Where's Jacky Tripper?

Jackson Fraction been checkin' all kinda random places fer his mate. Fuck knows what his mate called again. In all honesty, me memory gone from a tea strainer to a massive sieve in less than six months!

Though I got to say, Jackson Fraction's a total legend: a true Hardcore Tripper, Jackson's fuckin' everywhere. Goes to shitloads of squat parties too; he even digs all those hippy raves what remain to be our main way of gettin' on it regularly. Day raves then a night rave on at some other warehouse, wherever. It's why we always meet up. Illegal warehouse bizniz!

I imagine I said somethin' but I can't think straight. I haven't thought straight in time – I'm always fuckin' buzzin'! Fuck off free market productivity! Been on a total mind wiper, real slurry-slurry! I ain't slept fer a fuckin' week, buzzin' me nuts off! Me eyes - oh me days! - look at me fuckin' peepers, peeps!

Almost black out again, noddin' off on tubes n night buses every fuckin' time, guess it's fuckin' jokes. Decent pills, decent MDMA, shitloads cheap speed, opiates n weed, yer askin' fer a black out at some point innit! Sure it's all waste of time, but so's workin' fer shit money in a shit payin' job, so we can all square a circle. Yeah, roun' n roun' – freeze n spin roun'! Propa zoney tube spacin'; suddenly wake up wiv me head spinnin' roun' n roun' - fuckin' mad ass fucked up shit! Shut up, spin' roun' - Raaaah!

Jackson Fraction cracks me right up: trippin' on sun n rain, fuckin' always buzzin' our Jackson Fraction, fuckin' dish out yer tricks bruvva! Sometimes he tells me ain't gotta clue what half dis shit might be, he ain't gotta Scoob if he real fucked up. He tells me if he gets a feelin' like he had one too many fits: muvvafuckin' crazy ass brain scars; always fuck people in the end, he admitted to me when we chewin' our own faces off after he had no idea what was in some synthetic shit. Paint thinner made in China what glows neon. Fuck knows what in those crazy capsules; I totally fucked – even Jackson said he didn't know what to think, side of his head hurt. Brain bubblin' me Blood Brain Barrier - though I reckon he still loves benzos n ludes, what a loon!

For sure Jackson's a real hippy kinda freak, like he always gets crazy weird n wild gear: mad as fuck trips, DMT, N-Bomb, BZP, real mental shrooms, decent snort gets yer boner bouncin' in seconds - bangin' beans lovin' a right rubadub rush. It's our way, as we always say. Psy-trancin' n hardcore romancin' junglist bruvism – it way Jackson Fraction rolls; he crosses all paths n all crews! He like a bimbo at a Trump pageant, he only wants world peace too, I can tell he even wants to get on wiv posh kids as well as dem ignorant street tuffs.

He's still got a no brand smart phone, but I never clock him on all those geek sites, all those whatfaceachetwitinstasnap-appsin' - whatever it all fuckin' all called! I ain't got a clue, I don't bother with it like shitloads of other people nowadays. Shit, phones a proper fuckin' mare – droppin' n breakin' em, fuckin' cheapo Chinese tech, though I only vaguely remember ravin' before phones became properly mainstream.

Thinkin' of all these geeky web shit vibes makes me crack up: Jinx n Andy Outrage n Andy Clockers off Kool n Eruption call it whatsappenin's n goldengrams – yeah, I'm always creasin' up every time I hear it. Every time I get asked if I'm on faceache or twatter, I always say it's all fulla shit!

Anyways, I'm too busy gettin' shitfaced to care innit! I can't be fucked to do any of these social geek tings these days, likkle kids make huge dollar off it sure, playin' fuckin' computer games n mimin' tunes or whatever; but I'm too fucked – we're all strictly counter-cultural baby, proper old skool! Most of these kids wanna kill 'em selves because they worried about how they look or some tiny shallow comment most folks wouldn't give a fuck about, it's mad! As you get a bit older, we get bored keepin' up on geeky shit like webspace but I should've gave up after Myspace fizzled out, trust!

It a mad time as always, mad times, we got right on it; keep on, spin roun' fuckers! More chemicals, more time! Credit card ravin', payday loan ravin', rinse out poncin' ravin', blow yer profit ravin' - whole fuckin' shebang baby! Gotta live - might be dead tomorrow, right?

Fuck, people I know say they got a referral to a food bank. Don't be proud, don't fuckin' starve! Politicians stress when some multi-millionaire loses a fuckin' million, our whole shit system built fer rich fuckers anyway. Fuckin' rent's a mare, dunno why there no kinda poll tax riotin' over rents; but shops moan they ain't makin' silly profits like they used to – what can you expect when loadsa people juzz in shitty jobs, no payrises – trust, our whole system a fuckin' sick joke!

Jackson didn't care, he didn't give a fuck over any kinda real world bullshit. Blighty's always Blighty, it's always fuckin' same ol' same ol', Jackson told me when we chattin' shit about our weirdly beautiful world - totally off our faces on Crystal Meth n pointpoint, chuffin' shitloadsa weed n hash as always! 'AVE IT!

Jackson had other stuff on his mind: he wanted us all to get on it real cheap n real hardcore. He had real cheap synthetics to knock out too. Aside from the big bag of chronic juice lollies, Jackson always had the NPS wig out all covered: Three plus grammes for less than a nifty gonna start eatin' into old skool organic territory – proper research chemical max out!

Sure, Jackson knew all these bouncers at some run-down club, down South London way -club used to be called Quire's; only recently changed name to HottBoxx, probably because shitty air-con's always fucked as you weren't ever allowed to truly hotbox in there. But they finally got around to kickin' all kindsa shit out of Jackson. Jackson spooked these bouncers.

Nothin' scared Jackson; he could take all beats for sure; he's taken enough licks over time, a hippy-long hair like Jackson. He told me when he was mistaken as a queer hippy n gay bashed in '97 alongside his hippy-friend from his school. His hippy mate, Cozmik Mo, got stabbed in his eye,lost his eye - Jackson casually mentioned to me later on. What a fucker – over fuckin' nothin' too but it how Blighty rocks these days.

I always wondered why Cozmik Mo had a eye patch, always had a weird twitchy eye too – juzz thought kinda bein' fuckin' all eccentric n trendy like. He's a proper gurn pirate, God he can gurn: Cozmik Mo always gurns sick burp style, E-Argh!

Jackson kept sayin' they out-numbered, then they both spent time in hospital; Jackson was all cool - as if it was nothin' – juzz had to learn how to walk again, he told me like it a scratch. Mad fucker! Fuckin' real mind blowin', fucked me mind juzz thinkin' it. Jackson thought himself lucky to come out of it all alive- sure he lost a battle but won a war. He survived – he didn't get too fucked up.

Survival? Fuckin' real wasted about survival - we've gotta love life bruv, it always a House Crew Message innit! Jackson tells me, chuckling away, all bugged eyed.

 

Jackson got miffed for a mo, but he on about House Crew's Message tune, not Grandmaster Flash's; I won't lie I prefer MC Juice's rap, but I'm biased as I totally love House Crew. I still can't believe Jackson had all those Donkey Kongs and polished off those Hawaiians! How he every speaking right, I'm slurring for shit – I can't feel me fuckin' face!

Jackson's a real freaky beat-hippy who got some real tough tummy! He gonna get a mad as fuck belly growl at dawn! By that time we'll all look like gurn zombies!

Jackson's been here before, though; he seen it all before - no shit, he got some weird fucked-up baggage. I dig findin' out about his time, about every raves he been too. And he tells us, it's always new security come in give real ravers fuckin' hassles. Though they end up pissin' off everyone; one sure way to clean outta club: if your piss off all dem Gees n all real loved-up ravers - what are like true hardcore ravers juzz all fer vibes n good times, then you'll see a club startin' to go belly up - unless they let in a shitloads of kids! Jackson had to find Clive, make sure he OK. These bouncers'll do over sound people what been decades ravin' , they got no respect fer no-one. They'll make up rules juzz fer you!

Clive's probably been beaten to a pulp in one of those back rooms; they've probably given him a good shakedown to find any gear, too. They love to justify a beatin' to say people are just off their faces. The shit we do, you ain't beatin' anyone. Buzzin' like a wired loved up loon, rockin' n a shockin', it so strong you might be able to hug someone really tightly.

But these bouncers are total power-trippin' bastards, they juzz don't get ravers. We're worried now, real worried. Clive's a bit of a wimp to be honest. Most geeks are but they aren't great at fightin' back. Even when people are mash up, it not a good vibe. I don't think Clive's tough enough to take a proper hidin'. Sayin' it, when you're fucked you may think you're Bruce Lee but you definitely ain't bustin no ninja shit; you'll move like a lapdancin' Hilda Ogden!

 

It real funny chillin' at Jackson's watchin' ol' TV n flicks post-rave. Real old, always a funny wig out. Watch all kinds of shit, yeah we may not have Oxbridge degrees but we'd rock a pub quiz. A pub quiz of pointless shit. We're propa zonin' all kindsa vibes, horror films, old wartime n Western flicks, Babycart in the Land of Demons, even Tommy Trinder n Fellini. That got to be a weird 'un, trust every flick wigs yer right out.

It a strange rave, a lot of people standin' filmin' everythin'; some kids are sittin' down on beanbags, trust ket's killin' all vibes. Save it fer yer chillout at home! It when we clock all these hipsters about: middle class musos, hangers on or posers, some got their Akai's, Korgs still in a box n Rickenbacker guitars. Fuckin' smells like Hipster Trust-Fund dweebs, baby!

All these Hipsters Trustas smell of money, they're real para you can suss it too, though some get real casual about it too: naive youth n shitloadsa money like a mad toxic combo, though these London trustas all part of a small club who already own their own gaff in their twenties – right on, it always some crazy price East London studio pad! They'll moan about fuckin' off to Margate soon! Fuckin' well boho fuckers!

Jackson loves trustas, he can sniff 'em out miles away; he calls 'em his walkin' wallets. Sometimes he calls em boho dollars. No joke, Jackson can instantly tell they're trust-fund babies – he's like a chemical dowser as well as a trustafarian sniffer. Fuck truffles, trustas worth much more to Jackson! He'll be even more pleased if they work in tech. Those dudes may rule the world, but they're totally sheltered fuckers. For real: they're all proper frightened of ordinary people. They hate chattin', real socially awkward but they'll want sortin' eventually. No shitty fifty pee synthetic pills; fuck off any research compound lottery. It's pure energiser bizniz! Trusta prices: twenty quid a Technogym dinger n fifty a gee of finest pink magic mandy; they won't complain, it's worth it, they'll be flyin' all week! Jackson cracks up. Cracks us all up.

 

Trust me Chazz, they're into nothin' really, Jackson explains to me, like some sorta trustafarian academic.

 

Jackson rants on, slurrin' real bad: Fuckin' bored, they're all bored! They juzz can't believe they got it so easy in life, despite bein' total chancers too! Fluke of birth or whatever, it juzz one more lottery people gotta bust. It what we all got in common though. Buncha fuckers don't ever truly clock they've got it made – it always about their image! No fuckin' wonder they always fuckin' anxious!

 

I'm creasin' up, like proper crazy mad hysterics. Jackson smirks n gobs up a massive tar n green phlegm-ball. I shrug, I don't give a shit about class n hipsters. It's all dem older lot who were teens durin' Thatcher years who really can't get over it, they're on the make too – aren't we all really? - but those generations are doin' it in a different, kinda more humane way. They realise you can't make long-term prosperity if there no peace, pointless riots, neverending strikes n shitty wars. It fucks things up, bad decisions get made by politicians with questionable life experiences. They're really quite tough some of these hippies thinkin' it over.

Jackson's chalkin' but he keeps saying: They've got everything, every bit of it, whatever tech, they'll pay double fer battered vinyl, as long as it gotta fuckin' pristine cover! I know some old hippies like it too, rebel against their folks, big ol' trust fund to blow aroun' live it up n do whatevs, no worryin'. They all don't mind splashin' out, they juzz wanna own everythin', they're juzz like yuppies. We've seen it all, nuffin' fuckin' new innit Chazz! It's juzz a cycle bruv, like a proper full cycle, Roni's so right on!

I don't know, I don't really chat to trust fund babies, I tells Jackson, real honest. I always wonder what happened to that DJ he knew called DJ Hog; Jackson knew Hog never remembered him but Jackson said he ended up marryin' a rich chick from U.S. in end to pay for all his moronic shit, so he never needed to get a doss job to pay his bills. He's gettin' booked a lot more now, though I heard he's doin' more as a producer nowadays, Jackson said he goes by another name as a producer – Jackson did tell me what Hog's now called, I can't remember, though his tune didn't sound half bad even if it did sound like Hog had ripped off Puffin' Billy. Reckon Sub Code massive clocked it already! Young labels are aware of all it, stealin' folks thunder ain't on. At least clear dem fuckin' samples, typical Hog – always takin', like some annoyin' ponce!

The hipster-yuppies gettin' all tense here; soft shoes n no socks, tight trousers, lotta squishy balls about. Randoms film it, film everythin', fuckin' poser clubs: crack up at a sign what tells people there to : STOP FILMIN', START DANCIN'! The hipster-yuppies don't always dig it, they annoyed at us old skool luvvin' gurners who are fuckin' up their online moola! SPAZZY FUCKIN' GURNAAAZ! We don't look pretty n we don't give a fuck!

They give us a glare, some juzz smirk at us but they always standin' about, or they move fer bit, then walk on. Or kinda stand about starin' at their screens, then go fer a fag or whatever.

I tell 'em why they standin' still to DJ Harmony's Let Me In. I don't get it, I got to move, it odd kids gotta to shuffle about, claspin' smartphones, it only way they movin' -yuppies kiddos always on the move, walkin' n walkin' about, always gotta be where it at, can't miss anythin' but they all don't soak up vibe, they a weird lot but some of 'em are real sound! All up fer good vibe tribe membership. Sometimes, if they're naggy cunts, they all might have to get the last bean treatment later on: I'll do it to a couple of these hipsters, usually close to clear out time. Some even come back not too long after, when everythin's about to shut, n do it all over again to em; even when they must know it ain't me last one, juzz wanna score out of 'em. It's happened to us all. Either buy it or leave it. Even if they're fucked or not, they always like another. Money gets meaningless.

I gotta admit, it good to have some web connection: dark web juzz price crashed some shit, so it got easier for a lot of people who hate missions. I'm pleased I've avoided the four fer a score chatter wiv people so far, always meet one fucker who nags n nags yer score fer four, it real pointless, yer gotta carry shitloads around wiv yer if yer do it fer every random fucker yer meet. Then some randoms think yer a charitable mate, though I always say I juzz got a coupla spare - it's way it goes though some people take it so personally. Fuckin' cracks me up, yer either want it or not. Though there's a big buyer beware vibe wiv everythin'. I only trust real mental shit, nobody wants it going back to shitty weak dingers. Synthetics fucked our toxic environment eco-system, 4CMC may change it more than 2CB. There gotta be quality control! Raver proof dem E's matey!

 

The immaculately dressed hipster-yupps near us stare right at us again, they hold our bug-eyed gaze fer at least thirty seconds this time, as if we're gonna plunge knives in their hearts for no reason – juzz fer shits n giggles, though I keep thinkin' of Funkadelic whenever I say it!

I mouth these weird words to one of these hipsters – like some silent icaros; they instantly avoid eye contact wiv me. I don't wanna get funny about Tarquin, Tristan n Tabitha but music's seriously middle-class these days, like everythin' else: Like film, like TV, definitely like books. Even shitty poverty porn schmaltz off Channel Four – yer know it, it all done by totally dull poshos - all these privileged plums think it's all beans on toast, fish fingers, cans of pissy cider, fags n unbelievably shitty men.

Right, it the way of the 21st Century: All blokes are shit, every single one of 'em. All scenester shit totally built fer proper trust fund posers – why so much shit today gotta be so fuckin' bland! Everythin's juzz a bit too, I dunno, fuck it all.

 

Jackson loves the conspiracy trip. Jackson croaks, Trust me, Chazz. He double drops some battered Purple Skulls, slurps his water, Cheshire Cat smile as those pills probably exploded in his gob as he's droppin' 'em.

Yeah bro, I trust yer man - yer a sound bloke - I know kids hard work n all but yer a real diamond geezer, Jacks, I'm not on a para as much aroun' yer am I? I know it negs people it out, only so I been stopped n search fer fuck all so many times, it a fuckin' joke, it always makes me laugh!

I ain't goin' down me para memory lane, not to mention previous abuses of a certain 2000 Terrorism Act! Plod always lookin' fer some piss-poor law to replace sus laws, I'm pissed by it all, I'm always high but always peaceful though I'm never gonna trust Dibble anyway so they kinda know they've fucked off a whole generation; might as well try n bang us all up, it's goin' to be tricky to win back any trust now!

 

Jackson's chewin' his face off by now, lookin' n smilin' real loved up, he slurs to me: Chazz, fer real matey, it's like some fear o' triggerin' somethin'. It can happen over any shit. Probably why these marketing wankers took over. The only thing wiv a lot of Muso's these days is they all gotta go to a Pie n Mash shop or do somethin' mundane to re-connect wiv who they view as ordinary plebs, as they're so cut off now. Young music stars who'd feel they're fucked if they're still lucky enough to be livin' in a central London council estate; how cut off can yer get. You have to cut everythin' off to concentrate; juice up n be a fuckin' bore. I ain't laid a decent beat in me life, they always sound fucked, juzz like me, so I ain't sweatin' over a bassline fer six months am I? I'm juzz too cyberpunk fer it all, fuck it, we wanna rave now bruv! Too much livin', live's too fuckin' short, too tough n stressy! I don't care if yer think me tunes sound shit, as long as it all loud n proud n I'm off me face, comin' on strong – yer can't kill a vibe, it worth fightin' keepin' it alive so all kids can dig it! Peace Love n Unity fer our 'ardcore community, Chazz!

 

I nod but I'm comin' up again, it amazin' euphoric high that bursts your brain like a sunrise, different intensities of light. Keep hearin' All Good People but a kick drum goin' through it. The light's bright, I always mumble. Floaty coloursound in me eyes, I'm totally fuckin' buggin' out geez!

 

Jackson kinda laugh croaks hockin' up a tarry greenie pukeball, juzz as he re-lights his slimy zoot, his eyes all fire wired, as if he got little fiery pixies in his eyes!

Yo remember Chazz, Jackson tells me through a mouthful of smoke, I'm from a real Hard Sound Generation, punky aggro, proper hard shit, Kniteforce n Chill Records – still even dig BBE, all of it. Fuckin' mad thinkin' sound systems would shake all buildings, crazy to think it. No sound restrictions, no ear-plugs; yer ears ringin' fer weeks bruvva, mad vibes fer real!

Still can't get me head around it. God, wouldn't life be sweet as shit if we all had fuckin' trust funds like those hipsters givin' us evils. Production a serious thing; I notice these Hipsters' Akai looks brand new. If it sounds badly produced fuck it, maybe a mix can save it; if not, there'll be something else. Weird how it goes as some tunes are never played, like that Family of Intelligence tune off Kemet or was it Third Party? Whatta tune. Amazing. Some things are one-off's.

 

One of the hipsters comes up to us. He got a barber sculpted little stubble- beard, must've took him over a year to grow and he's probably still in his early twenties.

 

He asks me: You got mandy, or ket?

Nope. Why you lookin'? I tells him.

 

I look around to see Jackson's eating up a load of blotter right in front of 'em. Cheeky. He definitely not planning to sleep fer a week; it makes me smile that. They'll be amazed seein' a acid fiend like Jackson on a proper trip binge – rockin' synths n organics.

 

Yeah, just wondering. You two look like you might know...Some people?

Did you pay someone to rip those skinny jeans? Looks like it done by a machine?

Umm, kinda, I guess. I bought these in Camden.

Cool n crazy, matey! Yeah, I got some beans: a tenner each.

What one's are they? I've been gettin' some wicked Red Stars lately.

Oh right, they even still about? Purple Skulls went real quick too! Yeh, we're on Blue Teslas. Up to you, bruv. Go easy, they're fuckin' quality, real clean.

I'll give you two pound for one. Snapchat prices. The ones I get are two pound each.

They're probably all synthetic, I tell him. I also suss they've got a lower profit margin!

The Hipster's eyes go all narrow: boho-posho gettin' angry; strokin' his well- trimmed chin stubble.

No, they're all pure MD, he tells me.

I nodded, it's always best to agree even when you got suspicions. I always think: why haven't they got more wiv 'em?

Sure; whatever you say, mate.

He keeps strokin' his hipster chin stubble, like a bit of pubic hair, then he says: Yeah, I got fifty in there only other night, it's like airport security, it's a right joke!

I agree there bruv, I tells it right on! I rant: I can't be bothered with these stressful poser shit holes nowadays. Squeeze your balls to a pulp, security adjust me trousers if they're baggy; make people take shoes off, then give a foot massage; they're half quick to boot people out when they're flyin', totally off their fuckin' faces n buzzin' to dem wickedest sounds. They're all joyless fuckers, like Plod, it's a total con, not always a cheapo ticket price! They got it all wrong there, don't worry there's better places, some of 'em are illegal but it's gotta be done sometimes, right?

Umm, I'm not sure. I just come here, or go to popular places. Can I take one then?

Only one?

For now, yeah.

Fuckin' real bigshot I think, after all this time! I take a chunky Blue Tesla outta me pocket, hold it between me fingers so he can clearly see it, n say: Yeah, you'll be back - you can be a journalist-scientist n compare a ten pound banger to your regular two pound one n see what yer reckon.

Yeah, cool, he tells me. He nods his head like fuckin' Joe 90 wiv a pubic-hair stubble beard.

I can't help sayin': If you'd knocked fifty out in there, I can't see any big deal of hagglin' me down to two pound, right?

Silence. Mr Trustfundme.com no longer hipster ego trippin': The Hipster Big-Shot grimaces. God, thought he thinkin' of bellin' his solicitor; we'll get a fuckin' recreational drug contract drawn up! Mental note to self: we've got ourselves a proper fuckin' trendy here! I can only imagine he's a bit tight arsed after gettin' fifty in ta posh club. He did seem to be growin' on me though – like a upper middle-class trust-funded fungus; I honestly don't give a shit about class shit, I like people - even all their bizarre quirks: it fascinates me to be honest, though poshos never stop goin' on about it, so nor do I. Fuckin' class scarred!

Well, I've already had four red mickeys, he confessed to me. I'm suddenly his Pill Preacher. Weird confession, though I'd be shocked if they're all two-hundred plus mg.

Really? You'll be rockin' n a shockin' after three o' these fer sure!

I knew he was bullshittin' me. Wasn't even four in the fuckin' mornin'.

I can't believe this fuckin' rich kid was hagglin' me down to a coupla quid juzz fer one fuckin' dinger! He's probably got some really well-paid non-job in Hoxton what he either had to suck cock n kiss arse fer time to get, or his family got it all sorted fer him. Probably spends his weekday nights tuggin' it to Poshbag. C'mon it's fuckin' Blighty - how else it gonna happen?

Let me see it, he mutters, soundin' real nervous.

I let him clock a chunky blue pill n he seemed cool despite big beads of sweat streamin' down his brow. Finally. Feels like it draggin' on longer than fuckin' Brexit!

Story Time plus Haggle done n dusted: thankfully he ain't askin' to PayPal me but handed me a shiny new tenner; I handed him a pristine, totally bangin', Blue Tesla.

Enjoy, bruv - I'll see yer later, I tells him real chirpy like.

With that – transaction all done n dusted - hipster-boy was gone. He hurried back to his trendily privileged cronies; those Hipsters moved away from us real quick, as if they're on a invisible current of craft beer. Maybe he's some kinda weird experiment; he'd volunteered to score a pill first n they'd be back if he surivived after a hour or so? Did they have to find out who had the biggest trust-fund to decide? Thinkin' it over juzz creased me up even more; laughin' so much I'm gettin' stomach cramps! Blighty's a real funny but fucked up little country – trust, it never fails to crack me right up!

Fuckin' trippy people those dippy hippy boho hipsters. Most hipsters usually already minted, some are clueless trust fund teat sucklers, although they can't sell themselves out again, can they? Well, maybe they ain't all clued up on beatnik vibes. Donovan was right, they did juzz on a scam jam like people I know doin' time. Thing bein' they're white n middle class so they're all cool, get me? They're probably always trying to make their profit margin larger, no matter who they screw over.

Seems to be the way hypocritical shit's goin' wiv hipsters. They drink eco-beer, then screw over their cleaners, moanin' when they gotta give people a pay rise because it's law, though those people proper struggle to live on piss-poor pay anyways! Money: we all secretly fuckin' hate it but we ain't on starship Enterprise juzz yet!

Unreal. Those hipsters can't be around people much; they turned into awkward little Noughties kiddos. Hope I didn't trigger anythin', I dunno what to do or say in case yer proper freak em out - maybe there's a panic room here – juzz for these easily offended kidult saddos! They juzz cry when they don't get their own way, they're juzz fuckin' like likkle adult brats! I ain't even a decade older than most of em! Yeah, I thought folk that went to fuckin' posho public schools suppose to be like super-confident? So much about those fuckin' shitty surveys!

If I was searchin' for gear, I'd be pleased that I'd discovered someone with gear n stay near em for the rest of the night but, then again, I dig our whole gettin' fucked everday life ride. Some people don't dig it, they juzz want to miss out Sunday and be right as rain Monday morning. For those Hipster dudes it's also a massive pose for Instashit or Faceache, some other shitty social network. They'll want their picture taken or next to someone. It's all wanky photos n shit. Not enough skankin', too much sittin' on bean bags n sofas, posin' in a K-Hole. They don't ever wanna meet up before rave starts, or after, always while it's on – livestream baby! We're buzzin' too, they forget it, but we all love it. We're not serious fuckers, fuck all that county line heavy hittin', we're fuckin' fuckheads, we juzz love gettin fucked outta our boxes as often as we can!

Proper love buzzin', nothin' beats it. Jackson gave me a tab after all that; he couldn't believe it, they might take us for plebs but don't take us for fuckin' mugs. I fuckin' needed that trip – whatta mish!

Whatta prick, said Jackson to me, he be all bug eyed. I'll be seein' Critters n Gremlins dancin' next to him soon. Can't get weird yet, not till a kooky likkle mogwai gives us a golden shower!

I just cracked up again. For no fuckin' reason. I juzz remembered I watched Ghoulies when I was a yoot too. Loved it as much as Doctor Giggles. Think of our past, it probably only way I can deal thinkin' about our future. It's what does me head in about some folk: those people who make out they really know, they give you some chat as if they've known you for years n wanna imaginary discount after saying how much they are.

They know you've got 'em cheaper, but they're not bringin' em in are they? Takin' a risk. Life juzz one big risky biscuit. If there so fuckin' big-shot they should've taken shit loads more with 'em, right? Wastes time ravin', gettin' high real fast, though when there people who won't budge on their price, I juzz say I'm gonna take it fuck 'em if I'm sellin' to some fucker I don't even kno' fer fuckin' peanuts!

 

Jackson looks around nervously, his eyes tweakin'. Always got a twitchy eye, left or right, it keeps switchin' on Jackson – sometimes his left eye tweaks like mad sometimes his right totally shut, like a slit, he can't open it. Jackson had more acid for Clive n he still owed him fer dem other pills, was somethin' about dem Blue Diamonds. Jackson was cool, he knew he'd find more customers but Clive was one of his best. He also loved ravin' alongside Clive. Even if he thought he was a bit of a freaky geek, it had got to the point that they'd become good friends: Clive had introduced him to Bungle Bob before he left for the U.S., and Custard Cream before he left for the less glamorours world of Glasgow. Custard always said the scene up north was bangin, fuck the cold, and the authorities would leave you well alone. It's the way we like it! Dibble are a proper dull n totally joyless lot - aren't they?

Jackson Fraction like me: hardcore chillin', hard crew, stamina crew, feelgood smiler massive, proper good vibe tribe, always maximum moose, totally one love! P.L.U.R.! I always thought P.L.U.R. some trendy Resident Advisor techno label they're pushin' in their snooty kinda way.

Yeah, trust me - Jacky Fraction's like a hell boy hippy from outta space. He's all tie-dyed tee-shirts ponchos, sandals; sometimes you see him barefoot at a rave, or ravin' in his camoflage DM's or these stinky, totally battered plimsolls fulla holes; he juzz don't care. A morass of long hair, this crazy mad long Gandalf beard – shit, he's like a proper old skool hippy wizard raver. He need's Wakeman's capes. He juzz busted outta some secret commune scoiety to buck wild: London's his fucking commune now. Guess he really wanted to be a technohead hippy when he a yootie. Jackson's definitely living it all now – I laugh to me self, I always wonder where Jackson parks his time machine. I WANNA BE A FUCKIN' HIPPY N I WANNA GET ON IT ALL DE FUCKIN' TIME! JUZZ FUCKIN' LUV JACKSON FRACTION,'E'S-ME- BRUVVA-FROM-ANUVVA-MUVVA!

I love yous Jackson, I tells him, Yous like yer escape time!

I always say some shit like it to him. Gimme a break, I'm proper trippin' balls!

Jackson just laughs, like a druggy croak. Shit, he's going to rant about how Fentanyl and Ketamine are trying to kill the rave scene: They ain't party drugs, Chazz. I love all drugs, but they juzz ain't doin' it fer mad energy vibes. You least gotta do some acid with it. Acid and skag better than juzz mainlinin'. Don't mean fuckin' micro-dose bullshit, you gotta eat up a whole tab. I love acid as much as the next man but that N-Bomb's fuckin' shit up too. Thought that kroco-whatever skag was bad. It hydrochloric Acid n skag or somethin' nuts. All gettin' cut wivshit. It crazy really, it a toxic way of livin'. Fuckin' love it too. Don't lie Chazzie, you love it – it'd suck dying. Nah more buzzin' right? But juzz a grain of Fenty can proper fuck yer up, proper lethal. It was tough on me. I needed to go hospital. Last time I'll ever cut a batch for Fat Rick. He knocks out Scopolamine too, fuckin' not synthetic it organic, comes from fuckin' nightshade. Poison. Praga Khan fuckin' right on, trust me. That Fat Rick's gotta deathwish fer everyone. He juzz a quick-time posioner. You can't make no real money if you got no fuckin' future customers innit!

Jackson's always on it. Ever since I've known him. Sofa-surfin', partyin', then more like avoidin' our shit society rat-race. Laughs it all off. Guy's a fuckin' locomuncher mooch. He'll even drop the old Black Crowes tune Downtown Money Waster at the end of the night. He's a good bloke but a forgetful dealer; and, sadly, an even more forgetful father, but he does try in his own weird way. He's always chattin' hippy-speak, sendin' out vibes everytime to everyone, he's vibed alright.

Chemically altered, permanently buzzin'; he loves gettin' on it all the time.

Sure, Jackson's got kids all over U.K. - that's Jackson for you- but he always tries to be there for them, even if all mother's hate him. He got loads kids with loadsa ladies; some don't mind him, others can't stand him but they all want fuck all to do wiv Jackson. Jackson's always laughin' at his ex's.

Guess I can't keep it dry fer too long, Chazz!

It just a time vibe so he tells me. Like right place, right time and a horny lady'll wanna be impregnated by you! Cracks me right up- howhe think like it? Beats a sperm bank, he reckons. It takes a lot of fuckin' when a chick gets knocked up, they never prepare you it in Sex Ed. Crazy shit for sure!

But Jackson says they should for genetics n shit, for when kiddo gets older. He says he always sends a present even if he's a bit late, he always does it though he does reckon some are dud addresses. But fuckin' weirds me out, that for sure, I can't keep track of it all to be honest! I roll up a sneaky zoot for after, roll quick, bust it sly. Already got skins and gear all sorted, juz gotta lick it, rock n roll!

Jackson tell me, sprayin' spittle, right down me sweaty ear:

Yo Chazzie Chucklehead, light dat zoot!

Nah, Jacky, not in here! Probably break our legs for it!

Jackson's like crackin' up, he don't need no zoot – he always got the giggles!

Fuck it, Chazz, look how dead it is? Where's dem vibes! Give dis place some fuckin' raver fizz. It's a rave morgue!

 

Yeah, we don't know what goin' on. Quire used to be a proper decent club; a huge club with some of smaller rooms off it like the old Coronet or SE1. Bet dem property developers are circlin'. Now it real rundown, it always empty. Juz main room open, dem little rooms juzz might be fer private functions but they hold jack nowadays. We juz been at an illegal rave other day n it was proper fuckin' rammo, place gonna burst. We now come here, as you get in free, Quire's a legal club, n guess fuckin' what? People can get in for fuck all n they STILL choose to stay away; somethin' goin' wrong fer dis HotBoxx rebrand. It's still nearly empty at four a.m. There's gotta be less than fifty of us left in the main room. Moody bouncers strollin' roun' n glarin'. If they don't like us ravers, quit n stack some fuckin' shelves! Bunch of miserable tight ass kill joys!

What's happened to Quire? It used to be a fuckin' bangin' club!

Fuck kno's Jackson. Don't get lost on me, I don't want to get beat up by dem moody bouncers fer somethin' minor. I ain't jokin' boput lightin' up, they chucked out Custard Cream n Salford John for puttin' their coats on the railings at back of club. Roughed 'em up too, no warnin'! They're fuckin' English ain't great too, gotta watch these bouncers, go on a power trip fer sure!

Back to dem bad days, thugs runnin' warehouses tryin' to do it but killin' vibes by shakin' people down. Sometimes bouncers n dealers work together or against each other. It depends, it can go anyway, but it's a real shame a free rave probably gonna go, then we'll be fucked. I don't wanna see clubs closin', too many fuckin' goin but they can't make shit outta free nights, they gotta struggle to stay open! Ol' Big Smoke runnin' outta free nights fer us poor bastards, gotta keep on jumpin' innit!

 

Jackson laughs a croaky laugh, gums a load of mandy, then quickly hands me the wrap. He finds a pack of sweaty gum n stuffs half in his gob, as I demolish rest of his wrap. Silvery-looking mandy pretty strong, pretty fuckin' good even if I dig pink magic. Already fuckin' me throat up. Fuck yeah! Scoop another load up then gum n swallow, proper tummy rumbles; tastes like shit, well harsh on me throat but a better after-taste than me last pill; the first pill always the tastiest, goes down real easy then you gotta keep count or you'll have to sort out yer peein' or you pop, pukin' fer Blighty; though gotta say, first piss always proper fuckin' bliss! If you ain't had a piss fer a coupla days, defo danger zonin' innit! Cranberry juice won't help, trust.

Time proper flies, always like it, people juzz melt away like spaced out time; I love it when our world feels like a rushin' psychedelic storm from some another dimension. I don't always get like it, it's only when I'm totally fucked I start thinkin' wigged out crazy shit like it.

Outta corner of me eye, try not lookin', clock a bouncer tryin' to watch us through a gap - in between a drink shelf n some fuck off large fan - though he can't clearly see what I'm doin', it too dark. He'll have to guess. The torch will be out in a minute but, thankfully, the joyless muggy cunt gives up.

I find a bit of old tissue in me coat pocket and cover the wrap as I tuck in. It looks like I'm blowing me nose now, then flick the tissue and empty wrap into the bin. Truly fuckin' righteous!

Feel dat mandy pumpin', I'm rushin' like mad, lose the ability to speak as I bite into me tongue n gums – shit, I forgot I had two Ghostbusters earlier; a purple one and a green one. Shame no more pills goin' roun' at moment, though I reckon Jackson's gotta coupla softie smileys left over. Mad fucker loves dem PMMA ones, too, though there more pentylone n 4-CMC everywhere these days, not as much paramethyl – guess they'll blame Russians, Chinese or cartels but at least it'll take prices down. Quality's high n prices'll get lower, mainly cause of synthetics, new synthetic opiates n fake psychoactive shit. Truly mad, what I think! I fuckin' grown up wiv it all! Fuckin' lucky me!

 

Jackson starts going all spazz trippy, like really stressin':

Chazz, man, Chazz, yeah don't spark it, don't do it, fuck it fuck it, laterslaterslaters, Chazzie!

Well confused I say to Jackson, Chill Jacky. Fuck, Clive ain't here, we'll be cool, there's like twenty minutes left before the main room closes. Why you stressin'?

Jackson Fraction's motionless in a buzzy mash up trance; he soaked in sweat n looks fucked as he zones right out - true wig out styley! - but he's right into dis tunage, amazed to hear DJ Sense and J. Majik's wicked tune off Infrared Records - though in other room it's started to switch to a more full-on drum n bass/jump up set, which we all know gives us a real sound of aggy coked up atmosphere – steroids n coke combo R.S.I. movers; it cool but it don't have same euphoric vibes when you're in a club n gear's flowin', everyone juzz happy purely blissed out. Aggy vibes fuck people up, but Jackson don't care. Jackson mumbles about Peshay working with DJ Sense now.

I go to Jackson, Gonna have to start mis-spellin' yer name, or spell like Jaxxon, innit. Gotta get down wiv dem trendies Jacky baby, like dem Resident Advisor squares! Make it all cool bruvva!

Jackson smirks, shrugs then real sneaky takes a likkle pull on a zoot cupped in his hand, carefully holdin' in his smoke, then blowin' it down towards a real sticky dancefloor. Too many Jay Dees have already gone for a tumble. I can tell Jackson brewin' to rap some wavy thinkey far out rant, but he's takin' a coupla more pulls on dis zoot then - after holdin' his smoke in fer a eternity - he tells me through a mouth fulla smoke:

Chazz, yer know me bruv; I'll put up wiv any vibe fer a while – as long it a pumpin' bass fer a lovin' race then Jah, it's all about peace n love but some of these DnB randoms aren't here fer tunes. They juzz love aggro; it's a release fer 'em to get out to fucked off their faces n start some pointlessly shitty fight; it ain't a good night fer em till they get some coked up aggro, they're a odd lot to be honest but they probably don't even care fer us either when we tell 'em there's a fuckin' Doors sample in one of their fave coke up kill crazy anthems.

Jackson hands me the zoot but I drop it, cos I'm so fuckin' fucked; it cracks Jackson up as I try to look for it on dis rank n ruff floor. Aw fuck it, only coupla lugs left anyways!

 

Juzz weird in here, as only a few weird spaced out posh kids left starin' at us, lookin' real weird n wired. I'm bracin' to get a smack fer no reason: they wearin' ten pound Mike Ashley clobber n got three hundred quid designer trainers on; I juzz try to remember not to scuff 'em, they'll see it as club warfare! It cracks me up to think of it now - I was pleased wiv a new pair of fuckin' Gola when I was a yoot, I must've been a right goofy kid!

 

DJ must've realised most people in here now are over fuckin' thirty as he starts droppin' older tunes, or older tunes remixed in a newish style, as we brock out when Sound Control gets dropped, it some newish kinda mix, but original's still fuckin' shit hot! I'm cluckin' fer oldskool, cluckin' fer Billy Bunter! And I'm sweatin' like a pig, me sweat's sweatin'! Jackson points, gettin' me attention as we bump into some middle-aged ladies n have a little dance near a switched-off fan; for these birds it's juzz a messy, tired, dance of perspired desperation, but they might have to put up with workplace monotony durin' week. Trust, it can sap anyone's spirit, though for me it turns me on even harder when it's a proepr shit job n yo can't be fucked with the rat-race bullshit. Both me n Jackson try to grind with these birds but they're as fucked as us! They're all totally mullered! I'm secretly juzz pleased we ain't been accused of rape while dry-humpin' em. They seem to be real chilled to be fair; we ain't botherin' no-one either. We're always fucked too!

 

I suddenly notice one tall bouncer with a big beer gut. He's a proper joyless bastard. Only nights like this what pay his fuckin' wage, give him work. God, he hates ravers fer sure!

I say on the sly to Jackson: big bad ball grabber doin' a patrol, Jacky, real big thick fucker. Juzz makes up rules then boots people out. Nah talkin' wiv'im, juzz ain't got great English! Need to call up a fuckin' UN intepreter fer 'im!

Jackson craks up at it, as he attempts to do the funniest wigged-out one foot skank; moody bouncers glare on but I'm so fucked, I'm slurrin' n shoutin', think a joyless ballgrabber bouncer heard me! Un-fuckin'-believable, he'll definitely get his revenge.

Shit, Jacky, think that lanky one hear me?

I dunno, Chazz. Maybe. They're a huge part of why it's all goin' to shit. Quire used to be heavin' every week, always busy, long queues, always mad times. No mad weird shit, usually chilled. Nah wonder mad people come back n stab up dem bouncers fer kickin' em out fer nothin', who would wanna pay gettin' in?

We crack up some more but we can't find Clive. He's vanished into thin air. He ain't even answering his phone though the music booming out still as people filter out, don't be the last few now I shout out that. Don't risk it. Jackson's gotta go to the cloakroom to get his manky duffel bag so I wait near the back, tryin' not to look at dem bouncers. Bunch of jobsworths killjoys but Lanky ball grabber there, Juz back into him

Erm-umm..Soz, didn't see y--

Too late, these bouncer a fuckin' cunt. Sticks me in an arm lock and lifts me right off the floor by one arm; think me arm gonna snap. Lucky it just me bun-bag strap. But I don't get it.

Why?

Resist removal from club, resist me, break rules fucker. Y'out now!

The joyless motherfucker sounds like fuckin' Terminator! But a totally cock-head Terminator. I managed to hold on to me bun-bag, motherfucker literally throws me outta place.

 

I rub me arm, it aches so bad but I pick up me coat and try to put me bun-bag in the large inside pocket; it only just fits. Still buzzin' too. Lookin' like a bop to Brixton. Me phone goes; screen cracked up, fucker tryin' to crush me. Whatta total dick head, but it happens. I answer me phone,touchscreen proper fucked. Gonna take ages to sort it out. I get the shit phone to take the call,

Chazz?

Jacky?

Yeah, Chazz, where yer fuckin' go?

Motherfuckin' bouncer kicked me out. Fuck kno's what for. But he must've heard me - fuckin' holds a petty grudge, don't he? Wow, he shouldn't be anywhere near a rave!

Yeah, you know it Chaz. I'm gonna make a coupla calls. I gotta idea. I'm gonna wait it out maybe get some afterparty ticket; I gotta shift all of this gear Chazzie, anyway, need at least a grand a week to live on in London! Trust, knockin' Mandy only way to go, juzz makin'a wage outta a ounce a week!

Jackson only goes and hangs up.

I wonder if they were clocking we were chattin' but Jackson been bellin' some geek's phone called Clive all night; he needs his other bag – proper secret stash bag bizniz. Acid stash. N-Bomb, dem synthetic trips, maybe some shrooms.

It a key thing if you wanna keep loafin', always freejackin' in Blighty, it A.O.K. But we like it, come n go, easy does it people! Ladies fly by, some uni kids do wanna stick around a bit longer than we realise, but we always get the fear over those uni kids, usually they into other things – like dull careers, oh Marcus n Maddie applied fer sleazoid City jobs, it kinda bullshit convos - but the key rule for knockin' out to whoever: students, workers, politicians, literally whoever! Here it is! Don't choose who and who not to. Juz make them bucks fast, ditch it as if it about to go out of fashion, even if they look like a cop. You'll be in and out in no time, but all you gotta hit is these sales rules: Twenty-eight people who want a gee each - try to hit it each week, give yourself two if you slackin' - or just a few people who love a bulk buy! It's up to you. I'll knock a oz for fifteen hundred, pisseasy. Still make money too. It all good, someone else just might cut it or knock it on elsewhere though most keep it as percy. It all about how different people flow. But don't get greedy, yeah I ain't like Jackson, movin' kees every fuckin' time. It a lot of cash but I do go halfs on a kilo now n then with Jackson. Never money for rent, but always enough scorin' gear! Shit, sounded like the laugh right outta Voodoo Magic mix!

Clive turned out to be a rich kid, of course; he's got some mad trust fund now; he'd blow a shit-load in Ibiza, rack up credit on upgrades then tuck into his gear money; but he's into Jackson for a lot of money n Jackson always gets his money's worth outta these trustafarians, he always get somethin', even if it's rent free at Clive's n he'll let Jackson shake n bake in his empty garage. Clive's mum's always in Portugal anyway - she's bagged herself a new rich - but real old! - hubbie. It like a weird mature Sugar Daddy vibe – though dis rich older fella likes more mature women, as he's well into his seventies. Clive said he's cool, never had kids juzz ever had himself to please n inherited most of his dosh in true British style – he's a fuckin' self-made successful business fucker then! - but Clive's mum met dis dude on some exclusive cruise so it sounds a great way to pick up rich old people.

I couldn't believe he was tellin' me all this. Amazin' what a bit of truth serum can do! Clive's actual biological father paid out some settlement for his mum as he went to live in UAE or some shit. Fuckin' always thought Clive looks a bit Arabic, looks a bit German to me as well. Like an extra outta Schlindler's List. You'd never think how small the world really is.

 

I got back in, result...Suss...We clock the girls are here now. They've been at a day rave at those yuppie dockworks ting, new place, pricey tickets like a fuckin' festival price, but it ends at nine or ten at night, not even twenty four fuckin' hours; we all know it's fer upmarket poser ravin' fer anonymous film stars n wannabes. Fuck it, what's point, bet you spend a shitload of time quein' fer everythin'.

Then we tell em that we went to an illegal rave fer fuck all that had the power cut on it after fuckin' forty-eight hours, then they're here. I got in as Jackson opened up the side door. Place fuckin' state, fuckin' ain't gotta Scooby where kids' chillin'.Not like I'm in a rush to find dem stress-bags, still gettin' on it. Maybe we'll bump into em later; trust man, yoots crack me up; either screen queens or fuckin' neggin' out over everythin'.

Me eldest kiddo asked me one time what did you do back in the day before mobiles n shit, how did you work it? It stil cracks me up but I says it was simple then: we didn't have mobiles, we had to find our mates, when we lost em n we had lotsa hash, lotsa weed, trippy skunk, crazy pills, one should do yer, n then proper bangin' acid. Juz wicked drugs. I tells him acid was cheaper than pills n he can't fuckin' believe it, crazy likkle toe-rag. He cracks up. I say, trust, it mad but you yoots got it tough with all these crazy synthetics all powerful, can kill in a flash or give you proper grief or long time after takin' em.

Safer takin' cut illegal shit than all them crazy synthetics. Kiddo still tanks it on Spice but I mix some weed n hash, I like a likkle trip out but I put only a teeny-tiny bit in.

Oh yeah, I got to wear a different T-Shirt and baseball cap and Tessa's sunglasses. I look like a dork extra outta some Eighties film. Film bizarre man, see the aliens when they got them shades on!

Digby's comin' down. He got some of his yoot protest crew ready, they're gonna kick shit up here, so expect Digby's anarchist bizniz chitchat. But he'll distract security for me while I keep knockin' out shit, then I gotta leave though it sounds wicked at Hotbox tonight. We gotta bust quick, these moody fuckers might shake you down n you can't take shit off em but they dont really get what you're sayin', they're fuckin' shit to be honest.

Jackson wiped his brow; we'd already passed around that zoot quick outside. Tessa n Sandra sparked up some Bensons n some random with a cherry vape wandered over tryin' to chat up Sandra. She was proper luvvin' it, she proper fucked though star-eyed n loved up. But the drug talk random chatter had got to her. Cherry Vape man gettin scared; thought it some civilised ting not fulla crazy fuckheads like us. We ask if he got any shatter in the vape and he looks baffled; turns out he some fuckin' tourist, we don't even bother to ask where, we're too busy corpsin'. Any more aggro we gonna hug 'em to death; should've had half of me blue Peace n Love - Oh me days, it's proper hittin' me well hard! – boy oh boy can I feel a rush comin' on real strong! We're all proper rockin' n shockin' now, buncha teeth-chatterin' window-lickers!

Lucky Jackson got me back in and saved me a trip south of the river, would've had to pay at least a tenner. Gotta stay in these cheap free nights for as long as possible. But it's filterin' out, emptyin' like anythin', nobody's comin' into house night after the jungle dnb night ended early. Jackson's talking to some punky kid, he saying about all the mad DJs he seen but he startin to chat tunage. Now choonz r what shit about. Jackson loves all rave like proper hardcore n even psytrance which kinda weird as lot of high end DJs hate the breakbeat hardcore but they dig all these deep soulful housey vibes. A lot of ambient, slow burn vibes, all Avalon Emerson sorta geeky tech, though she's an amazin' producer, a real smart cookie Yank kid. Heard Avalon used to be a software developer or some techy geeky shit before bustin' dis crazy deejay/producer bizzle, so gotta be sharp as fuck wiv it all.

Jackson's a total raver, he loves it all, he'll even put up with some pystrance, n not all psytrance DJs hit sync, a lot of can mix shit hot n really build a vibe, you can feel it, it'll be a mad ting - all fer a fuckin' fiver Sarf Lundun styley! Jackson says it a better vibe than at moody youth targeted DnB raves. I agree wiv it; I trod on some kid's three hundred pound trainers by accident and he juz hit me before I could say sorry. Then the likkle shit ran away when he clocked I was still standing, lettin' blood flow from me lips n nozzle. Juzz stung to be honest, I was tellin' dat kid later, like, I was off me nut, though didn't feel a thing so no hard feelin' offa me! Yeah, I tells him to give people a chance to say sorry n don't expect trainers to be scuff free when goin' to a proper mental rave, not some wallflower poser fest! Loada poncey blokes all standing around drinkin', lookin' moody; wanna see you move dammit! Bloody not at fuckin' poser central fashion-fest at Viper Room!

Lissen kid, Krome n Time's London Talk proper banger, everyone knows Ganja Man makes the compilations but London Talk a proper true banger, right up there with Don Gorgon Sound too.

Elsewhere they're goin' all the way through at least to their extended set. Ray Keith done an extended set when a club decided to close his night down early, this poser club said it was all because Chase and Status were at Fabric but Ray's night was mad - fuckin' diamond set too, Ray, toppa top! Just like Trip down memory lane, or dem Milwaukees vibes I even too young to get in n experience. The kids don't realise what a genius Ray really is but it harsh it ending at half three, shit club what closed down called Fifty Six, it was some poncy kinda club/ bar with private VIP booths anyway; we all know it juzz about sellin' VIP tables at these poser-places, whatta total con! They always end early too, gotta get dem box fresh trainers n hush puppies home to clean I guess, wimmin' in heels – yeah, don't say a word when they stab yer toes wiv dem stiletto heels!

It's all gone now anyway, so arrogant; club management told us all to come back at seven in the mornin' fer some shitty creamcheese disco bullshit; no refund offered as they'd technically honoured puttin' on a rave, but completely changed it's time n kinda music. Scummy or what?

Yeah, fuck off! Like I turned up fer fuckin' disco! Crazy club places, they probably didn't even know who Ray Keith is but he should've booked a venue that at least respected what he's single-handedly done for raves. Our raves would be poorer havin' no dons knockin' about smashin' shit up. Bet it was a cool management agency bookin' as Ray's always still deejayin' n tourin' like a lot of old skool masters.

But these piss off clubs happen, kills vibes, kills your night. No-one lettin' you in anywhere juzz cuz of state yer eyes are in. Starry wide surprisin' vibe hypnotisin' – you ain't never gettin' in somewhere at three or four in the mornin'. It's ruined yer ravin, back to shitty reality: makes people think of all dis shit we ravers still gotta put wiv up. CRASHBACKTOREALNESSFUCKERS!

Screamy whiny bubbas, moody teens who juzz want yer to keep payin' fer everythin' they want – n they wanna buy up everythin' what makes 'em happy fer five seconds, before it's some other new ting they want! For real, these hyper-sensitive kids they'll threaten to kill themselves, they all like it, world's end post-bullshit twenty-first century anxiety disorder! Though me annoyin' missus wantin' yer to get a better kind of shit payin' job, which tough as I got like zero qualifications, all juzz so yer can squeeze a stressy school-run in without losin' money on yer stressy commute. It gotta be a weird form of ultra Tory capitalist hell!

I'm fucked but slowly woke up juzz as me son's nappy had come off on me pillow - I love wakin' up to some fresh runny toddler shit! Almost stuck me face in it. What got me heavin' in a instant! Fuckin' kids, yoots rule – even likkle toddlers get one over me, not like I give a shit. I'm too fucked n tired to really care these days! How yer fuckin' still alive Chazz? I ask me self, heavin' like mad. It gotta be most rancid smell I'm ever gonna smell, though I've heaved over all kindsa rough shit before, trust - I dunno, maybe it the shock of wakin' up to fresh toddler shit?

I'm speechless, I can't think. Keep heavin' some more, really feel like a beer n a zoot. Me missus, Donna, must be downstairs watchin' fuckin' reality drivel, loadsa reality shit. It's her condition for pissheads who get fits: watch every bit of dross on shitty sewerboxflix, it fills yer mind wiv shit, can be a total fuckwit then! Donna's on sick benz too, bad whatever; still pissed off at last payment cuts but what can yer fuckin' do? Fuckin' beats goin' back to do those shitty shifts, get beat up fer doin' long hours, why bother? It never pays - you'll never have any cash -yer always payin' fuckin' shitty bills! Blighty nver changes, always some shit yer gotta fuckin' pay!

Hand to mouth all way everyday, juzz way wiv benefits; never have enough fer fancy shit – crack ain't fancy - but who cares; it only fuckin' money, always some other way to get it. If yer really need shit, though some shit not that important. I ain't doin' any middle class shit juzz to get a meal, eatin' way down on me list to be honest. To me all food tasted better when I was a kid, dunno why, me taste buds must be fucked, must mean I'm fucked though I only like the taste of drugs these days.

I could go down the bookies n spunk a ton I don't have - what I'll never win back - but I decide to get wiv it, clean me old chillum out: have a big old psychedelic smoke up. I got packets of synthetic shit everywhere along with all this legal hemp flower I've been gettin' through real quick. It all cheap too, though most of smoke a bit strange. Skunk's so pricey now, it a weird buzz, there's no trippy shit juzz a full on mong out. I think I've lost me taste wiv some of it all, I can't tell no more, I'm too fucked. I can't seem to get same high wiv it. Though I'm normally on me arse totally trippin' balls nine times outta ten. Donna says somethin' to the bunkin' teen from her first relationship – probably startin' a new fight other some shit – though where did me son go? He's probably found me fuckin' bong, cheeky likkle bogeynose. Kid's quick, chippin' commando, freeworld bizniz. I must've blacked out. Me son's lookin' at me laughin'. Still got no nappy on. Pissed everywhere too. I give him a likkle kiss n find his beaker, he gives it a good gulp. I dunno if he really mine but I love him anyway. I love em all, even dem kids I got a real good idea ain't mine. Donna half put it about a fair bit back in day but I'm not exactly a angel either.

Donna yells at me, YER FUCKIN' UP YET FUCKIN' TRIPPY FUCKIN' FUCKWIT!CHAAAZIE!CHAZ! WAKDEEFUCKUP! I WANNA GET SOME FUCKIN' MILK! WE WANT CEREAL CHAZZ!

All I'm fuckin' good fer, goin' round likkle shop fer fuckin' milk n payin' bills. Well, I try to knock as many of 'em as I can. Me battered Motorola rings – God, how it still workin' I dropped it a thousand times, even fished it outta pebble-dashed bogs.

CHAZZ! I KNO' YER WAKE! WE'RE WATCHIN' JERRY SPRINGER REPEATS, CHAZZIE!

Give it a rest, Donna, I'll be down in a bit! Fuckin' mongin' ain't I!

Hear some proper loud giggles. I speak normal as I know these walls like well thin, no need to shout unless yer tryin' to let neighbours what yer want.

Hear a knock at the door, a proper thud. Hear more laughter.

CHEERS CHAZ – NICE ONE FER GETTIN' YER PAL JACKY TO GET US MILK!

I crack up. So it who was ringin'. Jackson Fraction. Jackson appears. What a legend he even boughta four pints around.

Get dressed Chaz, Jackson tells me, handing me a huge zoot. I take a good lug, coughin' me guts up. Fuckin' good Thai weed, fuckin' tasty.

Thazz real good shit, kinda splutter out to Jackson. I'm still coughin'.

I'm serious, Chazz. Why don't yer sort Donna out wiv one o these shoppin' deliveries? Do it online real quick, saves pissin' about shops. I need yer to bop to some real far out party wivmne. I think it's in Milton Keynes. We all kno' there fuck all in Milton Keynes apart from parties – legal n illegal. Fuck all else goin' down there, yer kno'!

I crack up at, coughin' me guts up n propa laughin'. Gotta fellin' it'll be one of those weird orgy kinda parties.

Cheers fer bringin' milk aroun' Jackson, yer a legend. Donna proper naggin' me top go to likkle shop – how yer know?

Yer always need milk here. Bought some Stellas around too.

Sweet I ain't had breakfast, though nuffin' beats a Stella.

Jackson throws me a bottle, I go to try n crack it open wiv me teeth but Jackson gotta bottleopener and hands it to me

It's a fuckin' lighter too, go figure! Lookin' like Blighty turnin' into pisshead central innit!

Cracks me right up as I struggle to open fuckin' bottle, it a proper shitty bottle opener, though it manages to open it juzz when I think about usin' me teeth again.

Jackson sticks on me battered CD player, Sensi-Tize blasts on, always keep it old skool – we're fuckin' hardcore!

Shit, Chazz, might be a total fuckhead but yous got some wicked choons! That gets me laughin'.

We go down stairs, clock that Donna has nodded off. It must be dem kids doin' her head in.

She's all cool really, I tell Jackson.

Man, yer do what yer gotta.

Sure, it juzz...I dunno shit nah more, yer dig me? It all stressy, kids do yer head in!

Jackson shrugs, smirks, then starts to pack a bong.

Yer gotta gauze? Yer never look after yer bongs, man! Jackson tells me.

I shrug as I give Donna a hug.

Donna, I say, Yo Dee. I'm juzz offski fer a likkle while.

Wha'evva...Donna mumble-slurs.

Hold on Jackson, I'm gonna catch you up, I tell him.

Jackson shrugs again. Fuckin' Silent Bob retort treatment. I ain't no gobshite but I decide to give Donna a likkle good bye kiss. A good bye pussy kiss – sure, a smacker on her cooch gotta be sweet as!

 

As I struggle to get under Donna's robe, I clock she got no panties on, so I try to get her to spread her cutesy podgy legs. Shit, she's blobbin' big time; can really whiff her bloodyfishypiss pussy juice. Too bad; she gets real gnarly on her period – no fuckin' joke, some wicked fucks even if they're messy, fuckin' heavy periods means lotsa blood n cum everywhere...Donna juzz clocks me as I'm about to finger her tasty bloody pussy.

God, Chazz, lemme rest. I've got fuckin' M.E. Fuck off Chazz!

I shrug I reckon she gotta fuckin' bangin' tramadol patch on, I'm already jealous. We're always fightin' over trammie patches, fuckin' make a shit world hyperspacin' to shit!

Yeah, so fuckin' what? O.K., I've got another trammy patch on – least I ain't always fuckin' bingin' on dem weird benzos again, Donna tells me, kinda smirkin'.

I remember scorin' dem weird benzos off Bungle Bob - fuck me they fucked me up more than all those Clobazams!

I better go n look fer a shit job then, I tells her.

Donna starts crackin' up at it, I didn't think it too funny.

Dee, I love yer – luv yous all – right? I ain't gotta clue no more, dunno whatt do.

It cool, Chazz. Juzz be yerself kiddo.

Yeah, Donna was older than me, we'd been together for a while, she knew me from school. It a bit weird as it not too common now, everyone meets on a fuckin' date fuck site these days, proper feel real bad for the teens today.

 

I bop out to see Jackson rolling another zoot, shit guy juzz done a fuckin' bong n a balloon. Jackson's all smiley.

What?

Oh nah, it nothin' it juzz yer know Ani?:

Ani?

Ani Ann? She's like a youngish new kinda DJ, I guess. Think she only been deejayin' a few years. Yer know Ani, yer wiv me when she did some illegal afterparty in Islington, she does a lot of jump up kinda stuff at moment. She's really into it, like got some radio show. I think it's a pirate one, I can't remmber it some kinda rotation I think. She's a bit random, she told me she was an anorexic schizo when she was a kid. She got to be at least thirty.

I ain't gotta clue who yer on about. I dunno, man, she wasn't the chick with Sense?

Nah man, Chazz I thought I was a fuckwit! God! Well, check it: I says to Ani, early on right, if she wanted to meet, she's like nah, I'm busy, well busy, laterz! So I give it half hour, n bell her n tell her I'm doin' fuck all now, I've got a half oz of mandy, shitloadsa pills, a oz of superskunk, sum hash, n half oz of coke, did you want to meet me? She says she'll meet us at Turnpike Lane in half a hour.

Nah way. Man, Jacky, nuts to have all of it wivya, it mad.

Dude, it all cool, I ain't got it all on me, I'm goin' on me way to get it. But we've got enough to get by till then, but she told me she didn't wanna know me, as soon as Iet hear about all me gear, she's suddenly free! It still cracks me up!

Real giggly n kinda miffed, I tells Jackson: We all juzz wanna get on it, fuck it!

It why I love yer Chazzie, always straight up. Yer a sound bloke, yer think good in us all even when we're bein' total cunts!

Dude,we only human innit, we all got shit to do, fuck it. Life's too short, too stressful!

Don't start chattin' philosophy again wimme again yer fuckhead!

That proper gets me corpsin'. Crackin' up like mad. Lucky all our neighbours are either monged or out shitjobbin'.

We better get movin' Chazz, we gotta bus to get. A magic bus to Ani's fanny.

Oh yer think she wants all that?

How else dude, she ain't wantin' to chip in, she wants to tuck in wiv us. These people always get far, it's cos they're so over-confident, they juzz get everythin'. Good people, ordiniary people who juzz make do get screwed. It's way our system goes. Soft skills bullshit, blag n talk, who yer know helps a shitload too, n what yer know about who yer know!

Jackson gets me well miffed sometimes, I juzz dig people. But Jackson must be gettin' all these theories off Digby, Jackson's legendary permanent protest student mate. He always got some weird mate from somewhere, where does he meet all these fuckin' mental people? Like his mate who looks like zippy - he knows Zolly Solar n Salford John, even Bungle Bob n Custard Cream n they're well wird. Juzz like our very own ginger-dread gollum who calls himself Jezzy but known as DJ Hog.

 

Looks like we're meeting Ani at Turnpike. Fuckin' mental as she must've gotta fuckin' Uber there,she waiting for us as soon as we get off the 221, finishing off a fag, lookin' real bleary eyed. Never seen her dressed in some office casuals, she always been in a bikini top n hotpants when I see her,even when she must've been deejayin' she dreses like it.

She looks real fucked, as if she'd been canin' it n had to do some dull office wank number, gotta be sharp n sensible.

God, hi guys, whatta shit day. Got fuckin'mn fired, workin' at tight ass chartered accountants. Fuckin' shitty job anyway, I offered to blow him if he gave me another chance, I done whole personal trauma thing, he wanted me out. Reckon he was gay, she says really quick, stubbin' out rest of her fag. Her day-glo nail polish all chipped, she looks like she been cryin'.

Jackson puts his arm around her, gives her a gentle squeeze, while handin' me a zoot, rizla in hand. Classic Jacky F posture.

Jacky tells Ani: Fuck it Ani. I'm meetin' wiv Kherry Kandi, does she produce or promote? I can't remmeber, she loves a good party though. Last time I saw her she was goin' down on some smiley Asian chick, she had retro pubes, never forget her bush.

Nice way to say it, Jackson, giggles Ani.

Oh don't you like Kherry Khandi?

She's a bit of a bitch actually.

It cool, I had no idea, I'll blow her out.

Oh no, no. It's fine. I guess I don't really know her. She's a bit random; she always says she gonna book me then never does. She's friends with thingy's wife off--

Jackson cuts her off quick: It don't matter, Annie. It's all cool! He says shapin' his rizla.

Now don't make me sound a cunt, Jackson. It's fine let's all meet. We ain't goin to dat dayrave shit again?

Why Not? It's open now, all day, all through to five then it opens again later into Monday mornin'. Don'tcha wanna get high baby?

 

Ani cracks up, Jackson n her definitely got chemistry; I can now see why Jackson played her this way. Maybe he'd known she'd juzz been fired too. Who knows wiv Jackson Fraction, he a likkle bit psychic. But these stuffy temp jobs are ten a penny n all shit. Yer gotta be mad to stick at 'em. Never better off - well, never feel it anyway!

 

Impressum

Texte: Al Calm
Cover: Al Calm
Tag der Veröffentlichung: 12.09.2018

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