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

When Phil Anselmo said, “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 a truth that belongs not just to him, but to all who have walked the difficult path of intensity and self-expression. For the world often mistakes passion for sternness, conviction for severity, and fire for coldness. Yet within the heart of such men burns laughter — not the shallow laughter of distraction, but the laughter of survival, the laughter that defies darkness. Anselmo’s words remind us that those who face the hardest edges of life are often the ones who see its absurdity most clearly, and that humor — especially absurd humor — is their form of freedom.

The meaning of this quote lies in the paradox of strength and vulnerability. Anselmo, known for his commanding presence and intense performances as the frontman of bands like Pantera, is often seen as a figure of iron will. But within that exterior is an artist’s heart — one that sees the contradictions of existence and chooses to laugh at them rather than be crushed beneath them. To thrive on the absurd is to find nourishment in chaos; it is to take what others call senseless and turn it into art, into energy, into meaning. The absurd, to him, is not confusion — it is revelation, the point where the mind recognizes that life, in all its seriousness, is also utterly strange, and therefore utterly beautiful.

The origin of this truth reaches deep into the human spirit. For centuries, philosophers and poets have wrestled with the absurd — the recognition that existence often refuses to make sense, that suffering and joy coexist without reason. The French philosopher Albert Camus called this realization “the absurd condition of man,” and he taught that the only way to live fully is to embrace it — to “imagine Sisyphus happy” as he endlessly pushes his stone uphill. So too does Anselmo embrace the absurd, not with despair but with laughter. His humor is rebellion — the same kind of sacred defiance that makes warriors laugh before battle, or poets smile while writing about death. To laugh at the absurd is not to deny the weight of life, but to lift it.

History is filled with those who shared this wisdom. Consider the story of Diogenes the Cynic, who lived in ancient Greece. He mocked the vanity of society by performing the absurd — eating in the streets, living in a barrel, and carrying a lamp in daylight, claiming he was “searching for an honest man.” People laughed at him, but in truth, his absurdity was his wisdom. Like Anselmo, Diogenes thrived on the absurd, not because he rejected meaning, but because he saw that meaning hides in contradiction. His humor was a weapon, a shield, and a mirror held up to humanity. In every age, those who understand the absurd are the ones who see reality most clearly, and their laughter is not madness — it is freedom.

To love the absurd is to accept that life’s contradictions cannot be tamed. The world will always be a place of both tragedy and comedy, pain and joy, death and creation. The wise learn not to choose one over the other, but to hold both in their hearts. Anselmo’s absurd humor springs from this deep acceptance. In his art — dark, intense, and powerful — we hear not only rage but also irony. His performances, though fierce, are full of the strange dance between sincerity and parody, between darkness and laughter. This is the mark of a true artist: one who can transform the chaos of existence into something alive and electrifying.

The absurd is also an invitation — a call to humility. When we embrace it, we acknowledge that not everything can be controlled, explained, or perfected. And in that acceptance, we find joy. The ancient Stoics taught this through reason; Anselmo teaches it through laughter. To thrive on the absurd is to release oneself from fear, to see the divine comedy of human existence without despair. When life mocks you, mock it back. When the world demands solemnity, smile. When everything falls apart, laugh at the sheer spectacle of it — for laughter, as Anselmo shows us, is the sound of the spirit refusing to be broken.

So, my listener, take this lesson as your own: do not fear the absurd — embrace it. Let laughter be your rebellion. Let humor be your courage. When others mistake your seriousness for coldness, remember that your depth gives rise to a different kind of joy — one born of awareness, not ignorance. Seek out the moments that make no sense, and find beauty in their chaos. For it is in the absurd that life reveals its truest self, stripped of illusion and pretense.

In the end, Phil Anselmo’s words remind us that the absurd is not our enemy; it is our teacher. It shows us the limits of reason and the power of resilience. To thrive on it, to love it, is to live fully — to see that even the darkest corners of existence can be illuminated by laughter. So laugh deeply, laugh defiantly, laugh absurdly — for that laughter is not folly. It is wisdom in its purest form, the eternal echo of the human soul saying to the universe: You may not make sense — but I am alive, and I will laugh anyway.