To the last scene in the fourth episode of True Detective:
I know people have been writing a lot about you, I don’t know if anyone has been writing to you. So I hope you don’t find this strange. But when you’re in front of me, and I’m looking at you, I get tongue-tied. Almost stupefied. Freaked out. Aroused. I can barely speak, let alone figure out what to say.
I’m writing to you because it’s easier. Because I’m more confident I can get it right. The message will – if I have time to go back and rework some parts and keep all the stuff I like and scrap all the stuff I don’t – come through. Because that’s the nature of writing. Particularly in the era of word processing. You get to pause, reflect, reread, jump around, tweak and twiddle until you’ve got something you’re happy with. It’s way fucking easier.
Which is funny, last scene in the fourth episode of True Detective, because that’s completely antithetical to who you are. My approach betrays an inverse level of confidence and efficiency. You, on the other hand, gathered some insane amount of extras onto some intimidatingly massive set and designed a series of exhaustibly precise action moments and FILMED THE WHOLE FUCKING THING IN ONE TAKE. WITH ONE CAMERA. A FUCKING STEADICAM.
Six minutes and three seconds is how long you lasted (I counted). Six minutes and three seconds of some poor heroic man hauling around this camera and following Matthew McConaughey (who, holy shit, coolest guy ever all of a sudden – but that’s for a different letter) as he makes what seem like sudden and wild movements around corners and towards camera, requiring scary spatial awareness and actual agility from your steadicam guy in addition to prodigious strength and quickness. Six minutes and three seconds. This letter has already taken me seven times that amount of time to write and I haven’t held anything heavier than a cigarette.
There’s also the fact that I’m writing this letter in the confines of my bedroom, as opposed to the real, functional housing project you turned into your own personal canvas. I have yet to try but I doubt that I do my best writing in housing projects.
There’s also the fact that this letter just isn’t any good compared to what you’ve accomplished. It doesn’t come close to doing you justice. I’m inspired, but also completely ashamed. That you might read this letter and feel somewhat responsible for its worthless existence is horrible. That I’m worried you would even notice me is delusional.
But anyway, why are we talking about me? This is about you. You are a transcendant creation of God. In the same way that I worship David Foster Wallace’s Infinite Jest, Mobb Deep’s The Infamous and Lil Frankie’s rigatoni, I will worship you. I may tattoo you. Because you will never leave me. I will keep watching you. I will keep loving you.
That’s right, I love you.
Featured image via True Detective’s Facebook