Eatshitanddie

A wasteland of memoirs, quotes, cynical bias wisdom, critiques and other shit that doesn't matter...

Splendour 2012 Lineup Prediction

Tomorrow is the day I’ve been waiting for since the final day of Splendour In The Grass last year. I figure I’ll have a stab at predicting the lineup purely for the reason of being able to say I told you so when the lineup is announced tomorrow morning.

Realistically this is just based on what I want, substantiated rumours, bands playing Fuji Rock and bands are due to hit the Australian shores in Late July. It’s probably not going to happen, but a few would be nice.


Bloc Party
The Cure
Smashing Pumpkins (purely because Polaroids of Androids said so)

Madness
Vampire Weekend
At The Drive-In
Jack White
The Shins
Spiritualized
Two Door Cinema Club
The XX
M83
Explosions in the Sky
Band Of Skulls
The Weeknd
Ed Sheeran
Zulu Winter
Mumford & Sons
Lana Del Ray
Frank Ocean
Azelia Banks
Sleigh Bells
Band Of Skulls
The Ting Tings
Silversun Pickups
Django Django
Dandy Warhols
Electric Guest
Empire of the Sun
The Presets
The Temper Trap
Wolfmother
Tame Impala
360
Matt Corby
Bag Raiders
Bleeding Knees Club
Oliver Tank
Snakadaktal
Josh Pyke
Gypsy & The Cat
Gold Fields
Stonefield
Last Dinosaurs
Glass Towers
DZ Deathrays
Van She
Yacht Club DJ’s
Parachute Youth
Grey Ghost
YesYou
San Cisco
Argentina

Perhaps one of those from my previous entry who has been incapacitated by his own doing. Well, the second half of the video. The first are the backpackers having a good time (albeit not European). Thanks to Bending Life for the little snippets.

Revolution refugees

To me, the coastal Australian town of Byron Bay has earmarks of a resplendent lake which has formed in the abandonment of an open pit copper mine: The community is poisoned by the very essence of it’s contents, it’s  beautiful appearance gives no hint as to the noxious, unrelenting, self-bolstering harm that lurks in it’s depths.

The town ostensibly presents itself as a peaceful, quaint community set between breathtaking landscapes and a pristine bayou. However, as the duration of one’s stay in Byron Bay becomes longer, it’s beguiling cloak as a paradise begins to lift away and it’s true colours as a seedy, drug filled sanctuary for lowlifes, social misfits and those who have failed this game called life begins to reveal itself. Though really, to the trained eye and mind, it doesn’t take long to see this cesspool for what it really is.

The Bay is home to the many lost souls that fled civilisation controlled by ‘the man’ as a part of their perpetuating quest for non-conformity. Individuals such as these now inhabit the streets, caravan parks and virtually every ‘nook and cranny’ imaginable. Their presence is like mold, slowly but surely spreading and sustaining the eternal decay of this beach-side community.

For the socioeconomically elite who sit on the jarrah stained balconies of their hillside mansions, overlooking their virtually private beach; this may well be a sanctuary. For those European backpackers, just stopping through in search of cheap accommodation and promiscuous encounters; this may well be the ultimate ‘good time’. But for those who  have left their mind in an era of revolution and are in search of an escape from whatever they think this thing called reality is; this is their own self inflicted purgatory. Trouble is, they don’t even realise they’re in it.

A mentor is the most valuable asset one can hope to have. With someone to assist and advise us where possible, our lives are given a new perspective and the haze that so often surrounds our judgement begins to dissipate. After all; you can’t expect to see the picture while you’re standing in the frame.

I’m really scared for my generation, you know. The thing that scares me most is Tumblr. I hate what Tumblr has become. Because it like, it reminds me of those clique-y girls in high school that used to make fun of everyone else and define what was cool, but in five years, when you all graduate, that shit doesn’t matter. No one gives a fuck about that shit. Instead of kids going out and making their own moments, they’re just taking these images and living vicariously through other people’s moments. It just kills me. Then you’ll meet them and they’re just the biggest turkey in the world. They don’t actually embody any of those things. They just emulate. It’s scary man, simulation life that we’re living. It scares me

—

- Drake.

Now… I fucking HATE Drake. I’d go as far as to say he’s a fucking fagot and I’m delighted by the thought of him dying a slow and painful death. However, in this instance (and only this instance) he seems to be shedding some wisdom. People seem so intruiged by the idea of the reblog button (which I have expressed my hate for on more than one occasion) that they forget the fact that a tumblr is simply a blog which is supposed to be theirs. These days, I log on and I think to myself; why bother to call this your blog? Isn’t it just a rearrangement of other peoples originality which you dare to call your own?

After years of life experience, I often wonder why I find myself in the same predicaments over and over again. Realistically though, I don’t wonder; I know the only reason I find myself locked in this emotional warfare between head and heart is because of this group of human beings who call themselves ‘the female gender’. They have this uncanny ability to convince even the most intelligent of men that they are acting in their best interests and looking to make them happy. Whereas in actual fact, they are acting for their own personal gain and these men are merely a puppet and at times a ventriliquist dummy in their elaborate stage show which often consists of many lead male roles.

After a night of mediocrity, I was making my way around the side of my dwelling to the front door; the home stretch (as I like to think of it). All of a sudden, out of the darkness comes my arch nemesis: A spiders web. I spent about fourty five seconds punching and slapping the fuck out of myself (and to the untrained eye it probably seemed that I was throwing down some moves like Jagger) for fear of the possibility that there might be a furry arachnid somewhere on me. I may aswell have just allowed the spider to bite me and accepted the sting… Or gone to Fitzys and accepted the punches.

I find it somewhat irritating that whenever I have nothing but idiotic, very slightly amusing things to write I have all the time in the world; but when my brain is stewing on literary gold (that might be an exaggeration) I can’t find the time to sit down and even begin to formulate my ideas.