It’s taken a few days to understand why the demise of Louis C.K.’s career hurts so much. (He did terrible things, we all agree. This is not about that.) His work, especially on his eponymous TV show, was existential drama disguised as comedy, and a truly remarkable, unique look at the human condition. C.K. earned a place next to the likes of Charlie Kaufman, as a sort of post-post modern Albert Camus. The scenarios presented on “Louie” weren’t crafted for laughs as much as they were expressions of the absurdity of life and fragility of personality. I know what he did is inexcusable, but I’m crushed that we are losing such an insightful and self-sacrificing explorer of ugly questions about ourselves and being human few want to even think about. He lived his art, and it hurt people.