Real Strange Vibes Volume 10 by Al Calm (iphone ebook reader .txt) 📖

OK but still fairly weak compared to decent mandy. You'll probably need to do loads of it to get a proper buzz. I stick in me sweated up back pocket to forget, get it sweated up so Franco can remind me later moan on I ruined his shit. I get lost in the vibes; the zonage killers - Strings of Life 94 remix gets dropped - blows some selfie wallflowers away! Don't need to update Insta shit while you at a lockdown rave, do you? I lose it for time before hear I Franco whine on again.

You got a score? I need a burger, I need something. I ain’t ate in weeks, Franco moans.

Fuck! No fucking way, what a crazy fucker! He can't be fuckin' hungry!

I remember when he invited me around his squat; all empty cupboards, thick black mould covered the walls. It real foul but, at least, it had running water, even some power left on. It had to be left by some developer fucker.

Franco said he just ignored it all. And when it was time to go, there was an old caravan out the back. He was using it to cook up in, even mix up various synthetic powders. Bottles of printer toner, brake fluid, oven degreaser all pile up high in a dirty bin.

Trust me, bruv, fuck all wasted in Blighty! Never know what me next batch'll turn out like – all trial mostly error, it way it goes, real street chemistry styley!

I nodded in agreement, what else can you do when you're talkin' to some amateur poisoner! He hopes not to kill anybody but it's all a bit Frank Spencer if he does. Franco said he'd find it funny, he sent Goofer Gaz to hospital more than once, way too much GBL. Fuckin' deadly if you have even a bit of alcohol in the end, real toxic. GBL turns to GHB as soon as it hits, the last thing you want to do is have a drink but loads of people do it. Like with all the kids takin' shitloads of pills and coke on top of loads of ketamine then drink loads of booze.

 

I zone out more, always on a zone out - totally vibe trippin' feel like I'm movin' like Fred Astaire to Slipmatt's Hear Me, trust a wicked mix, though probably movin' like a muppet! Gonzo dance! Sweat everywhere, been goin' time, time always flies: makes me think of seOne when I first met Jezzy Mongo, Jackson Fraction, all crew. It was a wicked time then: cheap pills, some decent some shit, quality bugle, powerful mandy. Still got quality weed, hash - even skunk value for money. It was a mad time where I wasn't up to much, on a job hop, bored I don't reckon I ever knew what to do, I'd end up in different places. Me family all over the country anyway, it all ended up a big whatever.

Jackson appears again, permanent wasted smile, he like a some kinda tripped out ghost here there every fuckin' where! He hands me a zoot I chuff, tastes like air, so I hand it back. Makes me see orange through those mad lasers.

What was it? I ask Jackson.

Jackson laughs, shakes his head, one eye a slit his other eye, all red, look like it'll pop out of his socket – bright ol' star eye, he's buzzin'!

Legend, love y'matey! Jackson shouts at me.

Franco wants to bum some, he tryin' to get his iffy droney shit he gummed earlier off me but I ignore the annoyin' fried rat. He got a whiny voice, real junkie whine, it doin' me nut in! Franco puts his hand out for the zoot, I drain it, hand him the roach. See orange then purple green lasers. Jackson's laughin' at Franco take a lug of roach.

Don't take long: real full on photosensitive flashback in these lockdown vibes; think right back to when you meet people who change you forever. Not forgotten, Leftfield right on. It weird as I'd stumbled through late nineties raveland, usually at alternative subcultural events, Bagleys, Canvas, Cross, Key, sometimes Egg, then usually at beat up Fridge but I'd even catch lotsa bands: Bull&Gate, Barfly, Astoria, Garage - not bad with a fake ID, lanky acne, always on a blag. The time what changed it all: seOne sure it 2006 maybe 2007, near the end time of seOne it closed only three years later. Shame The Cause only been about a couple years. Had to close, yuppie developers always get their way in Blighty – too much money at stake. The Cause shaped up to be one of the best new clubs, sometimes the vibe reminded me of seOne, it always great at The Cause – huge for Tottenham to have a real club for real ravers, not up its arse like Fabric and Ministry of Sound, all run by people who totally love clubland and wanted to do some good raising money for the community and charities.

I always end up on a past-present linkage, who cares for the future when you're havin' it right out? But kinda all keeps me real zoned, past never far away, like the future – unites us, we can't avoid it. Makes me feel one, even if I fucked up how to word it: past always seems there even though it always gone, the unknown future doesn't seem as fun but I know you can't guarantee the future, still can't wait to find out if I'm lucky enough to make it. Nearly poisoned myself with GBL one night, it only takes a drop too much then pick up a alcoholic drink by mistake, really canes. I thought I'd need hospital again but after passin' out, I woke up right as rain. Maybe it'll come back to haunt me like all other contaminated toxic shit I dropped.

I remember back at seOne I met Ronnie Rainbow always with Lady Charley, his tall raver missus. Kindest people you'd ever want to meet. Always help people who had bugged out but always smiley, always face up to the cold faced chin- strokers who there to be miserable. Always a zoot in Ronnie's mouth, he and his missus could really rave also smoke so much ganja, it mad how much Ronnie toked. People couldn't believe Ronnie breathed ganja!

Before raves went seriously middle-class -sold out or whatever you want to call it - where they weren't full of hipsters who filmed every set next to their dull hipster birds who dreamily slow danced to mental amen breaks.

Ronnie came up to me one time before at a smaller club in Vauxhall. Used to be more sweaty little clubs in Vauxhall. But I remember when he came up to me while the floor kinda moved, even the walls turn to blood, it kinda went like I was in a level of old skool Doom. I must've been sweatin' buckets, lookin' real weirdly wired.

Ronnie said, You look real fucked bruv!

Uh? I kinda mumbled. I don't remember if even able to say much else. Some gear so good, couldn't chat after droppin' it.

You all cool though? Ronnie asks, looks into me eyes: see the power of chemical friendship. We all on the same wavelength, one for the headstrong. Ronnie Rainbow was the don of headstrong ravers.

C-c-chuuurz m-m-mmateeee, c-c-cchuurz, I finally say to Ronnie, he must've seen me on a struggle to rap with him. I shook his hand.

The hand of a real legend. Ronnie Rainbow. It a honour to dry out after the rave over, if no afterparty, share a couple zoots with him n Charley. Sure I saw him at Jamm after that. Ronnie was everywhere I was, we kinda been friends. I went to things on I didn't even know he'd be at, we'd bumped into each other. It was how Jackson Fraction and Jezzy Mongo appeared. Jackson Fraction was the original invisible random raver. So many knew of him but didn't know his name. But he knew everyone like Jezzy - who also know the posh wrong un Crisp Roll. Only trust fund baby who really did live like a hippy junky, had it out with all real ruffneck. They all cool. Ronnie Rainbow knew everyone too but he really did know everyone, even the MCs and DJs every one.

 

;O

Jezzy's a joker, but we all suss he a hippy contact collector. Ronnie all about vibes and raves. Every Dj needed a Ronnie Rainbow and Lady Charley. Always on it, always hyped. They loved everyone. Supported so many DJs. But Jezzy always wanted to creep up his contact book, Ronnie didn't give a shit, he was a real true soul. He was no commercial fucker, he loved all DJs, all people and supported em even if it only him n Charley on the dancefloor – he'd be everywhere. All the time, I don't know how he done it – like a rave carousel! Ronnie smiled. That time at seOne was magic; sure it only a little while before the mad Raindance and Moondance raves on there at same time, was mad Whirl-y-gigs. To fill seOne is magic but to explain the Whirl-y-beat is tricky, supposed to be like a inclusive global music vibe. You go in fucked and came out even more fucked on organics and synthetics. Used yourself as a test subject – but you always able to get a cuppa at a Whirl-y-gig!

It so mad that Whirl-y-gig. Ronnie had got some mad pink magic. Ronnie, Charley and me had all tucked in. Jackson came by Ronnie knew him gave him some, Jackson gave us some mad red Mickey Mouse pills. OH ME DAYS! The whirlybeat, the swirl of everything - we must've been laughin' for hours, move real weird. Jacksons had some trips. I noticed that hi converse all had holes in, he barefoot in them – must've killed his feet.

Jezzy Mongo – weird dude with ginger dreads talks to Ronnie. Ronnie sorted him out. Jezzy looking for people called Custard Cream and Bungle Bob. Ronnie knows them says he say them around Cafe Teez looked bugged havin' a good bun, downs a cuppa! Jezzy says he'll come back, but he says he got more gear to go. He meant to get some PG Tips off Custard or Bungle. I can't believe it – they're as good if not a bit cleaner than those red mickeys. Strength of those things, it all relativ, it all about a pure clean buzz.

Better than the piss poor shit here at Pussy Claw now - reckon some kids got no ADHD meds this week, like fuckin' back to the Sixties! Always joke about those big blue speed capsules they had back then. They needed to be big, gotta take loads of speed to keep a buzz tickin', then you end up chattin' endless shit do every one's heads in – don't make any sense to yourself. But way it goes. You'll fuck up in the end, hope it not serious – loads of cabbies, truckers used to take it; they'd take shitloads to pull all nighters. Even hear pigs take it, it used to treat loads of stuff. I think it funny they give it to hyper kids.

 

Franco breaks me time out zone out. Franco moans, I can't hear him I'm still in two different worlds. The soundsystem seems to be on a cut out now. Maybe they turned it down, hope Old Bill finally fuck off. I doubt it with this many people here. I put me mask on, hood up. Don't wanna get filmed by Plod even if end up dishin' fines. Only another fine I'll never pay.

Mate I think Dibble turned up again, it endin'. Kherri, her mate Clara, they all fucked off, they always do it before old Bulls show up!

Bulls? Chicago Bulls? I go to Franco.

Nah man, nah Plod I mean - y'know Bulls.

Whatever man, I tell Franco. I got his sweated up droney shit still in me back pocket. I take it out, drippin'