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Polaroids Of Androids

Record Reviews

10.0

Assassins 88 / TV Colours
Split 7"

We survived the violent crash into the reef and now we're stranded. To make matters worse we soon discover we've washed up on the baron wasteland that is Earth's capital and our former stomping ground, Canberra. Death sounds like a good option right now. Maybe we should just let it wash over us like the lapping waves that periodically grab at our ankles in an attempt to drag us back into the peaceful depths. It's hard not to just let go. Just look at the carcasses of the previous lawmakers, tastemakers and five-minute heroes as they float by in the heavily polluted East Burley Ocean. They seem peaceful enough.

But no, fighting to our feet with the last few ounces of determination we observe the scenery surrounding us. Nothing but cleanly cut sailors and weaseling shylocks scattered on the dull landscape for miles and years in both directions. An eerie calmness is in the air. Floating into our lungs, choking our souls, spinning us around into a state of confusion. Where are we again? What were we looking for? Distracting are the constant stares. Everyone is eyeballing each other with an awkward apprehension. Who's turn is it to move? What are we waiting for anyway?

Seems like this was all a waste of time. The whole exhibition. We left two years earlier with such high hopes. Infernos in our bellies, optimism in our hearts and eyes so wide they looked like disco dish plates. There's something out there for us. There has to be, because here there is nothing.

But alas we were wrong. Shipwrecked after an aimless twenty-four months wandering in circles only a few miles out at sea. Blocked at every avenue by the same hand-rubbing snarling shylocks that now greet us at the City's formidable iron gates.

Our distant memory lane dordle through our former paradise is interrupted by the sudden realisation that our ragged clothes, unwashed hair and patchwork boots are the reason for the stares. Everyone's grown up it seems. Moved on. But they've clearly forgotten what they were searching for in the first place, evident by their aimless zombie-like wandering and tapered in by an obvious apprehension and uncertainty. The only thing they're 100% sure about is that we don't belong. Their eyes say it all. They know we're time capsule renegades, returning to find that time didn't wait for us. It never does.

But fuck it. Why do we care? We'll find refuge. We'll build a fucking hut out here in the garbage wasteland that surrounds this town if we have to. This seems to be where we belong anyway. We'll sit around the fires we make. Recall stories of better days. Talk about determination, talk about fighting back. But we don't need to. We've got this right here, right now. This moment. And speeches of war running through our heads that make every breath feel like an adrenalin shot. Like this right here. That'll keep us going. That'll remind us that the last few years weren't a waste at all. There's nothing anywhere for us. We came back and found everything we needed right here.

Filed Under
Record Reviews
TV Colours
Assassins 88

 

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Comments

god is dead

well that's great and everything, but what does it sound like?

8 years ago

rorygoddamnkelvison

Wow, so this is more some kind of spewing retardation than a CD review? Not really super helpful to read an essay on why your a douchebag. Yeah, i get it you don't like Canberra. Original.

8 years ago

Jonny Yes Yes

*you're*

8 years ago

rorygoddamnkelvison

in retrospect that was also a little harsh (as well as the spelling thing). I apologize

8 years ago

Boo!

apologise*

But, I NEED TO BUY THIS SEVEN INCH FUCK LET ME GET IT

8 years ago

Jonny Yes Yes

http://dreamdamage.bigcartel.com/

8 years ago

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