Call of the Void
Vanishing Point
It feels like this is where reality’s firmware ends.
The white field before you doesn’t look like a landscape but like the default background of the Universe — the one someone forgot to replace with a proper texture.
You stand on the edge of something enormous and hear your thoughts turn into white noise. The lake is silent, but that silence is louder than your fears.
Landscapes Without Hope
The route feels like DLC for your life: steppe, asphalt, billboards that promise nothing, and then — a sudden jump cut. White, endless. Salt crunches as if someone is rendering your path in real time.
Sometimes flamingos appear in the distance. They look like half-loaded NPCs, moving with a slight delay, like the server is lagging.
Cry of the Stones
You walk across the salt, and it starts talking to you.
— Who are you? — the crunch asks.
— Just a tourist, — you reply.
— No. You came here because you wanted to disappear.
You look down and see your footprints vanish faster than you can take the next step. The lake doesn’t like archiving data. It only keeps the current state.
Shadows on the Edge of the Mind
Lake Tuz is a desert playing the role of a therapist. You look at the white expanse — and all your inner conflicts shrink into something small and ridiculous. There’s nowhere to hide here: no walls, no trees, even the clouds refuse to cast shadows. Just you and an enormous mirror reflecting your emptiness.
The landscape begins to blur at the edges of your vision. The horizon seems to breathe. You’re not sure if it’s a mirage — maybe it’s the universe rewriting its own code.
And strange questions appear in your head:
— What if salt isn’t a mineral but memory?
— What if every grain holds a version of you that you never became?
— What if the flamingos are bug reports sent by someone upstairs?
The thoughts make you laugh and shiver at the same time.
Tracks on the Map
The logistics are as simple as death itself.
Get in a car or bus in Aksaray and drive toward Ankara.
At some point, you’ll just know you’ve arrived — not because you’ll see the lake, but because everything around you turns white and even the GPS freezes for a moment.
The advice is simple: bring water, a hat, and a readiness to meet the void. The lake will handle the rest.
Echo in the Void
Leaving Tuz, you realize you’re taking with you not a souvenir, not a photo — but a strange weightlessness. As if a piece of your inner noise stayed there, under the sun, evaporated with the water. The lake took its share. And suddenly you are lighter — and a little more transparent.
And that’s good. Because everything unnecessary really is gone. Only what can withstand the lake’s gaze remains.
And if you listen closely at night, it feels as if the lake whispers to you from afar:
— Come back. You still have more to lose.
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