2023

Nekrosystem | Masters Of Hardcore 2024

I chose this solitude. Or perhaps it chose me—an unspoken pact made in silence, in the hollow hours where no voices linger but my own. Here, where the winds sing only to themselves and the sun strips away all illusion, I find clarity. Painful, sharp-edged clarity.

It is in this loneliness that I create. The silence carves space for thoughts too fragile for the noise of the world, and yet… this same silence gnaws at me, whispering truths I cannot unhear. For with every word, I feel more severed from the life I once knew, from the warmth of presence, the comfort of being, being seen.

There are moments, brief as the mirage, when I wonder if I have wandered too far. If this isolation, once a sanctuary, has become my exile. The same sun that reveals also burns. And so I wrestle with myself, torn between the freedom of this emptiness and the quiet terror of vanishing within it.

I do not regret the choice, though I ache beneath its weight. Perhaps some truths can only be unearthed in this desolation, where there is nothing left to distract from the echoes within. But I wonder—when my voice returns to the world, will anyone still be listening?

Or will I have become nothing but another ghost lost in the dunes? 

winter letters (#2)

I am trapped within myself. A maze of thoughts, twisting, turning, folding in on itself until every path leads me back to where I started. I walk these corridors endlessly, searching for an exit, but the walls shift when I’m not looking. What was once a doorway is now a dead end. What felt like progress dissolves into repetition. I tell myself there must be a way out—there has to be—but the more I search, the more I wonder if I was never meant to leave.

The mind is a strange prison—one where the walls are built from thoughts, and every path loops back to the beginning. I take a step forward, thinking I’ve found a way out, only to realize I’ve been here before. Every turn feels like a decision, every choice an escape, but it all leads back to the same hollow space.

There are moments when I catch something different—just for a second. A shift in the air, a crack in the pattern, something almost imperceptible, like the faintest outline of a door hidden in the dark. It vanishes before I can reach it, but the thought lingers: maybe there is a way through, something beyond these corridors of repetition.

It is easy to sink into the weight of it all, to believe that this is all there is. But some part of me still moves forward, even without knowing why. Not in search of escape, perhaps, but in search of something else—a moment, a sign, a sliver of something just out of reach. Maybe that’s enough. Maybe that’s the only way out.

maze

Life is not a straight path. It is a tide that rises and falls, a sky that shifts between light and shadow. We climb, believing we've reached something permanent, only to tumble back down. And yet, even in the descent, there is something to be found. A lesson. A moment. A quiet realization that nothing lasts—not the joy, not the sorrow, not even the weight of what we carry.

I have seen happiness where I expected only grief. I have felt an ache settle into moments that should have been untouched by sadness. We search for meaning in the highs, but often, it is the lows that carve us into who we are. The laughter that hides exhaustion, the victories that taste of loneliness, the way even love can carry an undertone of loss.

But maybe that is what it means to be alive—to rise, to fall, to break, to heal. To keep moving even when the dust of our failures clings to us. There is no final summit, no endless valley. Only the motion, the forward pull of time, urging us to stand, shake the dirt from our skin, and take another step. Because in the end, that is all we can do. And maybe, just maybe, it is enough...

I have seen happiness

Sometimes I wonder if peace is just a memory of childhood dressed in shadows.
I remember lying in bed during those soft summer nights, when the window was open just enough to let in the warm breath of the world. The door to my room would be ajar — not wide, just enough to remind me that the house was still alive, that I wasn’t alone.

There was a silence then that wasn’t empty, but full — full of life moving quietly, respectfully. The floor creaked somewhere near the kitchen. Maybe someone was making tea. Maybe my mother was hanging the last bit of laundry, her hands moving in rhythm with the air, with the quiet murmur of a home winding down.

I used to search for cracks — little spaces in the walls or behind furniture, crevices I could slip into and disappear, as if the room itself could absorb me. Hide me. Save me. It wasn’t fear, not exactly. It was the need to pause the world — to find stillness within the spinning.

And in that stillness, just before sleep took me, I would feel it — that thin, flickering feeling of being safe. As if, for one night, nothing could break through the hushed rituals of our little home.

I spend my days now trying to recreate that moment. That soft in-between — not quite awake, not quite dreaming. The world feels louder. Faster. But sometimes, if I close my eyes, I can still hear the faint rustle of sheets, the distant whisper of someone moving through the hallway, careful not to wake the child who believed, however briefly, that silence meant everything was okay.

rooms

There is a point you cross without noticing. It could be a word you didn’t say, a glance you didn’t return, a door you didn’t walk through. At the time, it felt like nothing. A moment no different from the rest.
And yet, somewhere along the way, you look back and see it — a thin, invisible line, drawn in the dust behind you. And you realize you’re on the other side now.
That’s when the weight comes. The slow, suffocating understanding that there’s no way back. Not because you’re not allowed — but because what you left behind has ceased to exist. Like a bird that landed in your open palm for a heartbeat, and you let it go, thinking it was just a shadow.
Only later do you understand what you held. Only later does your body remember its warmth. And then, the nights become heavier. You lie there, staring into the dark, counting the shapes of something you’ll never hold again.
You tell yourself it was nothing. You tell yourself you couldn’t have known. But the truth is simpler, crueler — you had it. You let it fall through your fingers. And now there is only the echo, repeating in the quiet, long after the world has gone to sleep

never find your way back

Today I felt myself standing at the edge of something I could not name.
Not life, not death, not dream. A hallway that extends endlessly,
and yet it ends right before me.


The silence around me seemed alive — restless, waiting.
As if the walls were listening for a word I could not say.

The shadow was with me again.
It does not belong to my body and yet it leans across my movements,
anticipates them, finishes them before I begin.


To remain here is not suffering, nor peace.
It is suspension — a held breath that no one releases.
I am not afraid. I am not at home.
I am simply unfinished.

unfinished

DEADTOWN 2

Jensen - Rising Dead ( DEADTOWN ANTHEM )
Rotello - Do Gabbers dream of bald sheep ?
Nekrosystem - Terror Bamba
KHKrew - Guitar of the Dead
Mr.Q8 - The best of Me
Kreislaufstorung - Voices
The Visitor & Little Terror Man - Chainsaw Killing

SCI 002

03 Nekrosystem - Terror Bamba

Untitled 4 [Live]

CØUCH - Untitled 4 [Live]

Release date: 23/04/2020
Track ID: Vicer
Platform: Digital
Artist: Achiever
Artwork: Aron Welboren 
Artwork instagram: www.instagram.com/w3lb
Mastering: Tom van Loenen / Achiever (me baby)
Download: Bandcamp

Achiever FB: www.facebook.com/AchieverTechno/?…=admin_todo_tour

Achiever IG: www.instagram.com/achievertechno/

2023

avadrist