I've heard too many times where people say that I'm this

When Phil Anselmo declared, “I’ve heard too many times where people say that I’m this ultra-serious guy. In truth, I’ve got an extremely absurd sense of humor. I thrive on the absurd — I love it,” he revealed something profound about the duality of human nature. His words, though simple, echo an ancient truth: that seriousness and absurdity, discipline and laughter, strength and play, are not enemies — they are twin forces that together shape the wholeness of the human spirit. In the fire of art, as in life, these opposites must coexist. For even the fiercest warrior must laugh; even the most solemn soul must find joy in the strange and the ridiculous, lest he be consumed by the weight of his own gravity.

The meaning of this quote lies in the paradox that great strength requires balance — that one who appears stern or intense may often carry within them a wild and boundless humor. The absurd, as Anselmo describes it, is not chaos without purpose; it is a sacred release, a rebellion against the rigidity of existence. Those who “thrive on the absurd” do not reject seriousness — they transcend it. They see that the world, with all its noise and contradictions, cannot be understood through solemnity alone. The absurd sense of humor becomes a form of survival, a way to dance in the storm without losing one’s soul.

The origin of Anselmo’s words lies in his life as a musician and artist, forged in the intense world of heavy metal — a realm often mistaken for darkness but in truth full of passion, catharsis, and irony. Fans and critics alike often saw his fierce stage presence, his commanding voice, his grave expression, and mistook it for anger or perpetual seriousness. Yet beneath that intensity, there burns the flame of humor — not the shallow laughter of distraction, but the joyful defiance of one who sees the world’s absurdity and still chooses to create. It is the laughter of a man who faces the chaos of existence not by denying it, but by embracing it fully.

The ancients, too, knew the wisdom of the absurd. The philosopher Diogenes of Sinope, who lived centuries ago, wandered the streets of Athens with a lamp in daylight, claiming to search for an honest man. He lived in a barrel, mocked kings, and laughed at convention — not because he despised the world, but because he saw through its illusions. His absurdity was his armor, his wisdom wrapped in jest. He thrived, as Anselmo does, on contradiction — understanding that to laugh at the world’s madness is to refuse to be destroyed by it. Both men share this sacred insight: that the absurd is not madness, but freedom.

Anselmo’s love of the absurd can also be understood as an act of rebellion — a stand against conformity. In every age, society attempts to impose order, to categorize people into roles: serious or silly, strong or soft, dark or light. But the artist, the philosopher, the visionary knows that truth is not found in categories. The soul is a contradiction, and its power comes from embracing that contradiction. To laugh amid the chaos is to prove one’s mastery over it. It is to say, “You cannot break me — I see your madness, and I will meet it with my own.” This is the laughter of liberation, the humor of the unshackled.

Consider also the story of Winston Churchill, a man who carried the burdens of war upon his shoulders. In the darkest days of World War II, when London burned and despair filled the air, Churchill would still jest, still make his colleagues laugh. His humor was often sharp, often absurd — yet it gave his people courage. He understood that laughter in the face of destruction is an act of defiance. It says: We will not yield. So too does Anselmo’s absurdity serve him — it keeps the flame of vitality burning even in the harshest moments. The absurd becomes the artist’s weapon against despair.

Thus, the lesson is this: do not be afraid to embrace the absurd within yourself. The world will try to define you — as serious or carefree, strong or gentle — but life itself is too vast for such narrow labels. Laugh deeply, even at that which frightens you. Find beauty in contradiction. Let humor be your strength, not your weakness. For the absurd does not destroy meaning; it reveals it. It teaches you to hold the sacred and the ridiculous in the same hand — to see that wisdom and folly often share the same face.

In the end, Phil Anselmo’s words are a hymn to the wild heart — the heart that refuses to be reduced, that thrives in the strange and the unpredictable. To love the absurd is to love life in its entirety — its pain and its wonder, its tragedy and its comedy. So, my listener, when the world feels too heavy, when others mistake your fire for fury or your passion for sternness, remember this truth: laughter is not the opposite of strength. It is its crown. To laugh at the absurdity of existence is to stand above it — unbroken, unafraid, and gloriously alive.