While many of the commentators remain positive and supportive of how the producers are interpreting and supporting Martin's "pattern," I find I am getting worn down by it, this existential nihilism, or whatever it is, because I know that Martin bristles whenever anyone mentions nihilism, so it must be something else, whatever it is.
But whatever it is, it's like an endless slog through the swampy unconscious of a tormented intellectual, who definitely has something to say about how messed up life can be, but seems so stuck in the muck of his depressing narrative he cannot progress beyond the frustration and disappointment of being trapped in world that is full of, well, swampy muck-ness.
Nobody is making me watch this crazy carnival of desperate meaningless violence punctuated with equally desperate meaningless sex--the violence, the sex, it all builds up to some kind of orgasmic exclamation about something, maybe the passion of Martin's personal Christ, or something. And maybe that's why I watch. Whatever this is.