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True Detective - Season 1 (Woody Harrelson+Matthew McConaughey+HBO)


Harsin
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In The King in Yellow, important characters are destroyed by their obsessions:

in The Repairer of Reputations, the protagonist / narrator;

in The Mask, the protagonist / narrator's best friend and, until the end, the reader is led to believe the love interest was also destroyed;

in The Court of the Dragon, the protagonist / narrator;

in The Yellow Sign, the protagonist / narrator.

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found this True Detective reading list somewhere

http://www.buzzfeed.com/lincolnmichel/a-true-detective-reading-list

one of the influences is Thomas Lugotti. If you want a flavour, read Thinking Horror in this collection: http://archive.org/stream/CollapseVol.IvConceptHorror/CollapseIV_djvu.txt

e.g.

For the rest of the earth's organisms, existence is relatively uncomplicated. Their lives are about three things: survival, reproduction, death - and nothing else. But we know too much to content ourselves with surviving, reproducing, dying - and nothing else. We know we are alive and know we will die. We also know we will suffer at intervals throughout our lives before suffering - slowly or quickly - at the point of death. This is the knowledge we 'enjoy' as the most intelligent organisms to gush from the womb of nature. And as such, we feel shortchanged if there is nothing more for us than to survive, reproduce, and die. We want there to be more to it than that, or to think there is. This is the tragedy: consciousness has forced us into striving to be something other than what we are - hunks of spoiling flesh on hardening bones. For other organisms, life is a well-managed ramble toward their demise. But we are susceptible to startling and dreadful thoughts, and we need some fabulous illusions to take our minds off them. For us, then, life is a con game we must run on ourselves, hoping we do not catch on to any monkey business that would leave us stripped of our defense mechanisms and standing bare-assed before the silent, staring void. To end this self- deception, to free our species from this backbreaking labor of lies, we must cease reproducing. Nothing less will do, per Zapffe, although in 'The Last Messiah' the character after whom the essay is named does all the talking about human extinction. Elsewhere Zapffe speaks for himself on the subject.

"Happy birthday!"
[edit]
maybe True Detective is really about what we each do with or despite this knowledge.

Unamuno's penchant is for the heroic course, with the implied precondition that one has the physical and psychological spunk for the fight: 'I think, therefore I know that life is a meaningless bitch and then I will die; but I cannot let that keep me from living in defiance of what I know, which is what everyone does, pessimist or not.' In line with Unamuno, Joshua Foa Dienstag, author of Pessimism: Philosophy, Ethic, Spirit, 6 also gives the thumbs- up to the pessimist-as-hero - one who is aware of the dispiriting lowdown on life and yet marches on. Also siding with this never-say-die group is William R. Brashear, whose The Desolation of Reality 1 concludes with a format for redemption, however partial and imperfect, by means of what he calls 'tragic humanism', which recognizes human life's 'ostensible insignificance, but also the necessity of proceeding as if this were not so, and of willfully nourishing and sustaining the underlying illusions of value and order'.

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You have to gauge the, um, gauge of the alumin(i*)um with a few test pinches before trying something like this.

I think that it's possible for the Yellow Mythos to be "real" within the story, without any space-cats or tattered-robed horrors, it's a more existential horror. It's mostly important that the characters believe it, just like millions/billions believe the real world exists in whatever religious paradigm they live in.

*the added strength may be in the "i".

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FLASH TO LOGO: MOON CATS!

Theme music: harsh and dissonant church organ sounds, screaming on the edge of hearing.

FADE IN: ON THE MOON CATS' NURSERY - DAY

CAMERA SLOWLY PANS one end of the room, HOLDING on RUSTIN who is seated on top of his piano, which is precariously perched on top of the TV set. He holds what looks like a toy microphone.

RUSTIN

I'd consider myself a realist, alright? But in philosophical terms I'm what's called a pessimist... I think consciousness is a tragic misstep in evolution. We became too self-aware. Nature created an aspect of nature separate from itself - conscious creatures should not exist by natural law... We are things that labor under the illusion of having a self, that accretion of sensory experience and feelings, programmed with total assurance that we are each somebody when in fact everbody's nobody... I think the honorable thing for our species to do is to deny our programming. Stop reproducing, walk hand in hand into extinction - one last midnight, brothers and sisters opting out of a raw deal.

WIDEN to reveal the other Moon Cats in the middle of the nursery. They are lying on two shabby arm chairs. The chairs are situated one in front of the other, like the front and back seat of a car. MARTIN, LOUIS, CONSTANCE and HAWBERK (curled up with his stuffed clown, BONZO) are in the front chair; CASSILDA, CAMILLA and FLOZZY are in the rear chair. Camilla's computer keyboard is in her lap. There is an ironing board (set up at a very low height) in between the two chairs in such a way as to look like the wing of a plane. Louis wears a pair of Walkman headphones.

RUSTIN

This is Moon Cat central checking in with the King in Yellow, over.

THE KING IN YELLOW

[indecipherable, horrible sounds whisper over a radio, somewhere]

RUSTIN

Understood, over and out.

TO BE CONT.

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FLASH TO LOGO: MOON CATS!
Theme music: the sound of slowly peeling skin, flies dying from hunger

EXT. THE BROAD HIGH STREET OF NIR - DAY
RUSTIN and MARTIN are padding along Nir's high street, over the great stone bridge across the SKAI and into ULTHAR. They pause awhile.

MARTIN
So what's the point of getting out of bed in the morning?

RUSTIN
I tell myself I bear witness. But the real answer is that it's obviously my programming. And I lack the constitution for suicide.

Martin purrs contentedly as a passerby, one RANDOLPH CARTER, momentarily stops to pet him.

MARTIN
Three months I try to get to know you-

RUSTIN
You asked.

MARTIN
And now I'm begging you to shut the funk up.

They watch Randolph make his way to the modest TEMPLE OF THE ELDER ONES, a venerable circular tower of ivied stone, which crowns Ulthar's highest hill.

RUSTIN
I got a bad taste in my mouth out here. Aluminum. Ash. I can smell the psychosphere.

MARTIN
I got an idea. Let's make our walks a time for silent reflection from now on, ok?

Beat.

RUSTIN
What shall I bring for dinner?

MARTIN
A bottle of cream would be nice.

The man is now standing on the Temple's railed terrace, admiring the vista.

RUSTIN
This place is like somebody's dream of a city, translucent and frayed around the edges. It's like there was never anything here but the void.

MARTIN
Stop saying poop like that, it's unprofessional.

RUSTIN
Oh, is that what I'm going for here?

MARTIN shakes his head.

MARTIN
I just want you to stop saying odd poop, like you smell the psychosphere or you're in someone's dream of a city. Just stop.

RUSTIN
Given how long it's taken for me to reconcile my nature I can't figure I'd forgo it on your account Marty.

Martin sighs. They start tailing the man as he emerges on to the road.

MARTIN
Did you get any sleep last night?

RUSTIN
I don't sleep - I just dream.

Martin rolls his eyes, exasperated.

TO BE CONT.

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FLASH TO LOGO: MOON CATS!

Theme music: fingernails scraping a blackboard, a human ribcage being played by a lobotomised octopus

INT. THE NURSERY AKA MOON CAT CENTRAL

While Louis and Rustin are in Ulthar, the remaining Moon Cats are still lying on two shabby arm chairs, which are situated one in front of the other, like the front and back seat of a car. CONSTANCE and HAWBERK (curled up with his stuffed clown, BONZO) are in the front chair; CASSILDA, CAMILLA and FLOZZY are in the rear chair. Camilla's computer keyboard is in her lap. There is an ironing board (set up at a very low height) in between the two chairs in such a way as to look like the wing of a plane. Constance wears a pair of Walkman headphones.

CONSTANCE

This is Captain Constance of Flight 23. Go ahead tower.

THE KING IN YELLOW

[the sound of maggots crawling through rotten flesh]

Constance

Fasten your seat belts, we're taking off!

Hawberk fastens a large belt that is wrapped around the front two moon cats, Bonzo the stuffed clown and their chair. Constance holds her hands out on an imaginary steering wheel. The SFX OF A REAL 747 TAKE OFF BUILDS as we cut to:

A COMPOSITE OF A LIVE ACTION STOCK SHOT of a 747 speeding down the runway and lifting off... the Moon.

HAWBERK (VO)

Good lord! This is the best flying chair I've even been in.

INSIDE A PHOTO B.G. 747 PASSENGER COMPARTMENT

CASSILDA, CAMILLA and FLOZZY are seated beside each other.

CASSILDA

Oh! Isn't this wonderful, Camilla? We can go anywhere in our imaginations.

CAMILLA

Oh, quite wonderful, what do you think Flozzy?

Flozzy looks out of the window.

FLOZZY

I think, therefore I am and will one day die. Our only natural birthright is to die. No other rights have been allocated to us except as fabrications. Our want of any natural birthright - except to die, in most cases without assistance - is not a matter of tragedy but only one of truth.

Flozzy presses his face against the glass, looking down.

HIS POV: LIVE ACTION STOCK FOOTAGE of earth from the POV of an orbiting space capsule. We can see the United States a hundred miles below.

FLOZZY

The tragedy of human existence had its beginnings when at some stage in our evolution we somehow acquired consciousness. A mistake in human evolution, an adventitious outgrowth that made of us a race of monsters - things that had nothing to do with the rest of creation. Because of consciousness, we became susceptible to thoughts that were startling and dreadful to us. Our heads now began dredging up horrors, flagrantly joyless possibilities, enough of them to make us drop to the ground in paroxysms of self-soiling consternation should they go untrammeled. This potentiality necessitated that certain defense mechanisms be put to use to keep us balanced on the knife-edge of vitality as a species.

Hawberk squeezes his toy clown.

BONZO

Meep!

TO BE CONT.

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Just a quick thing: Galveston by Pizzolatto reads very well, and you can feel the underlying current to this series creeping through out. A fair whack of small, powerful tension, interesting yet complicated characters and even some ideas which appear in True Detective. Very much worth a read, I got through 60% of it in roughly three hours last night.

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