my daughter is a junior in high school. she is the same age that I was when I watched twin peaks with my mom in our den on 33rd street. I would sit next to the tv as close as I could get. my mom sat on the couch. every so often she would say, '“well, this is so interesting”. My daughter texts me today “can we finally watch Twin Peaks: Season 2?”… why had we been putting it off? I wanted her to have longer with Twin Peaks than I did. To cherish the fact that she had something to look forward to a bit longer. When the series ended, I was so bereft. Much like how I feel today. But today is worse.
Every year I ask my students “what does the light look like in your home town. Describe it.” This is my selfish way of entering into a lecture about Lynch and his thoughts about the light in Los Angeles. Today that light was on full display as I tried not to cry at the smog shop while hearing the news about the man that taught me the world is always a poem and always not a poem. I took some pictures of the moment of loss and the moment of hope. You know, the donut and the hole.
