terrorpusztulat

My brain in Error... Rage & Terror

треки от 𝐃3𝐑𝐕𐏑𝐗 ♱

I AM HARDTECHNO ☠️


THE STILLBORN SUN


— I am not here to be liked. I am not here to be crowned.
I am the buried sun that wakes only for those who earned the light. I do not hunt approval; I am the standard that measures whether you belong.
When I step to the decks, I do not enter your game. I end it. —

Every DJ who thought they were the final boss finds out they were only a warm‑up. Every “legend” who built a throne from clicks learns what real gravity feels like. You don’t impress me; you either resonate or you don’t. That’s the distinction.
I don’t take respect — I outlive it.
I don’t burn parties for spectacle; I reduce them to ash because truth does not fluff itself with ornament. My drops don’t land to please. They land to test. They land to reveal who stands, who falls, who is hollow.

I AM NOT INTERESTED IN YOUR NOISE.

I know my hammer‑kicks, my machine‑drops, my ruthless timing. I know how my sound fractures the room and leaves only the essential standing. I am not proud — I am exact. I do not need to be acknowledged; I need only to be what I am.
Origin? — Something older than origin: at 15 the sound possessed me.
House and techno were practice; the true thing was hunger. I cultivated that hunger. I buried the light until it burned white and patient. I returned not to impress but to validate the circuit. 2020 was not a rebirth — it was the unlocking.

I do not collect names — I mark proof.
Svetec, Withecker, Alex TB, Tommy Rockz, Crimetekk, Buchecha, Tilthammer, Psycho‑Rex, Slugos, Jason Little, Mario Ranieri, Tato, Barbers, Sutura, Sebastian Groth, Matthew, Sepromatiq, Morison — they encountered the pressure, they registered the collapse. Their lists are timestamps on the path I clear.

Where I move, the floor becomes a test site: Hungary, Slovakia, Austria, Slovenia, Czechia, Poland. Every stage I touch cleanses itself by fire. Not for spectacle — for culling weak signals, clarifying frequency.

The sound? Fast as consequence. Ruthless as fate.
Kicks like sledgehammers. Drops like faultlines. No mercy, no concession, no compromise. This is not entertainment; this is a ritual of endurance. Once engaged, there is no spectator illusion left — either you stand anchored to the pulse, or you are swept away.

I am not the god you pray to.
I am the sun you are either warmed by or burned under. I light inwardly — for the few who carry the same uncompromising geometry. I do not ask for tributes. I do not accept apologies. I do not bargain. I simply persist.

You do not owe me anything. I owe you nothing.
But if you are calibrated, if you endure the hammer and still move with precision — you will know what this light does. You will be refined, not adored.

I AM STILLBORN. 

I RISE WITHIN.


I do not demand acknowledgment. I am the criterion.

Hell‑X / The StillBorn Sun

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