Lynch
Hello. Shop nearly sorted (I promise). In the mean time hears the rough draft of the piece I made for the David Lynch Scratch at BAC a couple weeks ago. You have to play the sound clips and read in between. I reckon it’s the start of a nice idea. Check it out.
‘DALE’ - Draft idea Polarbear
Check this out. (play excerpt1)
That’s me walking in on my brother. God knows what he did with his voice.
I reckon that’s 1995, or maybe 96. Which means I’m like 15 and Nathan must’ve been 18. Which means it can’t have been that long before it happened.
He thought he was Dale Cooper. Wanted to be him. Fucking obsessed. Asking for eggs over hard and crispy bacon, complimenting Mom on the coffee like he knew what he was talking about. I always just found him funny, I mean I know who Dale Cooper is now but I didn’t then. In fact I didn’t even know what Twin Peaks was. I remember Nathan being left in charge when mom and dad were out. Me being about 9 and him letting me stay up and falling asleep on the sofa while we were watching the telly. He used to have a notebook and pencil ready and I never asked what it was for cos he would’ve just told me to shut up and go to bed.
I woke up and it must’ve been halfway through or something cos all I can remember is seeing some guy with a pony tail sat in a wheel chair like in a coma or something and this proper creepy music and being half asleep and the guy in the chairs eyes moving a bit or something and I shit myself. Couldn’t sleep.
Never saw anymore of Twin Peaks after that til I started going through Nathan’s stuff.
I don’t know when he started recording but there’s a box full of tapes, none of em marked or anything and I always just thought they were like mix tapes or something. I played one and it was an early Westwood show so I just left em.
Then yesterday I just felt like it and that’s what I found. That tape and this notebook.
He’d already gone a bit weird by that point. He was smoking pretty much everyday and just locking himself away in his room.
I remember hearing dad call it a phase when him and mom argued about it. That it was, “just Nathan responding to what had happened”. Being that close to something that horrific. So that’s what I said whenever anyone bought him up.
How’s your brother? Horrible what he saw, can’t imagine it.
He’s ok; it’s just a phase.
To be honest I think it’s overrated myself. The full two seasons I mean. The pilot is pretty good and the first season, ok the first season is pretty sick, but after Leyland dies it all got a bit boring for me.
Nathan used to say it was the networks fault. Talk about them like he knew them.
It was them ABC wankers. They didn’t get it. Stories within stories. It could just keep going so long as you don’t reveal everything. Dickheads.
Part of me was jealous. You know? I can admit that. To be into something that much. To completely submerge yourself in a different world. I never did that. Nathan was different.
After what happened he just went further in. Started making less and less sense. But getting more and more routine. Sometimes at night I’d hear him through the wall. Talking to himself. Pacing around.
Every morning he’d come downstairs at twenty to ten. Pretty much bang on. He’d say hello if we were having breakfast and deflect questions from Mom. He’d go out into the back garden and through the gate. Twenty minutes later at ten o clock on the dot he’d walk back in with a folded newspaper and a small package under his arm. Like a Jiffy bag. He’d pour a cup of coffee and go back upstairs and we wouldn’t see him again for the rest of the day. I was pretty sure that was how he got his weed, but god knows who left the packages where and what else was inside them.
Every Thursday he had to go and speak to someone. A doctor. Trauma counseling they called it. The irony is I’m pretty sure that just fueled his mind even more. I imagine him lying there talking to some crackpot psychologist in a garish Hawaiian shirt.
(Take out note)
Acetylcholine neurons fire high, voltage impulses into the
forebrain. The impulses become pictures, the pictures
become your dream. But no one knows why we choose
these particular pictures.
He left that next to my bed. Under my alarm clock. I’m not sure when he put it there, could’ve been there for ages. I didn’t find it til I knocked the clock off.
My brother. Fucking Agent Dale Cooper.
(look at notebook)
I don’t really remember dreams. Never have. I’m not like him.
Which is why I don’t want to open this
It was just a phase. Him responding to what he’d seen.
“LOCAL TEENS WITNESS CORNERSHOP HORROR ATTACK”
I’ve pictured his face. Eyes wide. Flecks of Eddie’s blood warm on his cheek. The silence.
I don’t know what that does.
I never met the girl. I’m not even sure of her name, but her face stays with me. The pair of them and what they saw.
Just a phase.
A phase that
Made him think they were after him.
Made them take him away. Agent Dale Cooper in a padded room.
Something don’t feel right (play excerpt2)
END.
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