I am kind of a David Lynch addict. He's insane, but his films are so beautiful at the same time. It's really amazing. Blue Velvet in particular is an utterly splendid thing to behold. But Mulholland Drive is even better. It makes this list because of Camilla-- a bisexual woman who intentionally tortures her female former lover by inviting her to a dinner party and making her think there's is a chance of reconciliation. In reality, the pathetic ex-lover arrives at the dinner party to witness the beautiful and glamorous Camilla, surrounded by wealth and fame, announcing her engagement to a handsome and successful director.

The true genius of this film is a short scene where the jilted former lover is both grief-stricken at her rejection and simultaneously sexually obsessed with Camilla. I adore this scene, and I have strived to recreate it in my own life. Power is when someone wants you so badly, they'll masturbate to thoughts of you, even though they miss you so much, they're crying tears of misery at the same time. It's just a short little scene, but it serves a perfect metaphor for what I like to do to people-- getting SO into their minds that you infest every aspect of their emotional life. They may hate me, they may cry over me, they may curse the heavens and wish they had never met me-- but they are still so in love with me and so turned on by me that they can't resist me, can't get me out of their heads no matter how hard they try.

I first saw this film in high school, and I was obsessed with that one scene in particular. Immediately I was struck with the overwhelming desire to recreate it in reality. I distinctly remember coming home one Sunday evening, having watched the film the previous evening, and as soon I as I got home, turning to appropriate page in my books to the section that contained my life goals, flipping to the page for romantic/sexual things, and boldly writing in red ink (extra importance) the words "Mulholland Dr.". (Writing the title of the film, of course, was far shorter and less potentially embarrassing than writing "Recreate the scene from Mulholland Drive where a woman simultaneously orgasm over me and cries over me.)

The problem was, such a scene is not at all easy to recreate-- even for someone of my gifts and talents. For starters, there was a complete lack of worthwhile human-props to use in my scene. I knew several girls who were deeply attracted to me, but in no case was it particularly mutual. Now, for your run-of-the-mill using and abusing, my attraction isn't that essential-- when someone's doing your homework for you, does it really matter what they look like? But this was different. This was a work of art, and I had to duty to myself to find that special someone who was as glorious as the cruelty I intended to inflict on her. And further remember that at the time I first made this goal, I was still in high school (and under-aged)-- both of which severely curtails your pool of potential victims. Yes, I had some 'special' relationships with people who worked the doors at clubs that allowed me access, but living with parents, being under-aged, having A.P. English at 8 AM-- it puts a distinct cramp in your style. And crossing off "Mulholland Drive" from my list wasn't something to cut corners on, not something to be done in half-measures. Everything had to be perfect. She had to be perfect, I had to be perfect, the locales and the relationship. So, it took me _FOREVER_ do get this done.

But once I make a goal, it's only a matter of time before I complete it. When I see something I want, it's only a matter of time before I acquire it. And my "Mulholland Dr." plan was no exception. It took me nearly five years. I was a very different person by the time I was finally able to pull it off. I had traveled the world and honed my skills and hurt a lot of people. Time well spent. When I finally settled down and decided to do the deed, it was sublime.

The first time I met her, I KNEW she would be the one. In time, she fell for me. In time, she became obsessed with me. In time, she wanted to spend her life with me. One night, after months of waiting, I decided this was the night. After a lovely dinner, we retired to her house, and after fooling around, I asked her if she had ever pleasured herself while thinking of me. She confessed she had-- regularly. I asked her, oh so politely, to show me. She obliged. Then, when she was about to come, I suddenly and bluntly told her that I that I didn't love her and that I was never going to see her again. It was a total shock to her-- an hour earlier, we had been planning a trip to meet her parents, after all. I repeated it over and over, and she started sobbing, tears streaming down her face as she realized I wasn't kidding. She wanted to stop, but I shouted at her to keep going, barking at her through her tears that she better not stop. So she kept pathetically rubbing away, even as she sobbed.

It was a wonderful, wonderful evening. It was everything I had hopped it would be, and when I dug out that 5+ year old notebook and placed a check mark next to "Mulholland Dr", I had joys beyond anything I could describe here. Michaelangelo spent four entire years lying on his back painting the frescoes of the Sistine Chapel. Thousands of artisans worked for over a century to create the Cathedral of Chartres. Coming home that night, and placing a check mark next to my old journal, replaying the scenes of the day-- I won't lie-- it was an genuine high point in my life.

And after that day, I never saw her again. I later was told, through a mutual acquaintance, that the experience actually seriously affected her, in a long-term sort of way. C'est la vie. It seems that the human heart doesn't quite know what to make of such emotional pain when mixed with such overwhelmingly intense physical ecstasy. You can't omelet without breaking a few eggs-- and think about it. All eggs get broken in the end, but so few eggs have a chance to be part of something truly magnificent.