Mark Frost, Twin Peaks: The Final Dossier
I’ve taken in a LOT of media and analysis of Twin Peaks in the last month, and I think this points at one of the hearts of the project. Whether it succeeds, or how we would even know…? But I see this, especially in The Return and its emphasis on split natures, its brutal depiction of common suffering, and its insistent reminders that we are… dreaming? … and I’m trying to reconcile Lynch’s work with meditation and raising consciousness with the grimy, visceral nastiness visible in so much of his art. None of it seems to be reveling in darkness; when it shows true horror, we are not meant to be entertained. That violence is a rupture in the persistent possible sweetness of mundane coexistence. Appreciation for the quiet moment, the strange phrase, the loving smile. But we all have to pass through, for some reason, the monstrosity of puberty, to feel our minds and bodies warp and twist, overcome by unknown forces, hoping we come out the other side a decent person. Most people don’t, not immediately; it’s our burden to reflect, to study, to bend our branches back toward sunlight, away from blood and towards the rain.
But we have a massive, massive collective problem. An awful lot of people aren’t afforded the space and peace to do that reflection. Some ends are served by starving and prodding. Twin Peaks illustrates these conditions, again to varying degrees of success for any given person. And I think part of why they show us moments of goodness, but then land in confusion or horror, isn’t because that’s “the truth” or inescapable. I think it’s a splinter we’re meant to work out.
Or maybe it’s all bullshit, and I’m projecting. Either way, I like this train of thought, and the idea of making art with these intentions.
Electricity — Power — Shock — Thought