9 February 2009

It takes five weeks, well four and a half, before she tells me...

Time now to go back. Four months earlier.
When I get back from my walk they're sitting on the sofa. Something is definitely going on, and it ain't cultural. They're too far apart for comfort.

Beadily I shove my aerial into the air and take the temperature. Yeah, can't I just smell humming dodginess in the atmosphere? I give him one of my looks.
It takes five weeks, well four and a half before she tells me. Before this I know something has happened. I know somethings gone down. I can smell it. It's those small things that you notice first or rather don't. They just leave a trail in the air that shouldn't be there, a discernible vapor with it's own smell. A vibe that when you walk through it it tingles the senses and says "Oi! Somethings up!"

Like I say it's the smells thing first but you know ten small things together can make it seem like one sort of half sized thing and that's easier to spot. I keep asking her, "Nero, are you all right?" and she'll go "Yeah", and I'll go "Are you sure?" and she'll go "Yeah". But I know she's not. I know somethings up. She's just, well, different in indiscernible ways.

It really comes home from the stratosphere at the end of one of the long weekends we really loved having. Out working from Thursday through till Sunday. Thursday down the Works, our local club night. Top people, lovely vibe, great music. Friday, say, me off DJing somewhere but with the gang in tow. Two days into the session or sesh as we call it. Saturday back to Kent and a big party with us doing the backroom, all the DJ's together, all the gang. Back to ours afterwards for the chill out with maybe a few of the guest DJ's in tow chatting and chilling till the night time then down the East Kent Pub, decks set up, for a few last beers and a few last tunes to see the weekend out with an alcoholic smile. The real hard core come back to ours Sunday night for coffee and whatever. Swell.

I had noticed that they were getting on better and better ever since “Him” joined the group a few months before. But, you know, that was good. Nero had said to me our relationship was "routine" but I took no notice. Why I took no notice of that casual throwaway comment I'll never know. Looking back in retrospect perhaps I should have. What does routine mean anyway? I thought it was a good thing to have a routine.

"He" had just got out of prison. He'd been caught with a few E's and got "banged up" for six months or so. Inside he'd got hold of the prison computers and taught himself graphic manipulation. On the out he was well keen to use his new skills as a means of escaping his criminal lifestyle. So he comes out, goes to one of our free parties and there and then knows what he wants to do. I don't mind taking him on because that is what our culture does. It takes the misfits, the rejects the fucked up and the slightly fucked up and sorts them out, one way or the other, giving them a code to live by and a reason for living. I don't underestimate the power of dance culture to really, genuinely, help people at the very least cope and at the most grow and expand into real good people who are happier with their shitty little lot in lower working class poverty trapdom where mental illness and violence and drugs and all sorts of fuck ups conspire to defeat, tread on and break everything they ever had. That is why dance culture is so important in our times. Or at least it was. That is why one more fuck up in the group was no big deal. He may have been uneducated and of dubious "pikey" origins who's only moral code seemed to be "if the bastards don't pay for their drugs then fuck them up". Him and his brother may have been tortured (I kid ye not) and mentally and physically and sexually abused as children by various people in their life like parents and babysitters and the like but, hey, he is a sharp guy and needs a chance like I can give him, know what I mean, and I know I can't afford not to give him that chance. Although looking back at the end of that last sentence I don't know why I thought that I needed to give him any thing. Perhaps I was so caught up in the loved up sensibility of the dance scene that it seemed like the right thing to do at the time? And on - So what if his brother is really, truly
psychopathic because he was tortured and hung by a rope and blinded in one eye when he was small boy. These sort of abuses are real and happening in our world right now. Did I want to add to them?

So anyway, he's now in the sound system doing stuff for me like getting pirate software for our computer off his mate Kappa who's got a job doing those stupid graphics on news programs for Sky TV (and he hates it because he's so fucking talented on those computers and despite getting paid loads of moolah he still hates his shitty job). After a while "He" goes "you ain't got many lights. I'll buy some". And he does. And now we've got lights and well designed flyers and good drugs and it looks like he can really help himslf get out and away from his sordid fucked up past and, you know, move on. Or is he just a opportunist, sexual and business and sees this bunch of, well, hippies really ripe for the plucking.

Looking back on things it's OK to see things you never saw at the time and see trivial things that were actually important turning points that future events hinged on. He's telling Nero all this and week in and week out she talks to him like she's helping him. She's this big blank screen and he's projcting all this stuff on to her and week in and week out they sit huddled in the corner and all this stuff just pours out not like a tap but like one of them tubes in a dam that opens real quick and all these thousands of gallons of water just shoot out fast and there's no stopping it and once it's out that's it; it's out. Not in.
So from Thursday to Sunday for months all this talking keeps Nero away from me. Like, I need her too, but she's just giving and giving and listening.

Till the day I notice she's changed...