“I find the sun has a forlorn truth before noon”
— cormac mccarthy
— cormac mccarthy
— donna tartt, the goldfinch
all her fault, holly golightly & the brokeoffs
one of those atavistically ramshackle but immediate records that seemed to come out once a month in the late 90s; who knew those discoveries would dry up and Beck would become a pretentious bore?
At first, this buddy pairing seems like a funky dialectic: when Rust rants, Marty rolls his eyes. But, six episodes in, I’ve come to suspect that the show is dead serious about this dude. Rust is a heretic with a heart of gold. He’s our fetish object—the cop who keeps digging when everyone ignores the truth, the action hero who rescues children in the midst of violent chaos, the outsider with painful secrets and harsh truths and nice arms.
this is my fear—rust as avenging angel. the more ballyhooed point of nussbaums takedown is the cardboard depth of the shows female characters. to me, the other side of the same coin: this is an abjectly male narrative, words falling out with bravado, insecurity, bullshit. the sort of genre transcendence i hope for will come with an icky and affecting revelation about our True Detectives, not some cypress-hidden boogeymen. i like that the stereotypical two-timing guys guy marty (heart) appears alternately normal and boring next to the cerebral rust with his thrilling malevolence. i like that both men and women are unwittingly cheering for a monster, bored with what usually passes for monstrousness in their everyday lives. of course im bound to be disappointed, but until then, what she said:
Sure, I know these people. I know this story. And yet, there’s always something simmering and slithering beneath the surface that scares me sideways.
never a pompous douche when things went well nor an insufferable fuck when things were bleak
if Sea Change were the soundtrack to staring out of the bus window on a cross-country trip to the Supermax in which youll spend the next 30 years, then Morning Phase is the short van ride to the minimum security facility after 17 years of good behavior. if i dont hear either record again, that will be ok.
— john ohara, butterfield 8
— geoff dyer
frank pembleton vs rust cohle—even fucking money on who cracks first
— eric foner, the fiery trail
— nic pizzolatto, galveston
i miss these motherfuckers
Come on, read my future for me.
You haven’t got any.
What do you mean?
Your future is all used up.