spookylair

[spookylair]

it’s so bizarre when animated American films are set in a certain location and then only certain characters have the accents of that place. It makes no damn sense!! like

WHY IS SHE MORE FRENCH THAN THE REST OF THEM???

[spookylair]

What the sneef? I'm snorfin' here!

[spookylair]

[spookylair]

[spookylair]

my friends tease me for loving manosphere stuff, which is true, but they always find it kind of baffling and I guess I did too until I realized the manosphere men admired the men in these shows. obviously we all wish we could monologue in beautifully paced and well articulated philosophy, that's not what I'm saying, but the men who like this story seem incapable of viewing rust cohle as someone who is expressing beliefs that create ironic tension in his own narrative, same as marty.

it's not quite as bull in a china shop as marty saying "a man needs boundaries" in monologue while we watch him break down the door of the twenty something woman he's cheating on his wife with. but from the moment rust brings up "encouraging the capacity for illusion" it becomes glaringly obvious rust's mainlining of the secrets of the universe -- as well as the bulk of his philosophies outcropped from grief -- are exactly that same encouragement of illusion. "the world needs bad men" and "it was never supposed to work, the whole man-woman thing" is hitting you over the head in the context of the show; rust is ducking and hiding. it's intolerable, how grief irrevocably changed him as a person, the marriage that crumbled from that grief ("we turned on each other"), and the resentment it bore, and not because nature programmed it to end but because it all just did.

but that belief, that nature programmed it to end, is an extension of his idea of time as a flat circle. if you will be reborn into the life you've always been born into, than none of these choices are really yours to begin with. none of what happens has anything to do with you, which is how it feels when you lose everything to an accident on some regular day. so if you believe you're wrought through every motion in repetition, then in this repetition you're exponentially separated from anything resembling agency. but still, nature's programming is You, somewhere at some point in imperceptible time; You at one point lived the life for the first time, then over and over and over, it's Your programming, Your design. the marriage ended who knows how many times. it was never meant to work. your kid died who knows how many times because she was always going to, and you have to continue even though it feels like you're trapped inside a predetermined motion, predetermined not by a benevolent power, or even a malignant one, but by You. everything you ever did or everything done to you happens over and over, there is no such thing as once. which is just true within our lifetimes, we still live inside our decisions, our trajectories, and the trajectories of other people worn on us.

but I'd be surprised if rust believed in a "first time" like that. it's like if you roll a marble on a looping track; an elastic collision got it going, but it's already on a loop. you're born without preexistence, but does this mean that first life is a byproduct of your decisions? in the same way gravity dictated you'd move kinetic, a certain shape, slowing and speeding up at this part and that part, can the same be said for how time dictates you move through your life?

but this is what it feels like when your life is completely devastated by something random. it's the aimless inattention of a couple people at the same time; it's positions in space and speed and impact, gravity; it's an accident. you can't cope with the scope of that. you'll lose everything, but of course the world doesn't change, and the giant devouring mystery is no closer to sated or understood or whatever you believe it seeks. it's in the same way a pandemic wipes through your life and leaves you injured and ill. a plague doesn't really care about anything but living, it was never about you; lives in you but doesn't know what You are, in the same way you don't know what massive devouring mystery you live inside.

even in the murder of dora lang and marie fontenot, murders that are actually committed by men with malice and forethought, there's this thing looming above these women and children as though they're likewise devoured by something too large, incapable of seeing them. this is why it's important that dora lang and marie fontenot are easy targets, "chum in the water". it's impersonal, the accumulation of hundreds of other things that made it easy to pick them off. for some of them it was hurricanes. I love the use of hurricanes in true detective, great use of massive destroying mystery. anyway, it's why marie fontenot's disappearance is paired with the "cerebral event" that paralyzes her uncle. all of these are acts of horror too large to perceive, and why this horror is cosmic depends on where you are in the narrative. is it because evil is a design of nature (or god)? is it because you were propelled into this motion, and gravity will bring you back here, to the moment you're devoured? is it because the only closeness to this mystery is in it's silence around you, incapable of speaking to something like you, so small it could never know you were there at all? that one comes at our half way point with joel theriot -- "all my life I wanted to be nearer to god. the only nearness, silence."

the men doing the killing believe they're feeding this cosmic mystery, that it's a mouth and gut and gets hungry for the people they already view as consumable. they make it into a god that demands sacrifices. rust seems to believe it doesn't need to be fed, it will always eat. his relationship to it is hard to pin down, it clearly guides him, but when he speaks of it it's more like it's coming for him. "it's like something's got your name on it, like a bullet or a long nail in the road."

I do relate to this instinct to embrace "there was never another version". whatever I've lost to encephalitis and it's autoimmune consequences, I have this feeling in my gut there's no version of life where it doesn't happen. there's no trajectory for the me before this except becoming the me in this and after this. I think that's why rust's version of grief does resonate so much, because there's nothing he can do about how random it is, so he turns it into a bullet with his name on it. what he embraces here is the morbid version of "it was fate".

so he's mystified his experience of grief, rightfully so, because grief is inherently mysterious, and that is quite literally the process of engaging your capacity for illusion. and ultimately the story isn't telling you what's eating you, it's saying you'd know it much better by it's silence than by anything definable, present.

#“it’s intolerable how grief irrevocably changed him as a person #oh. #personal #grief #spoilers #True Detective

[spookylair]

“I don’t care about dumb weed jokes,” I said naively, before I saw this

[spookylair]

suzume spoilers without context

[spookylair]

so this feral little cat god was inadvertently freed by suzume... was physically transformed by the care suzume showed it... cursed the guy who wanted to keep it as a keystone for the rest of eternity... led suzume around japan to all the gates while acting like a petty asshole to souta (DESERVED because again he was trying to keep it sealed for FOREVER)... frolicked around in the sunlight enjoying life... was so happy when souta became the new keystone so suzume and it could finally be together... and then the heartbreaking "you don't love me anymore?" shriveling up into the saddest wrinkled little prune... followed suzume back to her hometown... helped fight the worm for her sake... sacrificed itself for suzume and transformed back into a keystone, where it will remain unmoving for the rest of time... and no one even cared..... this tiny manic trickster cat was the tragic hero of an unrequited love story......

#Suzume #spoilers #this broke me #Daijin

[spookylair]

Safety Not Guaranteed (2012) dir. Colin Trevorrow.

[spookylair]

still insane abt ruby and silver eyes in general. incase anyone was wondering

[spookylair]

Frances Bean Cobain on the 30th anniversary of her father, Kurt’s, death.

#grief #five months #will you love or will you leave? #will you rise or will you rot? #still here to hurt #is there a blessing in that? #should I call that relief #or just anguish #Riad #personal

[spookylair]

hobie: kill yourself

pavitr: WHAT THE HELL BRO WHAT DID I DO

original format from @ha-youwish in this post!

[spookylair]

#well. they’re literally cutting their noses off to spite their face #say they’re successful #and they drive everyone out #settle the land like they’ve been planning to all along #they’re going to suffer for what they’ve done #and we will be watching #spookylair commentary #you poison the waters #you destroy the land #you will live in misery

[spookylair]

At the gate for my flight home from visiting friends and there's a woman here with a service Shiba Inu. No pics because he has a Do Not Disturb vest and taking pics of strangers is illegal but I need to stress how ON DUTY this animal is. Ears up. Eyes doing Lazer scans of everything. Examining everyone who passes within 10ft like a security guard. Ass planted on her feet. I have never seen a dog with such intense chivalric guardian energy before. He has tiny eyebrows and they are FURROWED with concentration.

[spookylair]

This is more punk than the whole of punk history.

[spookylair]

[spookylair]