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Satyr and Satyress

Attributed to Desiderió da Firenze

National Museum of Renaissance, France

#godpan #Pan #greekgod

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Her pussy so wet it washed away my sins

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Lava lamp vibes 🫟

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Masturbating in front of each other as a date <3

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*opens Tumblr in public*

*sees picture of friend's astonishingly gorgeous breasts with newly pierced nipples*

*closes Tumblr*

This is what they mean when they say, "Be careful about opening Tumblr in public."

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Diane, it's 11:55 PM, approximately 19 hours since the shooting incident, that nearly caused me to make a premature purchase of the proverbial farm. I'm dog tired. A man can only go son long without submitting to a period of rest. For as we know, from experiments, conducted on American G.I.'s, during the Korean War, sleep deprivation is a one way ticket to temporary psychosis...and I'm working on a three day jag.

"I got so goofy last night, Diane, lying here, wondering if I was going to live or die, that I thought I saw a giant in my room. Perhaps that's a story I'll save for another time. This is me, Dale, Room 315 at the Great Northern Hotel, signing off.

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Diane, 9:15 A.M. Calhoun Memorial. Doc Hayward says I can expect to live a full, normal life, which should be a new experience, in and of itself. If one could buy stock in the medical supply business in Twin Peaks, Diane, this would be a good time to jump in.

To summarize, briefly: Leo Johnson checked in at approximately 5 A.M., suffering a single gunshot wound to the upper chest. Condition-critical. Jacques Renault apparently checked out a short time later, due to murder. Pete Martell is suffering from second degree burns and smoke inhalation, as is Shelly Johnson. Suffered at the Packard Mill, which had a large fire last night. Catherine Martell is reported missing, possibly a victim of the fire. Also missing is Josie Packard. Is there something more than coincidence at work here? And Big Ed’s wife, Nadine, is in serious condition. An attempted suicide; pills I believe.

Diane, have you ever had ‘one of those days?’

One other thought, Diane, have you ever known any really tall men?

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Diane, my recorder is on the table. I'm unable to reach it at this time. I can only hope that I inadvertently pressed the voice activation button. I'm lying on the floor of my room. I've been shot. There's a great deal of pain and a fair amount of blood. Fortunately I was wearing my bullet-proof vest last night, per Bureau regulations when working undercover. I remember folding the vest up, trying to chase down a wood tick.

If you can imagine the impact on your chest of three bowling balls, dropped from a height of about 9 feet, you might begin to approximate the sensation.

All things considered, being shot is not as bad as I always thought it might be…as long as you can keep the fear from your mind. I guess you could say that about most anything in life. It's not so bad, as long as you can keep the fear from your mind...

Oh my God. The ring is gone.

At a time like this, curiously, you begin to think of the things you regret. Or the things that you might miss. I would like in general to treat people with much more care and respect. I would like to climb a tall hill, not too tall, and sit in the cool grass, not too cool, and feel the sun on my face. I wish I could have cracked the Lindbergh kidnapping case. I would very much like to make love to a beautiful woman, who I had genuine affection for. And, of course, it goes without saying, that I would like to visit Tibet. I wish they could get their country back and the Dalai Lama could return. Oh, I would like that very much.

All in all, a very interesting experience.

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Diane, 4:37 AM. After a long, investigative night, returning to my room at the Great Northern. We have one suspect in custody, and Leo Johnson, the man I believe is responsible for Laura's death, won't be able to escape the dragnet we've thrown up for him much longer.

As you can hear from the ambient sound around me, and I notice with some relief, that the Icelandic group, staying on my floor, have either checked or passed out. I may not need the ear pillow ear plugs, which I did receive today, Diane. Although, I suspect, I may put them to use as a purely precautionary measure.

I ordered some hot milk from room service. Here's hoping it does the job and I'll be able to catch a few hours of quality sack time. Twenty Four hour room service must be one of the premier achievements of modern civilization.

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Diane, 11 P.M. Leaving One Eyed Jacks. Jacques Renault is hooked and will be reeled in by Sheriff Truman and his men as soon as we get him back stateside. The truth of what happened that night at Jacques cabin is as ugly as one could imagine. The broken chip, the bird, all of it.

There’s a feeling of death in the air, Diane. I can’t explain it, but it’s as tangible as the air I’m breathing. Maybe it’s the evil that Harry talked about. Something is dark and primitive in these ancient woods. I’d like to be stretched out in front of a warm fire somewhere. No such luck.

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Diane, 9 P.M. A dark, smoke-filled corner of One Eyed Jacks. The madam of the house is a spiderwoman who calls herself, ‘Blackie.’ I must admit, Diane, that I have a strong attraction to this vice called gambling. I’m carrying the Bureau’s money and will be utilizing certain techniques of concentration which have never failed to return a profit of at least 10 percent on the dollar. That should just about cover the losses I expect Big Ed will suffer at what, I guess, is a loaded roulette table. Roulette, Diane, is a suckers game.

The proper receipts and paperwork will, of course, be returned after a full accounting of any looses or gains. As is usual, any profits that do accumulate, will be forwarded to some worthy charity. Diane, if I’m not mistaken, the large, fleshy, dirigible shaped card dealer, taking a seat behind the blackjack table is Jacques Renault.

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Diane, 1 P.M. Note the following: Harry S. Truman is not just infatuated, his fixated with mill owner, Josie Packard. There’s a mysterious quality about her, an unsolved mystery. Spelled D-A-N-G-E-R. Run a check on Mrs. Packard, widow of Andrew, maiden name, unknown. Chinese National. Immigrating here, via Hong Kong, six years ago. I’m fond of Harry Truman. The thought that he may be in over his head is troubling to me. Here’s hoping I’m way off the mark.

Diane, continuing with notes from observations of the physical relationships within the closed confines of the station house, Lucy, the receptionist, is sending out signals that she is: 1. Very upset with Deputy Andy Brennan and 2. Very Pregnant.

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Diane, it is 4:28 AM. I have just been woken up by the most God awful racket, which you can probably hear over the sound of my voice. Can you hear that? Up until this moment, I have experienced nothing at the Great Northern Hotel but the most pleasant, courteous service imaginable. However, it just goes to prove the point that once a traveler leaves his home, he loses almost 100% of his ability to control his environment.

Diane, I was wondering if you could overnight express to me two pair of those ear pillow silicone ear plugs, which I used on my last trip to New York? Naturally, I didn't bring them with me on this trip, because I didn't feel it would be necessary.

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Sherilyn Fenn, David Duchovny & Kyle MacLachlan | Twin Peaks

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Diane, 11:19P.M. Jacques Renault’s apartment. We know that Laura had sex with three men the night she died. Jacques Renault is suspect number one. We just found Leo Johnson’s blood-stained shirt here in Jacques apartment. Leo is suddenly the front runner for suspect number two.

I’ve got a strong hunch, however, that the blood on Leo’s shirt will prove not to be Laura’s. Now, Leo’s a trucker, Jacques-a Canadian. A good keystone combination for the movement of drugs across the border. And, Laura, as we know, had a habit. Probably more than one.

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Diane, 3 P.M. Just back from the Lyedecker Clinic. While a llama may produce some of the finest of wools, prized around world, their breath, on the other hand, could only be prized somewhere in the far reaches of ‘Llama Hell.’

Lyedecker’s records tell us that the bird that attacked Laura was a Myna bird, named ‘Waldo,’ owned by Jacques Renault. The plastic fragment found in Laura’s stomach was a poker chip from across the border at ‘One Eyed Jacks.’ Jacques is a Canadian National, known to have worked, on and off, at the casino. When all signs point to Rome, Diane, it’s time to buy Lira and go.

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Diane, 1 P.M., in a motel room of a Phillip M. Gerard. The one-armed man. A traveling salesman. Shoes. Middle name, ‘Mike,’ as in my dream. The killer in my dream was named, ‘Bob.’ Mr. Gerard has a friend named ‘Bob Lyedecker.’ A veterinarian who works above a convenience store. He is currently a coma patient in Calhoun Memorial, Gerard’s reason for visits.

Extrapolating from my dream, I believe we will find whoever owned the bird that attacked Laura Palmer took that bird to the Lyedecker Clinic, and perhaps bought the twine used to bind Laura’s wrists in the store downstairs.