My point - not

Maybe that's were it all started ; Mulholland drive.
The kind of road that's lost in time and space, dixit David Lynch himslef.
But I won't tell you about that kind of americanish considerations : mythical roads, mythical places, we're-proud-to-be-in-mythical-america, all that is not my point.
I'm talking about the things you feel when you first see the man of behind Winkies, during all these moments of uncertainty, between the passing-by cowboy, the decomposing corpse, and that so brief and violent "this is the girl".
So weird to be contemplating through this movie, your own thoughts and impressions of a post-sleeping time, when you feel relaxed, or to the contrary uncomfortable, without knowing why, only catching a glimpse of 'it' behind some desperately impenetrable haze. You know but you don't ; can but can't.
Watch, think, interpret, walk, love, read, the feeling'll still be there.

Pour les froggies : pardon, mais j'avais tellement peur d'écrire une connerie sur Mulholland drive que je l'ai faite en angliche.
Pour les rosbifs : here it is, as promised...well is rather mauvais, does that counts ? -_-