Was there another image that perfectly encapsulated the experience of living through 2017 than Charlene Yi dragging herself across a bar floor, slowly breaking down until she unleashes a primal scream that eventually fades into nothingness? Twin Peaks was less film or television, but moreso something born of alchemy. A tragedy written in a holy text that reshaped our conceptions of what cinema could be while circling back to the life of the girl whose death is where it all began. If Fire Walk With Me gave the cinematic dead girl a voice then the newest incarnation of Twin Peaks made her a deity. Despite all its grandiose moments, and there were many, Twin Peaks is the story of one…

What makes Lynch so fascinating is that he’s a conservative whose aesthetic tendencies (unerring empathy for/centering of his female characters, a proclivity for exploring dysphoric relationships between persons and their bodies/bodies and the world, and an affinity for the cynical epistemology of the noir) constantly undermine his nostalgic and otherwise regressive gestures. Nowhere is that more apparent than in The Return, a colossal moral reckoning with the willful failure of each and every available institution (cultural/political/social) to reckon with trauma. Lynch’s disillusionment with post-millennial America reaches back through time to point the finger not so much at modernity itself but at specifically American iconography and mythology, an inherited cultural history which enshrines the moral purity of dead women and creates…

And somewhere west of the phantom’s home remained the only shell of skin capable of remembering their wasteland. Burning a hole into the fabric of the past, the shell attempted to forget, but was met only with souvenirs of nostalgia that brought its efforts to a halt. Chilled by the frigid air, it wandered east across an expanse of drying land feeling the assault of the wind more powerfully than most days. Darkness crept out from beyond the clouds and stole away the residue of the light. Exhausted, the shell sunk into itself and fought the sounds and voices and vibrations that sought to keep it awake. Finally it slept and felt all things venomous at a distance, still, innocuous.…

The first time I had coffee I was in the backseat of my mom's car. My mom had to bend her arm back to hand me things while keeping her eyes on the road. I insisted upon trying coffee in the drive-thru and even though I couldn't believe how bad it tasted, I wanted to like it so badly that I drank it all. Between sips, I remember watching the transmission towers pass by one after another. I was fascinated by transmission towers as a kid. I called them "skyscrapers," and I thought the wires contained every phone conversation all at once.

The first time I enjoyed a cup of coffee I was visiting my grandparents for Christmas. We were…