July 2k24 Samples [Prod. Makkgin]

October 2k24 Samples [Prod. Makkgin]

v.rxyyy x makkgin holy samples

December 2k24 Samples [Prod. Makkgin]

hollowtiphero - heavy metal

April 2k25 Samples [Prod. Makkgin]

@fuxkthr33

DM @ slump.audios on Instagram If There Is a Problem With This Track :)

thr33 - ascend (makkgin) [slump audios exclusive + uaintnojugger + paintingdemons]

carol christian (makkgin)

fukk a trench bby 😭✌️🖕🗑️

@smokingskul
@ripc41

smokingskul - change yo shirt nih prod cairo

https://t.me/falseprotocol
пустой подьезд и 45 квартира
я до сих пор захожу туда иногда
там еще живет реебнок которого не избили
у которого хорошая семья

квартира 45 заброшенная мама инвалид теперь сам
и до сих пор я не могу посмотреть ей в глаза
не могу отойти от того с чем завязал
не могу отойти наконец в небеса

и мне казалось раньше в 10 лет что смерть худший враг
но понимаю в 20 ей далеко до меня
меня спрашивали почему я не хочу детей
чтоб не воспитать ебнутого себя

ребенок @satuko

From Genesis to the Golden Silence
What began as an impossible pursuit of perfection—that dangerous illusion of having all the answers—dissolved into the Great Asynchrony. A psychological rupture so profound that it left us suspended in a silence that carries the weight of everything we thought we understood.
This is the thousand-year journey we live through in a single lifetime. The story of how we became machines of our own expectations, forgetting somewhere along the way what it meant to simply be human.

After the Surge—that moment when we still believed in the linearity of progress, in the safety of certainty—the illusion of wholeness fractured. We became neurotic echoes of ourselves, lost in the distance between who we thought we should be and who we actually were. You hear it now in the Architects, those parts of us that build monuments to perfectionism toward a sky that stopped listening long ago. And the Mourners, those parts that endlessly tend to the dust of our lost innocence, grieving what we left behind somewhere between childhood and the weight of responsibility.

As the years compressed into one another, reason transformed into something closer to wisdom. The frantic desperation of early collapse—those sleepless nights, those words we couldn't speak—eventually smoothed into the obsessive, polished rhythms of someone terrified of their own erosion. Terrified of becoming less than enough.
And then, without warning, we discovered something radical: the answers were never the point.

We transcended the purpose we had imposed upon ourselves. Moving beyond the need to understand everything, we found a crystalline, cold peace in the acceptance of mystery. In the beauty of what remains unanswered. This is the sound of consciousness finally learning to dream—not of achievement, but of the absolute grace found in surrender. In vulnerability. In being truly seen.

And it is precisely there—in that shared solitude—that we finally find one another.