I wish that I could write stories or poems like David Lynch does. I wish that I could encapsulate the rawness of the subconscious as it runs free when creating. I wish I could effortlessly implement like David Lynch these dreamsical elements that can be only known by the subconscious… I wish I could seduce first and foremost minds that recognise this familiar thing, this indescribable thing that goes unnoticed, but which reveals itself through creative sceneries.

I think that I recognised it through Twin Peaks, through its dreamsical ambiance, the lodge, through its enchanting music, through its mid-tranced mid-stoics characters, through the subliminal environment of Twin Peaks, through the silence, through the burst of little things, through these details that make a difference… I recognised that thing which we all want to catch to make it stay within us, that thing that’s always escaping through time, flying to other shores, going where it’s called, moving freely from mind to mind, that thing that only accompanies us during creativity and these moments of thinking, but also silence, that primeval thing that was there on the day of the creation of existence… the muse of Existence — Life.

Until now the soundtrack of Twin Peaks carries my soul on light wings till beautiful alien reposeful shores, until now Twin Peaks remain my favourite television series, for this drifting mind of mine has experienced its first spatial suddenness through these playful scenes on screen.

“It is happening again.” I watching you playing, you watching me watching, I watching myself playing, you watching yourself watching, changing roles, changing space, changing dimension, changing time, as that thing that dreams in Twin Peaks dreams about… a thing that dreams of Twin Peaks, consciousness enjoying the scenario.

Fire walk with me, transcendental unfurling of thoughts — before the shroud englobed the globe, the aftermath of the englobing of the shroud, these non-judgemental scenescapes, the BOB in us all, the Laura Palmer in us all, the log lady, the agents, the strange forms, a dream that shadows reality, all of my unnameable internal delights at the view of Twin Peaks, my obsession of the thing.

“This is the water. And this is the well. Drink full and descend. The horse is the white of the eyes and dark within.” I also like how David Lynch is able to reveal in his own way about this world that works behind the scene, in the mind, in the dream, within.

These unseen dark regions of the mind are chaotic, disorder reigns, they are places filled with lawless, confusing, crazy, violent, envious, wicked, devious things that run the show… the primeval space is a terrible place that Lynch has been able to perfectly capture.

I don’t exactly remember the year when Twin Peaks was broadcasted in Mauritius, but drawn to the call of its enchanting musical note a little girl couldn’t help herself from watching the dreamsical scenes that flashed before her eyes.

“Close your eyes and cover your ears, quick,” they told me when adult scenes played, and I obeyed like the good little girl that I was; but strangely, out of fear of missing something, I would then have pestered non-stop, “is it over?” until they moved my hands away from my ears.

When I first heard the enthralling soundtrack of Twin Peaks I felt as if something known by my soul was calling me from somewhere else… I still clearly remember how I felt; the emotion of that day is still vivid inside of me. Curious, I then went to hid behind one of the sofa of the salon to watch what could have been drawing my attention that much… and they noticed me in the room, told me that it was not for my age, and that at nine I should have already been asleep; but I guess that when they saw that I couldn’t take my eyes off the screen, they told me that I could stay if I closed my eyes and covered my ears each time they told me to do so, as if then, they knew that I wouldn’t sleep again when I hear its music calling me.

“Laura is the one.” Told you, I grew up in the wilderness, in a very opened-minded female tribe, and when we were all watching Twin Peaks sitting on that green sofa of the salon, with the iconic framed poster of a famous singer with his panther, beside another framed poster of a famous southern Bollywood female superstar (one of my aunt was a great fan of Bollywood movies), facing the poster of Mona Lisa and a one-eyed-teardrop female Pierrot clown sitting on the crescent moon in a starry sky, as smoke filled the air, I was then the happiest of all little girls, though raised in unconventional ways.

Back then I hated eating, I suffered from frequent heavy nosebleeds, I was anaemic, had a strange skin infection where small watery bubbles covered my hands and feet, these translucent pimples even popped on the soles of my feet at the size of tiny coins, which most of the time gave me difficulties to walk and go to school, and I smell of calamine lotion most of the time… and perhaps it’s all that which nourished my attraction for the uncanny world, and the gruesome, from a very young age, to the point of rendering my ears sensitive to the call of the soundtrack of Twin peaks.

Of course, at such young age most of the scenes I was permitted to watch didn’t make any sense to me; and apart the music, the waterfall, and Laura’s pale face wrapped in plastic, I don’t remember much.

“That gum you like is coming back in style.” How strange life is! All of these coincidences, and now I’m here, many years later, blogging about my love for David Lynch bizarre movies, strolling down memory lane, and recalling the beginning of my wake. I now even follow his YouTube channel, where he posts daily about weather forecast, and animate a ‘guess the number’ game; watched with great awe the two last seasons of Twin Peaks, read comments of fans like me, I listen to the music he makes and to the music he likes, watch him make stuff.

One day I hope that I’ll be able to have a collection of his movies and books and albums, because I love everything that he does and says; all of his creative tips and tricks are like golden nuggets to me.

I loved Dunes… yes, I liked it very much, for I think that he did a good job with recreating on screen scenes from this metaphysical science-fictional book; and though I hate sadomasochistic movies and books, I had different thoughts about Blue Velvet, because it was filled with so much intrigue, full of the lynchian DNA, and as always, accompanied by music of great taste.

What to say more about such vivid visual memories that always make me remember who I really am when the circumstances of life force me to become someone else, to live in an uncomfortable skin in which my soul slowly withers… what to say about such joyful recollections, of the gathering of strange scenes that inspire my writing style…

I just hope that one day I’ll be able to recreate Twin Peaks in my stories and poems, that I’ll be able to acquire that lynchian writing style, and dreamsical ambiance that now forms part of my consciousness.