I am an enigma, and so are you.

I call myself an Absurdist these days. For one, I really like the word “Absurdist,” and I especially like capitalizing it. It makes me feel like some sort of Metaphysical Magician, like my dendrites are juggling contradictory ideas at all times. That’s how my mind works–cyclically aware of where and how I am living for and against my convictions in seemingly infinite (but mathematically, finite) ways. People say having convictions and living by them is so honorable, but I just don’t fully resonate with that. I say flubbing or contradicting my conviction, noticing that, spotlighting that, and limply presenting that to the public is what says more about who I am both as a part of the humanity blob and as an individual mass of human.


Jesus or Bust

Atheists are assholes like Christians and like Muslims and like a lot of other people. I’m having one of those “Oh, woe. I feel slain by the labels” days. All the while, I’m still annoyed by people longing to be free from labels. So basically I surreptitiously hate myself, which means I’m in a good place.

I think that if I went to therapy, I’d just want to figure out why the therapist is a therapist. That would be my greatest interest in that scenario. This must be why they call my type the “existentialist.” Yes, I am concerned with existence. You’re welcome.

What I may or may not like to know is whether Jesus should be my concern or if I should be concerned about Jesus being concerned about me. Phrasing it that way sounds like I am not sure whether to chase my own tail. I don’t have a tail. I’m not prepared for dizzying myself for the sake of dizziness, and I’m surely not prepared to cling to any meta-crosses, let alone carry them on my meta-back.

I should make it clear that I’m not questioning whether I should accept Jesus into my heart or brain or liver. I’m speaking as the absurdist, the one noting all of the weird tension and contradiction and confusing stuff and asking, “What do we make of this?” Probly just take it for what it is. It’s weird. I don’t need redemption from this weirdness, not because I’m awesome on my own but because I don’t see existence necessitating redemption. I’m laying on my couch listening to Kanye while typing this. If anyone needs redemption, it’s not me. It’s probably the people who are starving and being raped and murdered and tortured who need redemption right now. Yes, I think of redemption in physical terms, which strongly affects psychological terms. I believe in both and that there is more to a person than an intricate cell design. But I don’t think the “human condition” needs redemption. We do shitty stuff, and we do loving stuff. These things may or may not be balanced on the universe-level, but that doesn’t concern me. What concerns me is that I’m not sure what to be concerned about if anything at all. Maybe I should be concerned about life. But what of it?