See, there's this clock next to the television that won't stop clicking. Not ticking--more of a rapid click-click-click-click-click-click-clic
"Don't you get it?!" I want to scream at those people, "That's the point! The silences between cuts, the squish noises of shoes on wet asphalt...Sounds contrasted with absence of sounds, different uses of silence--Lynch is hitting what's under what you're toning out."
So I finally decided to unplug the clock. But that proved a complicated endeavour.
The widescreen television is bolted to the wall, because it's all modern and convenient and stuff. Unfortunately, that left empty the large, square shaped cubby in the wall, designed specifically for a television. It's impossible to dress it in any way that doesn't make it look like a television's supposed to be there. But my grandmother tried.
The clock, an old analogue gold and white thing, sits atop the DVD player. Behind the clock are four small Christmas trees, an unused desk lamp, and two crystalline candlesticks holding thin red candles. Tightly packed these things are, so I had to gingerly remove each one before I could get to the surge protector against the wall. Though I carefully felt down the length of the clock cord, I somehow accidentally unplugged the DVD player, losing my place on the paused Mulholland Drive disk, which has no scene selection menu.
By the time everything was back in place, it was already 4am, and I realised I wasn't going to be able to watch the whole movie. Irritating.