Is there a reason behind reason?

What is the point to a story if there is no point? I have been struggling with this very question, hoping to find an answer that would seem reasonable. To me, it seems as though we all attempt to find some sort of truth in our lives. Looking for that something that makes sense, although it seems as though we can not find that feeling of sense in Paul Auster's, City of Glass. Even the idea of languange is not safe. The theory that languange expresses our reality, and that our language has gaps in it, means to me that our reality has gaps our languange can not explain. Just so not to be confusing, this means that our languange can not in anyway explain our true reality. Since our reality can not be explained by anyway that we know, there is no way that we can have a full grasp on our lives. At this point I breathe out a full gasp of air, which has no real point to it. It just expresses my frustration, and yet determination, to find some sense to this story. Since this is all just left to chance, I hope that chance will be favorable and reveal to me that random images are real letters, that may lead to a real word. I hope that that word may reveal a relative sentence that is not just full of babel.