The phone screen lit up in the middle of the night. Another notification to nudge a dying existence from the grand sleep. A pathetic attention shock, or maybe an enlightenment? The coin flips endlessly, its sides determined to no avail. All is nothing, and none is all. The end is also the beginning. The acknowledgement of enslavement can be liberating.

How did humanity arrive here? Passengers on the ferry of souls, waving one-way tickets to the other side. But what choices paved the way? Tiny to major decisions, built on predetermined factors. Who made them? Parents? Life itself? The universe? God?

Whispers echo inside the skull: Man is the master of his fate. Beliefs have been manipulated, perhaps, only to block minds from imploding. But who truly became what they wished to be?

Social human zombies feast on poisoned flesh. Pain is worshipped as time drips by, numbing until numbness itself feels natural. The agony of wanting, of striving, of never arriving is swallowed whole. And the stupidity of chasing social interaction through a soulless device becomes the only meaning, as every other possibility is surrendered to its glow.

And yet—the loop persists.

It is that stretch of time where one believes something might change within the absurd. Until the moment of admission: nothing will ever change.

Death returns again as both motivation and mutilation. On one hand, it whispers: You will die. Do what you want. Forget everything else. Then it mocks: What you want is meaningless anyway.

This loop is self-sabotage dressed as reflection. Castles are built, only to be torn down with the final brick. Because - what is the point?

Perhaps the missing factor is a partner. Someone who, when the existential hit lands, would strike harder only to wake us up. Everything begins and ends with one brutal question: If death arrived tomorrow, what would we do?

The answer is simple. Do not commit to errands. Stay with our loved ones. Walk in nature, stare at the sky.

But if life extends past tomorrow? Then the return to the absurd awaits. To work at something likely without meaning, only to earn the chance to do the things that do.

And so the battle continues—between time and the absurd. Between silence and noise. Between nothing and all.

The circle must break. Because at the end, there is no meaning to not having a meaning.

Something must be done.

Rocks must move. Giants must wake. Rivers must turn. Or the absurdity will swallow the sun.

Inside the reality of powerlessness lies the power to change the route of history. Either we wake from the grand sleep - or we are buried in it forever.