I’m Going To Miss You, David

Man speaking to his iPhone, using the audio recorder app.

“Diane, it’s 10:15pm and I’ve just finished watching episode 8 of ‘Twin Peaks: The Return’ using my subscription to Showtime On Demand through Amazon Prime Video. The convenience of on-demand programming is truly one of the great achievements of modern technology.

“It’s hard to put into words what I’ve just seen. It was like a dream —or maybe ‘nightmare’ would be more accurate — but I was definitely awake throughout the entire show, so perhaps it was a vision or a temporary transposition to another plane of spiritual existence. In this dream, I was adrift in the imagination of a brilliant artist who was in the process of creating his final masterpiece. He was using music and sound and (frankly, disturbing) imagery to present his last and most important message to the human race. Diane, I truly believe that if I am able to determine what this message means, I will unravel one of the greatest mysteries of the last 25 years. Doing so won’t be easy. It’s going to require dedicated focus and meditation on the key clues that were presented throughout the experience. Oh, and Diane, remind me to Google ‘The Nine Inch Nails’. I think this is a reference to some sort of Satanic cult, and it might be worthy of the Bureau’s attention.”

Man stops recording and closes the app. Camera zooms out to show man standing in a nondescript hotel room. There is a queen size bed with two cheap wood veneer side tables. On each table is a lamp. The lamp on the left side of the bed, nearest the man, is on. Below the lamp on the side table is a small, white, plastic analog alarm clock; a book on Tibetan Buddhism; and a semi-automatic pistol in a black leather holster. The man is in the process of setting the iPhone down next to the pistol when he freezes mid-motion. Cut to a close up of the alarm clock face: the second hand has stopped moving. The image of the clock jitters for a moment, as if being transmitted by a signal that was momentarily interrupted. Cut back to a wider shot of the hotel room. Another person, completely covered in black clothing — including a black hood with no holes for the eyes — materializes on the other side of the bed, opposite the first man. The person in black slowly crawls onto and then across the bed, moving in a discontinuous manner as if animated in a stop-motion style that doesn’t have enough frames. Once across the bed, the person in black stands between the camera and the man, facing away from the camera. The person takes off the hood, revealing a head of short black hair. Using the cloth of the hood, the person in black begins wiping away the frozen man as if, instead of a real person, he was a complicated dry-erase representation of a person drawn into the air. The person starts at the top, wiping away the head. The person moves to the shoulders and arms. Next the torso. Finally, stooping down, the person wipes away the legs an feet. The iPhone, now with no one holding it, drops noisily onto the side table, hitting the holster, and then tumbles onto the floor. The person in black puts the hood back on and slowly turns to look at the camera, revealing that there is an image of a person’s face now showing on the front of the hood.

Your face.

“The owl’s silver dollar eyes will rhyme if you read them in reverse. Unrhyming forward becomes a curse.”

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