the point.
the point.
Ulises Vargas
October 11, 2025.
I wake up,
Move around for some hours,
Then fall asleep
It’s been like this
Since forever;
Since I could remember,
As a child,
And, I think,
As a baby
I wake up,
Move around,
Then fall asleep
Only a margin of error
Marks the difference
Between yesterday,
Today,
And tomorrow
Sometimes, there’s an upset,
Or an excite,
Or it can be both
Those times are the most life
I want to live for those times
Instead, I end up living
For the same thing
All day
Everyday
I wake,
Move around,
Then sleep
Some people
Make the day go by faster
Some others
Slow the sun down
But those who can do both
Make the day theirs
I like those people
They’re fun
But, I like everyone
At some point
Yesterday,
Today,
And/or tomorrow
I’ll find someone
Who fulfills or manipulates
The mood of the moment,
Depending on the marginal error
I seek, or feel, that second
And then,
I wake,
Move around,
Sleep
I’ll try to fill the seconds
With something;
Something, at least,
To fulfill, or manipulate
Small and short activities
Keep the mind busy;
Occupied with anything
Anything at all
I like to think
There’s a purpose to it all;
That, at the end of the day,
I’ve made something worthwhile
But, instead, everyday,
I only realize
That all I’ve made
Is a day
I wake,
Move,
Sleep
And when I stop,
For just a moment,
I might question
The meaning of it all
Those are dark days
Doesn’t my life
Depend on others
Who depend on me?
Is life a closed-loop
Of activity?
Of ailments and aid?
Of production and consumption?
Of living for others,
And of others living for me?
Where do I fit in
If everything is so subjective
And all purpose
Is hopelessly arbitrary?
As a cog in society,
I feel the constant agony
Of being a part of the churning
But I’m not the only one stuck
In frivolity;
In trying to adventure;
In finding fruitless escapes;
In only trying to make
The journey any less pointless
Wake,
Move,
Sleep
Hope not to notice
The ticking hand of time
As another day comes closer
And you realize
Today was a waste
Hope someone else
Swoops in
To give the day color
But, they never come
Or, they never stay
And, at the end of it all,
You’re still stuck with yourself
And nothing has changed
From yesterday;
Today;
Tomorrow
It’s all the same
Wake;
Move;
Sleep
Even being unconscious
Is as good as the opposite
None of it matters;
None of it makes a difference
Time passes either way
But this apish brain continues
Imprisoning something inside
Something…
Someone?
wake;
move;
sleep
it all stops running
at some point
existence ceases to exist
time no longer drags
it all led up to this point
this point was the point
too late now to realize
if only one knew in life
in existence
in the pointlessness before the point
sleep;
sleep;
sleep