The Zero Complex: Chapter 0000

Chapter 0000

‘Not a Real Goff’ and The Nightclub Clash:

Or; On The ‘Conflict of Duty’ Head-to-Head

‘He’s One of Ours!’

Or; On Not Quoting Kaori’s Latex Dream Teams Accurately

Clever, that title, clever.

You’ll see.

Promise.

Be patient, you rogue.

…

At the Curses/C.A.R. gig, the painter, Adam Espira, who’s invited me down here in the first place, points to the raised terrace:

‘Allen and Kaori are here. Have you said “Hello” yet?’

I drift over.

‘Hello! Hello! Adam spotted you! How are you doing?’

‘I spotted you first,’ says Kaori.

Cool. I’m no longer a Zero. I’m visible.

‘She did,’ says Allen, ‘Spotted you at the bar earlier. “There’s one of ours!”’

Wow!

I’m one of theirs!

I’m one of yours!

But if I’m one of theirs, perhaps I can use the collective ‘we’?

Yes, ‘I’m one of ours’!

One of ours!

I’m officially property of TG. I’m owned. I’m a possession.

Brilliant!

I want to be a star, oh please! You talked me into it! Contract!

One day in hypothetical future-time, when Charlotte’s looking through the TG warehouse for essential stage props, she’ll find me hidden under some banner near a cage, doing a marvellous impression of a footstool:

‘Oh, hey, purple peril! Thanks for lending a hand. That’s just what we need! “Get in the back of the van.”’

‘Right-ho!’

But there’s more to come, dear readers, so let’s go back to Allen and Kaori at the Curses/C.A.R. gig:

‘You didn’t come last time,’ says Allen.

Holy shit.

My absence from the last TG in March was a presence.

My invisibility was visible!

I’ve been redeemed twice from being a Zero in a matter of conversational seconds!

Brilliant!

But, then again, have I just been told-off?

Is this a disciplinary caution?

Non-attendance marked on the register.

I’m back in naughty schoolboy mode:

‘I’m terribly sorry, sir. I was at Monster Queen.’

[Pause]

‘I won’t do it again, sir. Honest. Promise.’

Holy shit!

Have I just made a promise that I can’t keep?

What happens if MQ clashes with TG again? I’ll be sandwiched in a TG-MQ titanic clash!

Shall I be supercharged by Jxn Coco and Matt CC or lock-and-loaded by Rest My Chemistry and The Redfern?

For at my back I always hear

The Redfern’s electro hurrying near!

MQ-TG? TG-MQ?

Ooh dear: we’ve got a major sporting face-to-face Latex Dream Teams head-to-head . This a fucking knock-out competition final right here!

…

A few weeks later: ‘Oh, shit!’

Monster Queen does clash with TG!

Well, fuck me!

Looks like I’ve bummed myself again.

What shall I do in May?

If I don’t go to both of them then I’ll be showing up as absent on two registers!

So is this what Immanuel Kant was wobbling on about with the whole ‘conflict of duty’ thing? Or Baumgarten?

And, lo and behold, look: Jxn Coco and Matt CC, are being joined by my favourite DJ (of all time), Jonny Slut!

MQ-TG tug-of-war leaning… Jonny might be about to win the argument…

Oh, hold on, I’m off-the-hook, anyway: I’ve already promised to go to MQ with JeanieJean, the photographer, and Ruthy!

That should be scanned: does my promise to JeanieJean and Ruthy over-ride my promise to Allen and Kaori?

I’m now in a promise head-to-head!

So is this what Immanuel Kant was wobbling on about with the whole ‘conflict of duty’ thing? Or Baumgarten?

What happens if I really quickly make a promise to Jonny Slut to come to MQ?

Would that clinch the moral argument?

I better check.

I’ll whip out my Jez Bentham! Yes, that’s it! The greatest promises for the greatest number!

There we go, problem neatly resolved.

Kant? Didn’t need him.

Kant, you’re speaking a load of old cant, you Kant!

An epistle, if you please:

Dear Allen TG and Kaori,

I apologise for my May TG absence in advance. This is a ‘sick-note’.

I’m so sorry that I fully intend to break my promises to you.

I promise that I won’t break my promises ever again.

Honest!

That’s because I promise never to make any promises ever again!

Yours insincerely,

London’s purple peril.

Brat.

P.S. As this is a ‘sick-note’, it’s worth mentioning that MQ is a really ‘sick’ place, so I shall be there. If you don’t believe me, ask Miss Fortune; she thinks it’s ‘sick’ too! Blame her. She's a bad influence on a poor innocent naive impressionable soul.

…

At LBB, I bump into Charlotte. ‘Hey, hey! I bumped into Allen and Kaori!’

‘Oh, Allen said he bumped into you!’

…

Now, at the same LBB, I attempt to tell all of these stories about my visibility and visible invisibility to Yasmin at her Riot Pony stall. I wish to share with her how I’ve been redeemed from being a Zero. Twice.

I tell the story.

She looks bemused and amused in a bemused way.

Now, I’ve totally garbled the telling of my spectacularly interesting story because I’m still totally fucked after an all-nighter at Slimes!

‘Hey, weren’t you totally fucked last time you were here?’

‘Yup! Monster Queen at he/she/they last time. Slimelight this time! Hoorah! I do love a good rave!’

To save face, I say, with sage wisdom: ‘Well, I did tell you at the start of the story that I had an important story to tell you that was totally trivial. See? Totally trivial! I’m a man of my word. I came through for you in the end! You can’t accuse me of not delivering on my promises!’

While that is all well and good, this garbled megamix version I’ve told Yasmin remained a matter of concern for me until recently.

As I hadn’t told this story clearly, and if Yasmin didn’t get that bit about me being formally endorsed as TG property, then what would happen if it was Yasmin, and not Charlotte, who wandered into the TG props warehouse and discovered me doing a perfectly legitimate and officially-sanctioned impression of a footstool? She might think it not marvellous but mysterious! She might think it odd! Worrying. A matter that required urgent medical attention.

I’ll have to get this matter sorted out.

I know, I’ll retell it more clearly in a rambling blog, or something!

But, dear readers, the plot thickens…

…

At April TG ’23, where I spotted John’s non-David-Niven-moustache, I’m chatting to Sophie and Kaori says ‘Hello’!

So, I start telling some of these anecdotes to Sophie. Now, I don’t know if you know about Sophie but she’s a highly-reputed raconteur. A Sophie story is always an elaborate network of comic reversals. Audiences at gatherings are forced to be on the constantly rebounding backfoot between attentive silence and hysterical laughter. Sophie could take on Peter Ustinov, David Niven, Joan Collins, and Scheherazade all in one go, - and still have more in the tank! So, this pretty much means that if you ever have the courage to tell Sophie a story, it better be good, because you’re entering a high-stakes game! I can’t go about making poorly-mixed narrative megamix blunders as I did with Yasmin.

Now, I’m right in the middle of telling the story about how I bumped into Allen and Kaori at the Curses/C.A.R. gig, and about how Kaori had spotted me at the bar, and, suddenly, my storytelling tune is stopped with an undisputable permanence:

[Excitedly] ‘Yes, get this, Sophie! Kaori spotted me and said, “Hey, there’s one of ours!”’

[Firmly] ‘I did not say that! I said “Hey, there’s that guy that comes to Torture Garden.”’

‘Oh,’ I say, slightly deflated.

It amounts to the same thing but it doesn’t.

I’ve been recognised multiple times, so I’m still not a Zero, which is a relief, but I’m no longer TG property, which is a shame. I rather liked those four weeks of bliss when I was owned by TG. I’ll have to relinquish doing an impression of a footstool in the TG warehouse and psychologically adapt myself into gently accepting a new, and harsher, reality.

But I was accurately quoting Allen’s misquotation!

Do I blithely continue telling Sophie the story as though nothing has happened, or accept defeat and bid my narrative troops do a dignified but hasty retreat?

Actually, I better not mention that Allen was the source of this misquotation. I don’t want to cause disharmony. But you’ve got to admit it, Kaori has some strict standards about narrative misrepresentation!

I’ll take one for the team!

Be noble.

Anyway, I’m immediately rewarded and redeemed because Kaori grabs my shoulders from behind and, with firm purpose, marches me diagonally across the Electrowerks downstairs room, towards the bar, where Allen TG is attempting to order what appears to be a much-needed drink, and grandly presents me to him as though I’ve been a momentarily lost child on a school-trip:

‘Here he is!’

‘Hello Allen! Here I am!’

‘Hello, Peril!’

Register taken.

Attendance recorded.

Presence noted.

…

Actually, did you notice that the title of this section wasn’t particularly that clever in the end?

Anybody would think I’ve broken my promise.

…

…

Musical Portal:

‘We won’t come home ’til the sun is under,

“Dark Disco Mafioso."'

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KMyXfd1Rqls

‘Not a Real Goff’:

Or; On Sincerity v Authenticity, A Prelude

[Slimelight, ‘Dark January’, Electrowerks, January 2023]

[Torture Garden, NNYE, Ministry of Sound, December 2022]

So why am I here at January Slimes?

I’ve gone to TG with my pals for NNYE and, in so doing, have missed Paris Ricci's debut DJ set, and Daveth’s performance at Slimes the same evening.

Now, I like these two: they have fast-forwarded Goth fashion into Area X and back. Probably explains my look of quizzical awe-struck surprise whenever I bump into them! And, so, naturally, I wanted to do some Bertie-Wooster-like rallying around to support them by shoving my face about-a-bit and dancing like a bell-end in the crowd.

But I can’t be in two places at once at NNYE, or any other evening for that matter, no matter how deeply I wish to clone myself into a joyfully festive doppelganger!

I’ve considered many times I’d like to clone myself for the purposes of maximsing my clubbing experience, but I’ve never seriously looked into it and have refused to book myself a consultation with a Harley Street clinician, as I believe that society has quite enough problems coping with just one of me.

So, I tootle to Torture Garden, not Slimes, at NNYE with my ‘TG Wrecking Crew’; - TG winning this particular tug-of-war contest.

Mind you, that head-to-head clash was nothing compared to the scene of post-apocalyptic devastation that unfolded five months later! The estrangement which ensued from the Vanitas v Antichrist debacle is a tearful tragedy from which we’re all still repairing our wounds - even as I write. Friends separated, sisters at odds with brothers, families ripped apart, social networks imploding, long-standing bonds of solid kink communities souring to mutual suspicion, ‘in cities, mutinies; in countries, discord; in palaces, treason’! Fuck me, it was worse than the English Civil War! There were even supernatural tidings. My mate Drunken Duncan said his two donkeys nibbled each other, his pet falcon was shat on by his pet owl, and later that night, his pet owl, in turn, was crapped on by his hamster, Bill!

My Goth mates Emmeline, Alice, and Marianne were hard-pushed to solve that omen, even when they pulled out their Tefal pot and worked as a cuisine-team! They told me that the disorder was here to stay ‘Till Turnham Green come to Bermondsey.’

Useless! What the fuck does that mean? Always speaking in riddles, those three.

Too many cooks! Typical!

What a travesty!

Might as well reach for my Nostradamus.

I’m still reeling from this trauma.

So you need to wait for your instalment of gossip from that unhallowed eve, you impatient presumptuous insolent ruffians!

Have you no human sympathy, no human care, for your trusty trusted trustworthy scribe? A faithful scribe in his autumnal years? Your loyal scrivener? No?

Where was I?

Oh, yeah, Paris Ricci and Daveth’s set at Slimes!

Anyway, get this:

A little bit into January, up pops another post advertising that Paris Ricci and Daveth are doing a second DJ set at Slimes! ‘Dark January’. So I pop over to Paris Ricci’s page to see if there are any updates and, lo, and behold, what do I discover? I discover the solemn taunt:

‘If you’re not there you can’t be a real Goff!’

Did you hear that?

Let’s rewind and do a quick playback, with the volume up:

‘IF YOU’RE NOT THERE YOU CAN’T BE A REAL GOFF!’

Woah!

I can’t be a real Goth?

But, but, but I've got the Watchman Seal in red on my biker jacket that no longer fits me so...

How can this be?

But, oh, shit. I’ve already missed their act once: my goth-credentials are on the line.

Well, I had resolved to give myself a little clubbing rest-and-respite in January, but this taunt is pushing it too far!

Can’t be a real Goth?

I’m having a crisis of authenticity.

Again.

A snag, if you will. I’ve been spiralled into yet another existential implosion!

Well, naturally, I did what anyone would do: I reached for a copy of Lionel Trilling’s Sincerity and Authenticity, where he explains the difference between the two concepts, and gradually found myself musing, pondering, and rubbing the area where my David Niven moustache used to be, in an ever-extending meditation through literary history.

But there comes a point when a chap, - who has had the authenticity of his Goth-credentials questioned (and put on the line in what, I may say, seemed a peculiarly provocative manner), - has to raise a firmly unwaveringly firm hand and say, ‘Enough! Perhaps I maybe sort of think I might possibly need to decide to decide to make a possible decision?’

…

I’ll book at ticket!

I better actually turn up too!

I need to prove a point!

Not ‘a real Goff’?

‘Once a Goth, always a Goth,’ says Ruthy!

Yes, yes, that’s it. You can take the boy out of the goth clubs, but you can’t take goth clubs out of the boy! There we are.

Or was the saying, ‘You can take the boy out of boarding school, but you can’t take boarding school out of the boy’?

Oh, shit. What happens if you’re an ‘ex-‘ boarding school boy and an ‘ex-‘ Goth?

Better check my sources.

Better ask Peter York...

Musicool Interludicool:

‘Caustic Disco

Sitting on Fire’

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6KzT2U56XcA

An Epistle to Mr Peter York:

Or; The Goth Boy v. The Boarding-School Boy

An epistle, if you please:

Dear Mr. Peter York,

My bookshelves are way cooler than yours because mine are steel-reinforced, painted in noir-navy Farrow and Ball, and seriously more Goth.

I know you’ve written a cool book, which I don’t own, about the history of the Piccadilly Line, - on which you’ve never travelled, (an act of remarkable artistic brilliance which, I hasten to add, I thoroughly respect), and I know you’ve said some complimentary bits-and-pieces about my old boarding school on page 78 of The Official Sloane Ranger Handbook, designating it ‘almost First XI material’, (an evaluation with which I happen to disagree strongly because you overlooked ((with stubborn eccentricity)) the injustices of forcing compulsory Combined Cadet Corps on young sensitive souls); and, I know you’ve delivered that wittily pithy line ‘You can take the boy out of boarding school but you can’t take boarding school out of the boy’; but, I have to say, if you’ll permit me, - what would you say about an ex-boarding school boy who is also an ex-Goth?

Now, you seem to be saying that the whole ‘ex’-bit is a contradiction in terms about the boarding-school-boy, but my pal Ruthy’s saying exactly the same thing about the Goth boy! (My mate Ruthy says, ‘Once a Goth always a Goth’, you see!).

Would this mean that ‘you can take the goth boy out of boarding school but you can’t take boarding school out of the goth boy’, or that ‘you can take the boarding school boy out of the goth clubs but can’t take the goth clubs out of the boarding school boy’, or that ‘you can take the boarding school boy out of the goth boy but you can’t take the goth boy out of the boarding school boy’, or that ‘you can take the goth boy out of the boarding school boy but you can’t take the boarding school boy out of the goth boy’, or that ‘you can take boarding school out of the goth clubs but you can’t take the goth clubs out of boarding school’, or that ‘you can take the goth clubs out of boarding school but you can’t take boarding school out of the goth clubs’, or that ‘you can take the boarding school goth clubs out of the boarding school goth boy but you can’t take the boarding school goth boy out of the boarding school goth clubs’, or that ‘you can take the boarding school goth boy out of the boarding school goth clubs but you can’t take the boarding school goth clubs out of the boarding school goth boy’, or that ‘you can take the…’?

Anyone who wasn’t a boarding school goth boy would think I’m taking the…

Well, you can see my problem.

All of this searching for one’s identity isn’t easy, you know. I’m confused.

Desperately seeking your sage-and-pithy advice, even though my bookshelves are way cooler than yours (because they’re seriously more boarding school Goth, - which just goes to show that you can take the…),

Yours insincerely,

London’s purple peril,

Brat.

P.S. I don’t want to rub it in, or anything, but it’s highly likely that my books are better than yours as well. It’s not just a matter of bookshelves, you know, but what’s on them.

P.P.S. Have you ever thought about updating The Sloane Ranger Handbook? Problem is, my old boarding school is co-educational now. Do those kinds of establishment count as Sloaney enough these days?

P.S. Hey, Peter! I hope you understand that this P.S. is in smaller font because it’s a P.S to the P.P.S above, rather than being a new entry P.P.P.S.! I suppose it’s a bit like, but not the same, as all of those subordinate clauses diligent lawyers have to sift through in those statute books, eh?

P.S. This P.S. is the P.S. to the P.S. of the P.P.S. if that makes sense. I don’t know what the protocol is but I’m putting it in an even a smaller font so you can’t read it. I don’t think it’s too important, to be honest.

P.P.S. I tell you, I don’t envy The Divine Theratrix doing all of that lawyering. Just think of all of those subordinate clauses she has to sift through? (Personally, all of these clauses and subclauses bore me to tears, especially when they’re in small print and parentheses like these.)

P.S. Mind you, The Divine Theratrix goes in for holistic therapy these days, so I thought I’d add this P.S. to clarify.

P.P.P.S. I must tell you about my mate Scott’s visit to –ndle and why he chose to send his sons to Haileybury instead. I tell you, that story’s a real corker.

P.P.P.P.S. This could go on for quite a while, couldn’t it?

P.P.P.P.P.S. It just goes to show that you can take the P.S. out of the letters but you can’t take the letters out of the P.S.

P.P.P.P.P.P.S. Or is it, - that you can take the epistle out of the P.S. but you can’t take the P.S. out of the epistle?

P.P.P.P.P.P.P.S. If this wasn’t so serious, anyone would think that I was taking the P.S. out of…

...

Addendum: Since purchasing a copy of The Blue Riband (second-hand), and re-reading its opening sentence, I feel sorely disappointed that you have actually ridden the tube, after a break of ‘twenty-five years. Or more’ so the artistic brilliance with which I credit you has to be knocked down a peg or two, don’t you think?

P.S. to the Addendum: I thought the addendum would be wise just in case you were in any way tempted to accuse your faithful scribe of narrative misrepresentation! I imagine you are well-placed to put a whole team of lawyers on the case, and my lawyer would be unfairly outnumbered!

P.P.S. to the Addendum: Mind you, if I requested some lawyering help from The Divine Theratrix, and if she accepted the challenge, you’d have to admit it, my lawyer would be waaay cooler than your bunch. You know, it would be a very similar situation to the aesthetic truth that my bookcases are so much cooler than yours, if you see what I mean.

P.P.P.S. I thought I’d put the addendum in really small print to give this apology the air of authenticity; - a bit like those apologies one reads in the newspapers which aren’t really apologies at all!

...

...

Anyway:

If Ruthy’s right, and you can’t take the Goth out of the Goth then surely, I don’t need to prove that I’m a Goth at all?

Surely, if I need to prove I’m a Goth then I’m not actually a Goth?

Surely, I don’t need to turn up to Slimelight?

I don’t need to prove this to Paris Ricci, or Daveth, or any Slimelight Goth, or any Goth, or anyone who isn’t a Goth!

Surely, if I do turn up to Slimes then everyone will notice that I’m not an authentic Goth at all because I’ve turned up to prove the point that I’m a real Goth, and I shouldn’t need to prove I’m a Goth if I’m a Goth, and everyone will see it in the plain light of night, and I’ll just be a laughing stock Zero instead of a Goth!

Fuck me, this is the subcultural equivalent of accent-hypercorrection, like the Lower Middle Class over-production of the post-vocalic /r/ in New York!

It’s just the same.

I’m now in another snag.

I’m in an authenticity-‘try-hard’-‘subcultural-category-anxiety’ loop.

If in doubt, go, because you’ve already bought a ticket!

If in doubt, go, because you want to!

Phew, that was an easy solution.

A lot easier than solving the TG-MQ promise-tug-of-war.

You can take my word for it.

Or the Kims’ word.

…

…

Musicool Interludicool:

‘Electro’

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DkK4izTlANg&list=PLu2sMcfun2pcBNCwDoyUWqQZBRcl5EwEM&index=4