Wild at Heart

Wild at Heart β˜…β˜…β˜…β˜…

β€œI guess I started smoking when I was about... four”

πŸ”₯ Self-destruction, burning your feelings just to feel. Burning down your world and emerging from the ashes. Burning it all to get away, start anew, somewhere off along the rainbow. With your lion and your scarecrow and your trusty tin-man. A little less conversation, a little more action please.

Just don’t touch my snakeskin jacket, that’s my freedom right there. Hand me another cigarette, that’s my choice to keep the fire ablaze. My body is a temple, that I’m setting alight and walking away from the inferno, no looking back. Our car is our mind, so what if we watch it crash and cripple and melt before our naked eyes? As we look on and stare back at the flickering ruins of what we have since become.

Despite it all, seeing through the smoke and the embers of this hellscape they call Earth and finding a love to call your own. A shared, swirling passion that no other can stamp out or hope to see sense in. Stoking one another’s flames. But maybe it’s a family that’ll shower some much-needed rain on our funny little parade.Β 

Definitely deserves a revisit down the line, but Lynch straddles the line between batshit coked-out insanity, finding your personal freedom in a world so ready to swallow it all up and in-your-face symbolism so delightfully β€˜chaotic good’ that it could be taken as a summation of Lynch’s entire thesis. The greatest hits. The ABBA GOLD of David Lynch if you will. πŸ”₯

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