My existence is absurd. Perhaps that is true for everyone. But mine especially. To be so consumed by what is expressly forbidden to me, more at this time than at any point in history. It’s obscene. And not even something that’s necessary for survival, but a distortion, based on my own inadequacies. How sick in the head do you have to be to torment yourself like that?
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2 comments
the only answer to absurdism is… you should search google for what albert camus thoughts were on that subject.
Afraid I never really got existentialism – it always struck me as bs. I suppose I just don’t believe we have the freedom that existentialists assert. We aren’t free to decide that pointless drudgery is in fact meaningful and joyous – our sense of meaning is formed by factors that precede us – evolution and social conditioning – otherwise nothing would ever seem absurd. There is no pure self that can stand apart from these conditions and decide – based on nothing- to find them meaningful.