So many objects of desire and coolness and every one, from smoking and drinking to lipstick and cool cars, is sharply correlated with death. Mothers are murderous, a man's touch is childhood trauma, a baby is heralded with vomit and flies. And the ultimate expression of individuality is made from dead snakes. Possibly the ultimate expression of Lynch's internal tension between coolness and squareness. I struggled with its lumpiness at times, but came away a believer, albeit one who still would rank it safely as second-tier Lynch.