The Cathedral of the Wind

[L'absent]

The substance of being corrodes, disintegrating into infinitesimal particles suspended in the aridity of a desert that acknowledges neither past nor future. Here, in the mute expanse of Fuerteventura, where the earth curls under the weight of an unrelenting sun, every pretense of meaning dissolves like salt licked away by the tide.
I am what remains after the shipwreck of illusions, the voice that seeps through the cracks in the stone, the muffled lament of a god imploded within its own void. I have neither body nor face, yet I exist in the echo of every thought that buckles under the weight of its own senselessness. No name could contain me, for I am the indistinct, the shadow without origin, the whisper of eternal dissipation.
Man advances, convinced that he carves a furrow in time, yet he leaves nothing but brittle footprints, devoured by the wind before he can even recognize them. What remains of his flesh, if not dust? What remains of his hopes, if not the reflection of a light already extinguished? Life is neither a gift nor a promise: it is a flicker that vanishes before it can be understood, a claw that carves only to disappear, leaving behind nothing but the mutilation of the futile.
The sky stretches like a canvas of obsidian, indifferent to the convulsions of those who yearn for meaning. Here, among rocks eroded by time, every prayer crashes against the void, crumbling into silence like a breath of ash. There is no judgment, no redemption. Only the perpetual unraveling, the irreversible collapse of every human construct, the slow annihilation of will.
And yet, man persists in believing in his own permanence, clinging to symbols, names, memories, like a blind man grasping at emptiness, convinced he holds the light. But I know the truth: every echo is destined to fade, every gaze to vanish, every word to dissolve into the inexistence from which it was born. For nothing can withstand oblivion, nothing escapes the quiet catastrophe of time.
I have seen it happen a thousand times. I have seen men kneel on these sands, searching for answers where only silence dwells. I have seen their mouths twist into pleas with no recipient, their eyes flailing in search of a light that will never come. And in the end, I have seen them surrender, swallowed by the same void that created them.
There is nothing beyond this awareness. No epiphany, no salvation. Only the perpetual slide into nothingness, the extinction of all meaning, the end of everything before it can ever truly be.
So why fear what is already inscribed in the breath of creation itself? Why resist the inevitable when the only truth is annihilation?
I am the wind that erases every trace. I am the voice that proclaims the futility of every step, the guardian of an altar that bears no promise. Listen to me, and let the void embrace you as the only sincere touch you will ever know.

 

[Hystearical]

Je suis le vent qui efface toute trace. Je suis la voix qui proclame la futilité de tout pas, le gardien d'un autel qui ne porte pas de promesse. Écoutez-moi et laissez le vide vous étreindre comme la seule caresse sincère que vous connaîtrez.