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Aug. 23rd, 2012 12:57 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
tibetanmethod[It is late at night. The moon filters into Cooper's window, spills over the kitchen table, where he has a glass of warm milk and a small black rectangle sitting in front of him.
Tomorrow -- today -- is his day off. Cooper regards the glass of milk, the rectangle. It is late at night, and the moonlight spills across the table. Cooper is pajama- and bathrobe-clad, slippers on his feet. Inside he cannot even hear the wind through the trees. He cannot hear the ticking of his clock at his bedside. All he can hear is the hum of the refrigerator, and even then, it is barely background noise.
Five minutes pass, nearly exactly. The milk cools.
Dale Cooper picks up the tape recorder next to his glass of milk.]
Click.
"Diane.
"It's been some time, hasn't it. Since I officially left the Bureau for good. I hope my tapes were not a burden to you at any point, though I suppose they must have been. The grace with which you handled my tapes, and everything else, is why I picked up my tape recorder again after so long without it. You will never hear this tape, Diane, but it helps me to imagine that there is a friendly presence on the other side, waiting to hear what I have to say. I loved talking to you, Diane. I really did. My only regret in leaving the Bureau is that I didn't have the chance to listen to you.
"So I hope that wherever you are, you don't think of this poor effort to conjure your presence as an imposition. Ordinarily, Diane, I would not give myself over to these flights of fancy, but I know that the world contains many mysteries, and it would not surprise me in the least to know that you're preparing to wake up in Philadelphia, and that you wake a little before your morning alarm because you have the strange and insistent feeling that someone is thinking of you. I do think of you, Diane. Often.
"I think of you often because I haven't been sleeping very well, and when I don't sleep well I can't help but recall the many nights in hotel rooms when I would reach for my tape recorder and speak to you, knowing that within the week I would have a transcript of what I said. The proof of that acknowledgment, Diane, came with every sheaf of notes, and there were many times that the acknowledgment that I had been heard -- that you heard me -- brought me a needed shot in the arm when I was out in the field.
"And here I am. Out in the field.
[Twenty-two seconds of silence.]
"Diane, I could write to you, but I am afraid of leaving a record I cannot easily destroy. I am afraid of that physical act of picking up a pen and making marks on a page. I am afraid that this might attract attention. This habit of mine, of talking to you, is common enough on that scale that I hope it will stay under any kind of radar.
"And here I admit that I know that you'll never hear this, because I am relieved that I don't have to say the name. Any of the names. I think that would attract attention, too.
"Diane, it's simple enough. I spent such a long time dealing with the supernatural -- no, that's not right, because it wasn't supernatural at all. It was extremely natural. It was of nature -- of human nature, of the nature of this world you and I live in. It was something beyond the knowledge and realm of human experience. That's all. And yet I spent such a long time dealing with these things that I craved the mundane. And that's exactly what my job is these days. It's mundane. It's bar fights and traffic citations and keeping an eye on juvenile delinquents and fires, and it's the sort of beat work that I never believed I'd be suited for. Truthfully, I'm not suited for it, and it doesn't suit me.
[Five seconds.]
"Well. I admitted it. That's something.
"The truth is, Diane, anyone could do this job, assuming they met physical standards and had basic reasoning ability. The pay isn't the issue -- I'd be happy to do what I used to do on a deputy's salary, but that's not what Harry needs. Harry needs another deputy, not a detective. This town needs another deputy. And I want to stay. So here I am.
"But I think --
"I think… that this may be why I remain so unnerved by the lack of retaliation -- though you will note that I'm still not saying any names. But it's true. I'd expected something by now. And maybe it'll come. I don't know. What I am concerned with at the moment is the part of me that wants it to come. There is a part of me that wants that very much. And it's not just that I would finally know, one way or another. It's that I want something that isn't so damnably mundane.
"I feel churlish, Diane. This town has been through enough, if not at my hands then through events that I could have influenced for the better. And I can't see how if -- when -- retaliation comes, it won't result in something bad for Twin Peaks. I don't think I underestimate human capacity for self-destruction, Diane, but it's not a trait I've had much personal experience with until this point, and the parts of my experience with the Bureau that didn't deal with evil as an extra-human entity dealt with the consequences of self-destruction spreading to others. I should know better, Diane. I should know better than to want this.
"And yet because such a confrontation would inevitably result in my own destruction -- I feel very confident in saying that, given my history -- I think it pays to ask myself why this sudden interest in self-destruction. Is that truly what I want, Diane? I don't believe it is. But I don't know what I want.
[Three seconds.]
"It's been such a long time, Diane. I think it might be broken. Her determination might bring it back. If she's determined. I don't know. And I don't feel as though I can ask. I don't think it's fair to put it all on her. No, I know it's not fair. And yet I am very concerned that in addition to everything else, I might be pursuing this for the wrong reasons -- that I want to do something self-destructive, and that this is the means I've chosen. If that's true, she will get hurt in the process, in one way or another.
"But the fact remains, Diane, that I am lonely, and that I am fundamentally and wholly bored, and that she is very beautiful and that I've loved her for a very long time now. Is that enough, Diane? Should it be enough?"
[Ten seconds.]
Click.
Tomorrow -- today -- is his day off. Cooper regards the glass of milk, the rectangle. It is late at night, and the moonlight spills across the table. Cooper is pajama- and bathrobe-clad, slippers on his feet. Inside he cannot even hear the wind through the trees. He cannot hear the ticking of his clock at his bedside. All he can hear is the hum of the refrigerator, and even then, it is barely background noise.
Five minutes pass, nearly exactly. The milk cools.
Dale Cooper picks up the tape recorder next to his glass of milk.]
Click.
"Diane.
"It's been some time, hasn't it. Since I officially left the Bureau for good. I hope my tapes were not a burden to you at any point, though I suppose they must have been. The grace with which you handled my tapes, and everything else, is why I picked up my tape recorder again after so long without it. You will never hear this tape, Diane, but it helps me to imagine that there is a friendly presence on the other side, waiting to hear what I have to say. I loved talking to you, Diane. I really did. My only regret in leaving the Bureau is that I didn't have the chance to listen to you.
"So I hope that wherever you are, you don't think of this poor effort to conjure your presence as an imposition. Ordinarily, Diane, I would not give myself over to these flights of fancy, but I know that the world contains many mysteries, and it would not surprise me in the least to know that you're preparing to wake up in Philadelphia, and that you wake a little before your morning alarm because you have the strange and insistent feeling that someone is thinking of you. I do think of you, Diane. Often.
"I think of you often because I haven't been sleeping very well, and when I don't sleep well I can't help but recall the many nights in hotel rooms when I would reach for my tape recorder and speak to you, knowing that within the week I would have a transcript of what I said. The proof of that acknowledgment, Diane, came with every sheaf of notes, and there were many times that the acknowledgment that I had been heard -- that you heard me -- brought me a needed shot in the arm when I was out in the field.
"And here I am. Out in the field.
[Twenty-two seconds of silence.]
"Diane, I could write to you, but I am afraid of leaving a record I cannot easily destroy. I am afraid of that physical act of picking up a pen and making marks on a page. I am afraid that this might attract attention. This habit of mine, of talking to you, is common enough on that scale that I hope it will stay under any kind of radar.
"And here I admit that I know that you'll never hear this, because I am relieved that I don't have to say the name. Any of the names. I think that would attract attention, too.
"Diane, it's simple enough. I spent such a long time dealing with the supernatural -- no, that's not right, because it wasn't supernatural at all. It was extremely natural. It was of nature -- of human nature, of the nature of this world you and I live in. It was something beyond the knowledge and realm of human experience. That's all. And yet I spent such a long time dealing with these things that I craved the mundane. And that's exactly what my job is these days. It's mundane. It's bar fights and traffic citations and keeping an eye on juvenile delinquents and fires, and it's the sort of beat work that I never believed I'd be suited for. Truthfully, I'm not suited for it, and it doesn't suit me.
[Five seconds.]
"Well. I admitted it. That's something.
"The truth is, Diane, anyone could do this job, assuming they met physical standards and had basic reasoning ability. The pay isn't the issue -- I'd be happy to do what I used to do on a deputy's salary, but that's not what Harry needs. Harry needs another deputy, not a detective. This town needs another deputy. And I want to stay. So here I am.
"But I think --
"I think… that this may be why I remain so unnerved by the lack of retaliation -- though you will note that I'm still not saying any names. But it's true. I'd expected something by now. And maybe it'll come. I don't know. What I am concerned with at the moment is the part of me that wants it to come. There is a part of me that wants that very much. And it's not just that I would finally know, one way or another. It's that I want something that isn't so damnably mundane.
"I feel churlish, Diane. This town has been through enough, if not at my hands then through events that I could have influenced for the better. And I can't see how if -- when -- retaliation comes, it won't result in something bad for Twin Peaks. I don't think I underestimate human capacity for self-destruction, Diane, but it's not a trait I've had much personal experience with until this point, and the parts of my experience with the Bureau that didn't deal with evil as an extra-human entity dealt with the consequences of self-destruction spreading to others. I should know better, Diane. I should know better than to want this.
"And yet because such a confrontation would inevitably result in my own destruction -- I feel very confident in saying that, given my history -- I think it pays to ask myself why this sudden interest in self-destruction. Is that truly what I want, Diane? I don't believe it is. But I don't know what I want.
[Three seconds.]
"It's been such a long time, Diane. I think it might be broken. Her determination might bring it back. If she's determined. I don't know. And I don't feel as though I can ask. I don't think it's fair to put it all on her. No, I know it's not fair. And yet I am very concerned that in addition to everything else, I might be pursuing this for the wrong reasons -- that I want to do something self-destructive, and that this is the means I've chosen. If that's true, she will get hurt in the process, in one way or another.
"But the fact remains, Diane, that I am lonely, and that I am fundamentally and wholly bored, and that she is very beautiful and that I've loved her for a very long time now. Is that enough, Diane? Should it be enough?"
[Ten seconds.]
Click.
