elcomfortador: Lana Del Rey. Mulholland Drive. Think about it. She’s Camilla Rhodes and Rebekah del Rio. It all makes so much more sense now.

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For me, Lynch’s movies’ deconstruction of this weird irony of the banal has affected the way I see and organize the world. I’ve noted since 1986 (when Blue Velvet was released) that a good 65 percent of the people in metropolitan bus terminals between the hours of midnight and 6 A.M. tend to qualify as Lynchian figures-grotesque, enfeebled, flamboyantly unappealing, freighted with a woe out of all proportion to evident circumstances … a class of public-place humans I’ve privately classed, via Lynch, as “insistently fucked up.” Or, e.g. we’ve all seen people assume sudden and grotesque facial expressions-like when receiving shocking news, or biting into something that turns out to be foul, or around small kids for no particular reason other than to be weird-but I’ve determined that a sudden grotesque facial expression won’t qualify as a really Lynchian facial expression unless the expression is held for several moments longer than the circumstances could even possibly warrant, until it starts to signify about seventeen different thin sat once.

David Foster Wallace, in a Lynch profile written after a Lost Highway set visit