a rebuttal to a contradiction

it is easy to get lulled into a stupor with the confidence Camus oozes even as he contradicts himself. he makes you believe every word to be indisputable while extolling the virtues of contradiction. look too closely and the snake oil salesman leers back through the print. but isn’t that the point in absurdism? to lie to yourself? the fruitlessness of agnosticism with a sneer of superiority while clinging desperately to what ifs. this is no fence to tapdance along, but a cold truth one must accept for themselves. there is, or there is not. it is a fool’s game to straddle a perpetuity of maybes. is there humor to be found within the confines of constant entropy? yes. we do whatever makes the happy chemicals until we die seeking forevers with no concept beyond the artificial seconds we hoard like dragons. but die we do despite best intentions.

yet still we run, hamsters in a wheel, never questioning why because we know, deep down, this false order is the only thing keeping us from screaming ourselves hoarse as our minds crumble.

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