Function

A short essay, inspired by the simple wonderings of a mind, way too tired to even…

C. A. Crisóstomo
2 min readMay 13, 2020

function
/ˈfʌŋ(k)ʃ(ə)n/

verb

gerund or present participle: functioning

work or operate in a proper or particular way.

fulfil the purpose or task of (a specified thing).

To function.

What on earth —
If the movement of slopes flow down the shores, if the world keeps on turning, on changing, on following its perpetual state of being, of happening, of keeping its self inertia: what it is to function?

To wake up at eight, never late, to clean the static of an antenna, to mourn the deaths in vain, as a horrifying broadcast begins to say? To pray, O heavens, to stand up, to work, to be — Human, full of habits. To live.

Is it to function?

A cascade of words, nevertheless, to be shown.

To fulfil a task, where? Upon a desk, on the borders of a bed? To live, to stay still, to weep? Have you ever wept, faced the ungentle perks of destiny? For the end was not near, not here, not there — and yet, as close as the tears of who had left. And left… Look to the left, for there, a subtle instance you have once kept. But to the right, you turn away to your own regret. Neglect. You would neglect. Your past, your cast — upon words unsaid.

Function.
Malfunction.

Within a mound of papers, for five was merely a glimpse of fate, as you stare: at a flat, obnoxious wall, waiting. Waiting for the clock to toll, once more, once again: for all your inner desires shout to go. To run, not stay within this dull existence

Tick.

Tock.

Fast pace, limitless façade of amazement, a charade.

To function is to…?

A simple matter of “I can’t”, find an end.

Photo by Joe Woods on Unsplash

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C. A. Crisóstomo
C. A. Crisóstomo

Written by C. A. Crisóstomo

A dead poet, a lunatic, a little writer -literary speaking.

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