10/11/2005: "Death"music: Chopin's Death March, played happily
mood: irrationally exuberant
"Death's not so bad," David Lynch's head told me. "It's liberating in its own way. For example, I never have to go the bathroom anymore., plus I don't have to worry about slow service at restaurants."
I sighed. "That's okay for you. You were a success, in your own weird, disjointed way, but there's so much I have left undone, and so many people that I owe so much to."
He laughed, a strange, unearthly laugh that disturbed me so much that I vomited on the floor. I made no move to clean up the mess, but stared at the warm puke. As it cooled, I could see cities being built,
populated by many small creatures (they seemed to be hominids, but it was hard to be sure). Over the next hour, or more, I saw the architecture get more advanced, and the number of citizens increased many times over. It was pleasant to see them create, but soon the buildings got cheap and uninspired, and the crowds grew restless. A great argument had begun, and soon the creatures took sides; soon after that, they fell upon each other in a great battle, and little arms hacked off little heads, which rolled down tiny streets into miniscule gutters.
When it was all over, the buildings were blackened, and no movement was seen in the little city. Grabbing a near-by rag, I cleaned up the mess, leaving no chance for this civilization to rise again.
I told the head, "It seems to me that we are no more than God's vomit, doomed to end in misery."
"I knew that."
I looked at the head, and was disgusted by the smug smile on its face.
"Maybe you did. Is that why Mulholland Drive sucked?"
Again, I heard that unearthly laughter. I knew that sound would haunt me to the grave.