****COMING SOON****
Brand new Reggae, Bass & Drumstep record label, showcasing Jamaica's hidden explosion of talent. Managed and run globally by DSM Group.

Please only email demos here: flyinghigh@reggaefan.com

Let’s share secrets.  

I am drinking whiskey like a green tea 💚

I dance under the gaze, where are you, my love... I am the ashes of your wings.

How symmetrical is your web, to add life, oh Magdalene, a little life and formalin. I am careful and irreversible. My hands are your living water. Drop by drop you can ask God, but only I can resurrect you. A little alcohol and formalin… and once again you live beautifully.

https://animego.online/642-v-les-gde-mercajut-svetljachki.html
I just discovered your universe… and it truly touched me.
There’s something fragile and deep in your lyrics, your visuals, and in that silent voice you bring to life....
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Cq56o0YH3mE&list=PLtqIuImlgEhaTTRrOzi-yHRIH8AP4LRQS
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=25y3cMC9i94&list=RDGMEMQ1dJ7wXfLlqCjwV0xfSNbA&index=50
My God, I’m mixin’ up my thoughts with yours, readin’ your mind, scribblin’ it down with a shaky hand... My hands are glowin’ when I’m scribblin’ down after you.  I’m trippin’, seein’ the earth.

https://www.rottentomatoes.com/m/dantes_inferno_2010

I am nothing more than a guide.

Some love vinyl, some love those plastic discs, cassettes of all sorts. I wouldn’t mind either. Big beautiful covers, decent sound. But more than anything, I love MP3s. Not just because they never scratch (I get upset if I damage a record, and when I have guests over, I’m not very careful with things). There’s something divine about it: you never truly get it, you don’t own it, but you hear it. A digital file can come to you in any quality, it can transform into a FLAC, revealing new dimensions of sound..
In the poetic context, FLAC symbolizes the pursuit of purity and depth in sound perception. The mention of FLAC in my text emphasizes the uniqueness of digital music: it can come in various quality levels while offering the opportunity to hear the unheard—rich details and nuances that often get lost in more compressed formats. In this sense, FLAC becomes a metaphor for the quest for a deeper understanding and feeling of music, as well as for the aspiration towards a higher degree of awareness and intelligence in life.
,#)-***
The only thing brighter than the moonlight is the desire I see dancing in your eyes. Perhaps we can turn up the heat a little... with a touch of something unspoken?
https://www.justwatch.com/us/tv-show/common-side-effects

Grok was introduced in Robert A. Heinlein's 1961 science fiction novel "Stranger in a Strange Land."
#hot#so#but#not

🌌🌑🌊Syndrome of seeking mystical beauty  
Has made me search for you my whole life.  
Spitting out leaves and flower petals,  
I waited for the one, for I am ready for him:  
The tea bud, the mystery of chance encounters,  
Red water from your core  
Is easily sipped, like never before;  
You’re the right temperature,  
All the others are mere caricatures.  
And on a new, gloomy, overcast morning,  
I will believe that you come from the place  
Where the great Buddha melts arrows.
🤍🥭
The pulling earth
Vibrating closeness
Bodies of identities
Cosmic etudes
Mixing with desires
With what hasn't been experienced
https://www.imdb.com/title/tt26743760/
https://www.crunchyroll.com/series/GR75253JY/psycho-pass
https://animego.online/5548-hladnokrovnyj-hozuki-ova.html
https://izismile.com/2012/08/14/trapped_raccoons_saved_from_a_waste_container_10_pics.html

Constellation Prize was a synth pop band based in the UK from 2019 - 2023

The neon flicker of Hotel 87 bled into the midnight mist like a broken heartbeat. Roxy killed the ignition of her battered hover coupe and stepped into the humming night, Knax curling around her ankles with a mechanical purr. Above them, electric signs buzzed warnings she could no longer read - languages lost in the churn of compressed time.

Time Police cruisers blinked along the skyline, their sirens warped into ghostly howls by the static air. Roxy tugged the brim of her cracked racing cap lower over her eyes and adjusted the drive compressor on her belt. She had no time to lose, not tonight. Not with Rain’s last transmission still pulsing weakly through the Nexus.

Inside, Hotel 87 smelled like ozone and lost dreams. Holographic guests shimmered between floors, replaying loops from a century ago. At the front desk, a synth-masked concierge gave a mechanical nod, slipping Roxy a black data chip under the guise of exchanging room keys.

"TY Mountain," the synth whispered, voice glitching on the last syllable. "She's waiting for you there."

Knax let out a low growl, his fur sparking with the faint blue glow of danger. Roxy tucked the chip into her jacket and shot a glance at the mirror behind the desk. In the reflection, a Time Officer's badge gleamed like a silver bullet.

The chase had already begun.

She tightened her gloves, tapped her communicator, and smiled beneath the neon haze.

"Come on, Knax," she murmured. "Let's burn some time."

c o n s t e l l a t i o n p r i z e is following