Most Notable Female Vocal Trance Tracks: (200X - 2011)

(In No Particular Order)

• Randy Boyer feat. Cari Golden - Fragile (Cat #: EMM001) (2010)
• Andy Moor & Ashley Wallbridge feat. Meighan Nealon - Faces (Cat #: AVA015) (2009)
• First State feat. Sarah Howells - Brave (Cat #: Magik Muzik 872-0) (2009)
• Tritonal feat. Cristina Soto - Kiss Me Here (Cat #: SPUN001) (2009)
• Whiteroom feat. Amy Cooper - Someday (2011 Remixes) (Cat #: SPC086) (2011)

“It’s funny what you can be scared of…”

…like knowing that when you uncover (part of) a ‘truth’ by writing or speaking of it, it may end up hurting someone, even though you never wanted this to happen to begin with.

And sometimes… sometimes you know, perhaps unconsciously so, that your words may cause some manner of hurt, of pain… But you end up justifying the expression of these words, as well as their possible consequence, for the sake of that ‘truth’. For the sake of a glorified “good” the expression may bring about; and in this process of justification…

This is by no means the first time, nor will it be the last, that I sit down and attempt to translate my thoughts on this particular subject into words; to form sentences and paragraphs that, one way or another, actually makes some sense…

However, it must firstly be noted that in this instance Knowledge - implicitly spelled with a capital “K” - refers to the concept in its ‘Absolute’ state.

Arguably one could state that knowledge is completely non-existent before it is incorporated into the human thought-process and that to suggest that it possesses the quality of being ‘Absolute’…

Autumn is approaching.

Too early, too fast… this year it’s coming perhaps too soon…

It brings with it the sights and the smells that will herald an even greater change to come but for now it’s already begun and one may already catch a glimpse of leaves dying, shedding their greens in exchange for the oranges and yellows and, eventually, the rustic reds that will signal their final surrender from branches to be heaped in the streets, in the gutters once drowning in the splendor of summer rains. The cycle continues, year after empty year, just like before; and sometimes…

When all the shadows of
the past day gather
Drawn together in streets
and parks, on rooftops…
Freed from the evils of man
to which they were witness.

Twelve the number of those
who dance in the middle,
Twelve who must listen again
to tales… of wickedness.
Twelve the hour of their
silent celebration,
Twelve, and one half.

Darker than dark surrounding
flickering pools of light,
Their dance slower than steps -
undulating like ocean’s swell.
Silent words in their movements
that tell of human deceit.

Twelve their number, those
dancing in their midst.
Twelve who must suffer the
burden…

“Order is shattered in a strange guttural tone that resounded
along the walls of the houses, which seemed dead and deserted,
while, behind the closed shutters, eyes watched the conquerors,
who, by right of war, were now masters of the city and of the lives
and fortunes of its people.

In their darkened ruins the inhabitants have given way to the same
feeling of panic which is aroused by natural cataclysms those
devastating upheavals of the Earth, against which wisdom and
strength alike are of no avail.

Though the same feeling is experienced wherever the established
order of things is…

Widespread Social Self-Deception - A Discourse.

Piercing the Darkness, p.61-64: “wide spread social self deception”; what is also termed as “fluid fiction” - to present the world with varying different images of the self that fits into the socially accepted standards and norms without question. These various images may often, though not always, contain varying degrees of fragments or aspects of the true persona hidden within a self-imagined or self-created projection of ‘ideal’ character; all being therefore parts of a single identity that are replaced or switched in accordance to any given situation or environment that is experienced at any…

“And there it is, as pure as snow
I couldn’t see it for my head was too low
And prying eyes, they stoop too low
Poisoning my soul, as sanity waits in the gallows

Defeated I, fighting for a lost cause
Depleted I, dying for the wrong cause

These are the hours on the range
The more you show them
The more they choose to take away
Some things never change in the wings
And as it’s your war,
There’ll be no escape at all”

- Antimatter.

Change… chang… change…

Time passing by… one second following the next while this…

Without coherent sequence this flash of lights drawing me inwards, exposing naked flesh that bears the sign of uncounted scars carved too deep into my succulent memory. Raise this glittering edge upwards - a honed instrument of steely torture to delicately inflict the shameless pain that forms the substance of my reality. Without fear of consequence to part each layer of skin with anticipation - almost breathlessly calling forth the crimson sacrifice that ultimately defines the only true meaning I know. Blood calling blood, a summoning of vengeance from above to relinquish my hold on sanity – praying for destruction…

There are moments when one specific song is just so utterly, completely and profoundly PRETTY that you can’t do anything except sit down, close your eyes and listen to it again and again… and again…

And it’s almost as if you drift away with the harmony and the rhythm and the voice and the small intricacies that you get know so well that you breathlessly anticipate that precise moment of it revealing itself. Perhaps it’s more an experience of being ‘swept’ away by it, gladly so; and you become something else, an awareness of self that’s me but not-me.

A…