Real Strange Vibes Volume 10 by Al Calm (rainbow fish read aloud TXT) 📕

Trippy times, wicked tings.

Get on the rocks after having it out wherever you are. Mix the illegals and NPS bizzle, mix em down. Bashed up proper. Puff n chuff, hoot n huff, get right on it with the Chongz. Reminds me: Got this new glass steamroller wanna try out later!

Jackson Fraction got funny again after neutralising some fascist pig. Think it a bouncer. Went back and sorted him out with a brick to the head. Jackson got the old Five AM shakedown at a rave, you know when your eyes are proper rolling.

The Five Am shakedown is classic, though not as common as you'd think. It entails some fascist cunt jobsworth bouncer coming up to you as you get out of the bogs then looks into your eyes. They all go: Let me look into your eyes; right, I know what you're up to!

You say you're gonna go anyway, you know they'll kick you out the club, but these bouncers just wanna search you and scam some shit off you. They're after any fuckin' thing. They're just fuckin' hypocrites. As soon as you hear the fascist motto of: I  just do my job - then you gotta let it roll then bite your lip.

You have two choices; kinda depends how fucked you are. You either kick off and end up held down by a few of these jobsworth bouncers, or let the jobsworth cunt do their thing, they find less than half a gram on you! There's no plan for it but people know there a lot of cheeky bouncers out there, taking people on at the end of the night when they're really buzzing and feeling it. The worse they’ll get is a hug, but you know how it goes. You've got the rest of your shit stashed but you ain't letting them find that. Let them find the crumbs.

It wrong time for these kind of bouncers, they're sad bastards really. Stay clear of those venues, usually one that does start with a 'S' and ends in a 'A', though they don't do many raves there nowadays. Probably explains why a lot of bouncers getting stabbed recently - too many shakedowns on the hot tempered! And those fuckers don't forget, they really hold a grudge! These bouncers are dodgy: half the time, they just sell it on, or take it for themselves to have a little sample of the wonderful magic stuff. What else they gonna do with it? They definitely ain't handing it over to the cops, the pigs will clamp down on their licences. No-one wants that – they'll move on to some other venue and fuck it up for everyone else. They can handle getting the shit beat out of them though – just like pigs, they love being on the sick with the old bad back.

Bouncers, Pigs are just part of a state funded gang that pretends to keep the peace but are, in fact,political agents; no fucker really likes pigs, do they? And there are some really sound pigs – people who should never bother with the shit they get for as pigs. On the flipside, pigs break their own laws half the time – they only meant to gather evidence, but they can’t help trying to fit you up with an illegal search, take your shoes off in the back of the police car - let them give you a foot massage and check you ain’t got Sickboy shoes!

;/

 Jackson Fraction looked a bit mullered; always the kind of dude who looks shit-faced. Screwed up grimy bandana round his neck, he don't care about lockdown, like it never happened.

You know Jackson always thinkin' of some better score, better gear, a better rave somewhere else. It worth a fine. For a raverhippy he always moans about vibes today. The old vibe not there or a bad soundsystem if it a illegal thogh most legals have mad systems, kinetic dancefloors, sprung, real good. Didn't think hippies moaned so much til I met Jackson but fucking hell, he really goes for it about vibes! Vibes a serious business! Me? Nah, I don't give a fuck. Gave up time ago. But Jackson, what a fuckhead. He's lost it but he don't know it yet.

I met up with him at some random rave called Pussy Claw, can't remember where, loadsa these clubs all gone, even if a lockdown finishes them off these newer places never seem to last long either. It some kinda illegal semi-legal vibe, all tucked down in a disused office car park. Guess they push it til Plod show and wind it up. If you're locked in you need a way out, they block you in. Can only tell them to go get a warrant, tell them to go away.

Fuck know's why it all called Pussy Claw? Maybe got to do with the way the car park shaped, maybe it looks like a claw? But it was all good. The bouncers were the dealers; they didn't like people fucking around with any rough stuff, try to keep vibes pumped as petty turf shit loses them money also gets Dibble's attention. Rule one: no fun with Dibble about, bunch of dull pissheads. Sure all bouncers kinda physical, but these bouncers chilled, they always had good afterhours vibes. DJs aim was to keep folk up there, even drop some of their rough dubs. The bill always flexes, change good, vital; sometimes you ain't gotta Scooby who'll turn up next.

Yeh, mate, I tell you I had just packed in another shit temp zero hour non-job. Fucking awful piece of shit anyway, felt like some weeks I never stopped working, always on call. As soon as you refused a shift you weren't being flexible, you didn't get any work for the next week.

What a con of a piece of shit. Jackson didn't care, he never worked, he told me. Went from school to dole, ended up on it permanently, NEET to Timothy Leary in less than two decades. Real record. Dropped out a long time our Jackson Fraction, like lotsa 'em. Fuckin' loadsa his mates like it, sure few junkies but many not, think it just a way of life.

It like a default when our shit system punishes folks who do the right thing, whole system keeps fuckin' so many people over with shit job after shit job. They would have a breakdown if you took 'em off it so it much cheaper for them to be on it. They would find a way to get back on all of it, who knows what else. Seen Jackson fake a fit before in McDonald's in Brixton, only to knock someone then not pay. Fucking don't give a fuck, some crazy loser like Jackson Fraction. I thought he'd overdosed time ago. But way it goes. Jackson Fraction knows some proper randoms.

He's all cool. He says he cons all the docs and those private fuckers that assess all the big claims. To be honest, they probably think he's a nut so they know he'll be 100% unemployable. I look around Jackson's vanished, probably crouched down somewhere to bin up a zoot.

I keep quiet, I don'tlike too many randoms, only reliable people to sort you out. Always at a rave think through the world, escape the world, need it in lockdown these silent discos in fields not the same as feelin' a bit of bass. So here I am: left the shit pay job, snored off me fam, the kids even me missus for one night only - too much headshit though they'd get more bens without me around. Can tell prices will rocket right up whenever this shit pandemic ends.

I gone AWOL - for a bit anyway! Suppose to chill at Jenna's, she's some proper fit bird I know from a old temp job but she's a proper tasty raver slut - always got her eye on the next hunk candy. I ain't the jealous type, it not like I can keep it dry for long either, so I feel lucky Jenna keeps it on a open fuck buddy basis; she digs the himbo look: fat bulging bicep arms and sweat free face, crisp hair, gel immaculate. Box fresh poser. Another fuckin' rich kid poser, you know posers? All about fashion – rave on a fuckin' catwalk; strap dresses, immaculate Versace and Moschino,it all one endless vogue - but at least they're honest enough to tell you when you hum in a rave! It don't matter when it open air, illegal or legal raves, open air won't smell shit for long – unless the brown sound been hit! In clubs, really should have a ton of fuckin' air fresheners or turn some air con on for folks who truly bust a fuckin' groove cuttin' up some shapes all fuckin' night, keepin' it fuckin' hardcore!

See Franco, looks desperate, he knocks out whatever he can. Even got a hot Rolex. He shows me. He’s with a sixteen year old, she looks proper mature. Franco smiles, showing his fucked teeth, he wipes his long sweaty hair. He’s gone for the circa '91 mystic ponytail' vibe. He still looks the same, apart from the fucked teeth. He never goes to the dentist, he hates it. His breath stinks of shit. No shit. Does a lot of meth too, but you wouldn’t think so to look at him.

Franco shouts to me, Look 'ere bro? Check it?

Fuckin' Rolex? So fuckin' what? I go.

Yeah, it hot, it ain't real is it?

Fuck knows, what it fucking Antiques Roadshow? Serious fuck knows bruv. Have I missed Gachet?

Franco shrugs looking at the Rolex. Where's Gachet? Franco mumbles at me.

Maybe he'll be on after Randall, I say to myself more than Franco. He reeks of a weird combination of piss, sweat, weed and fried chicken.

I got some shit for you too, smiles Franco: yellow tooth smile, crisps cake his gums, bits of burger stuck between his rotted teeth.

It's cool, I'm good Franco, I say. I know only got one old sweetie left.

I'll knock it out good price. You get me some food though from the food bar, I should've asked earlier.

Fuck here we go. Sort any gear off Franco a real mission. He can get everything but the guy has nothing quality. Weird deals only to confuse you to pay a bit more – he will tie himself up only get a extra fiver off you! Sure, he'll sort skag or crack, get you varied quality of rough cut MDMA, various pills of varying strengths. All random sure; what the fuck they do? Always a wait – they either wicked or totally shit. Never in between. Sometimes you have to double the pills up if they areal low dose. He always wants the same money, like he got his lifestyle set around those magic numbers. A haggle can go on all night. He digs the legit shit too, though nitrous too short for me. Poppers make me batty feel weird, too. I don't dig that vibe. Fuckin' do it, though, fuck it.

Franco needs some food, he’s taken out a massive wrap, gums it up.

Hold on to this for me, Franco tells me. I shrug, take his wrap. It looks like some kinda drone with meth powder, probably