Lynch
I never got to meet David Lynch, but he was such an outsized presence in my young life. Dazed and Confused was shooting in the summer of 92, and still all I could think about was the last episode of the original Twin Peaks run and Fire Walk With Me. I saw FWWM several times in the theater, and I remember the first time people walking out, getting audibly angry. This was a part of my life when I was starting to form an oppositional viewpoint. An abusive stepfather, the US war in Iraq, and the growing realization that the only thing that arrested this inner feeling of sadness that was petrifying my heart was a glimpse of some kind of unfamiliar pattern, sight and sound and words, something that felt as if it was coming from an internally consistent place but which did something new and unexpected and maybe even a little frightening. I was becoming aware that these things that excited me, that I was looking for in an attempt to learn, were the same things that made other people angry. The violation of expectations made other people angry and shut them off.
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