants Hannibal made cross the Alps was traversing the barely navigable roads and density of traffic in Sydney. We spend 45 minutes stuck in gridlock, yelling at each other for yelling at each other for making wrong turns, or simply because it feels better to scream audibly rather than internally. I remember reading that most of Hannibal’s elephants died freezing and starving; I mentally begin comparing the desirability of that with the genuine and seemingly immediate risk of death by crushing boredom.
This is not very rock n’ roll.
We pick up our mushrooms from a former private schoolboy who now wears hemp and rants about chemtrails. Eventually, to keep things moving we mentioned we were all triple vaxxed and he expeditiously concluded our transaction. Having received our contraband, we pop half down the hatch immediately. Surprisingly, they taste pretty good! Finally, I feel the tension of our rocky start to the day ooze out of me, as the delicious umami flavour oozes in. I know today will be a good day.
None of us can feel even a hint of anything trippy, except Michaela, but after waiting a bit longer to see if she’d wig, we realised that she was just hitting her vape too hard out of anticipation and getting headspins. We look at the mushies and realise that our hemp-wearing plug has partaken in the iconic Sydney tradition of ripping punters off, and sold us shiitake mushrooms.
Eventually, after messaging everyone we could find on Insta, Tinder etc., someone on Wickr said they could hook us up! When CremeBrulee69 comes through he seems to be angling for an invite, but we don’t really know him so we fuck him off. These sorts of advances are definitely the main argument for legalising and regulating the sale of recreational drugs, but that’s neither here nor there, because we eat the mushies and LESGOOOO!!
Still nothing. Really hope we haven’t been ripped off again. FML.
Oh shit oh shit OH SHIT I need to fucking sit down and just BREATHE oh my fucketyfuckingfuckfaceofafuckerinofackenfckenfkucfk—
Phew! That’s better! The come up was quite intense, but now that we’ve found a quiet place along the cliffs between Bondi and Bronte to watch the sunset we are all a bit more relaxed and connected to the universe. Hahaha Jesse just made the funniest call about how it’s a quiet place and like there’s that movie the quiet place with Jon Hamm or whoever from The Office, and like I dunno how to explain it but it was just hysterical hahaha this is the best day EVER!
That is, until we spy a horde of wild influencers taking advantage of the golden hour seascape to get a pic for the gram on the cliffs and realise that a) the sunset is in the other direction, and b) we are very possibly surrounded by soulless vampires who are going to turn on us and drain us of our life-force to preserve and enhance themselves at any moment!
The panic subsides a little as we anxiously come to the conclusions that a) it’s okay the sunset itself is behind us because we’re looking out at the ocean which is still beautiful in this light and besides it’s probably not good to stare directly into the sun but idk maybe that’s just something they tell you as a kid, like how weed is addictive or not to talk to strangers, someone Google it, and b) these vampires would never suck our blood it probably has too many calories for them, their performance enhancers definitely come in the powdered form and have a name that rhymes with famous Biblical fratricide, Cain. Fuck, everyone who follows or was raised in one of the Abrahamic faiths would know that cunt killed his brother aye. GOAT fratricide for sure.
As the clouds darken from powdered pink into deepening hues of purple, we relax and listen as the sounds of our breathing synchronise with the waves lapping against the rocks below.
We are going to have the sickest night ever.
Quick note to remind myself to get the others to pay me back for buying the McFlurry to get that junkie at the Kings Cross Maccas to fuck off.
In line at… the Ivy? Feeling a little overwhelmed by the crowd and the darkness. Oh, the darkness.
AYEEE WE GOT IN!
This godforsaken place makes Dante’s Inferno seem like it had a charming collection of characters. Every person I bump into seems to be a poorly cast extra from the TV spin-off of American Psycho, which for some reason features a lot more sleeve tattoos than the source material. I’m too rooted to keep going with these references but, fuck this noise.
Lost my friends. Someone was dragging me to the casino but luckily for me I managed to get away before they could drag me into that bloated sucking asshole of a place. I’d rather fist fight Mike Baird at a Kings School reunion than give those fucks any of my money.
Unluckily for the person who was dragging me there, I was only able to get away because they got sucker punched when we made a pit stop for kebabs. I would have intervened but one of the other bystanders assured me that being assaulted by a roided up fuckwit was local tradition and it’s best to let it unfold organically. I ran just in case they got back up and still wanted me to go to the casino with them.
Having never received my kebab (!), I consider going to the Indian kebab joint up Oxford St near the Unicorn. Unfortunately, despite it being Sydney’s one redeeming feature, after this odyssey of a day, it is simply too far. Physically and mentally broken, I crawl to one of the alcoves in the Pitt St vicinity of Central Station. Unexpectedly, but to my relief, all my friends from Canberra are already there. We hunker down until the first Murrays bus in the morning, and with it the opportunity to escape this fetid sore cosplaying as a city.
We acknowledge the Ngunnawal and Ngambri people, who are the Traditional Custodians of the land on which Woroni, Woroni Radio and Woroni TV are created, edited, published, printed and distributed. We pay our respects to Elders past and present and emerging. We acknowledge that the name Woroni was taken from the Wadi Wadi Nation without permission, and we are striving to do better for future reconciliation.