Ravings at the Edge of Time
Versions of the Nonexistent
He rose.
First — the forehead shifted. Stone waves, reminiscent of a ridiculous hairstyle, trembled from an inner impulse. Then — the nose, like an obelisk, slowly pulled the entire mass forward. The earth shuddered.
The old shepherd dogs fled. The sheep vanished into dust. The rock mockingly known as Trump Kaya was no longer just a rock.
It had become an institution of power.
He didn’t speak. Stone has no need for words. But ripples spread across geopolitics. The air filled with instructions, customs declarations, and tariff protocols. The world flinched — as if facing yet another mandatory software update you can’t decline.
The rock began to impose taxes on reality. Every attempt to describe what was happening incurred a levy. Every doubt — a sanction.
Worlds That Never Were
In 2031, the UN officially recognized Trump Kaya as the first geological subject of international law.
By 2032, the reality tax became mandatory for all countries — except Iceland, which went underground, declaring itself an archipelago of hallucinations.
Everyone paid:
for landscape description — 2.3% per metaphor;
for nostalgia — a fixed rate (adjusted to era-specific exchange);
for irony — double taxation (irony was deemed a method of tax evasion).
America complied immediately. China — after a visit from the rock’s envoy, known as Ambassador of Sedimentary Hints.
Turkey, as the territorial owner of Trump Kaya, introduced its own version: the Stone Patent on the Image of Chaos.
In place of Silifke rose the Global Center of Geoideology, where annual Strategic Dream Forums were held.
People paid to sit in silence beside Trump Kaya.
Phantom Architectures
AI visualizations of the Age of the Rock include:
Sandstone hyperstructures that grow when unmeasured;
Giant declaration holograms hovering over Eurasia;
The Fortress of Endless Customs, built from memory;
The Unofficial Museum of Delayed Meaning, where exhibits appear three years after discussion.
AI renders people with literal stone faces.
They can no longer express emotions without permission from the geostrategic monolith. Their smiles are regulated by weather conditions.
Reality is Blurred
But you know this isn’t true. Right?
You’re standing at the foot of Trump Kaya — and it’s still just rock.
All around: dust, sheep, dogs. In the distance — Silifke, where flatbreads are still sold tax-free, untouched by the Stone.
But… for a moment, it seems the rocky hair shifts.
And in the cracks, a phrase appears:
“From this moment forward, all meaning is taxable.”
You smile. And then wonder: How much will this smile cost me?
Echo in the Void
I returned a month later. No one joked anymore.
Trump Kaya still stood on the hill. But locals no longer said his name. Just: he.
Two tourists sat in the shade. One tried to describe the rock — and stumbled.
The other remained silent. His phone was open to the tax authority’s website.
At one point I touched the stone. It was warm. As if it had just awakened.
I don’t know if it was real. Maybe all of it is madness. Maybe he’s still asleep.
But the shadow cast by the rock is longer than it used to be. And within it, breathing is getting harder.
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