dale cooper's tape recorder

​​Diane, it’s 1:17 p.m. I have just concluded my second meditation of the day in lieu of sleep and I feel completely refreshed and struck again by the realization that all of us on this great big planet Earth live at only a fraction of our potential. We are working round the clock on the cave petroglyph. I am certain that the answers lie in this mysterious etching. I am also convinced that Windom Earle is searching for exactly the same thing as we are for diametrically opposite reasons. If I am correct in my assumptions about the power of this unholy place, God help us if he gets there first. Diane, at this particular juncture, I would like to make specific mention of Annie Blackburn. She is a completely original human being. Her responses, as pure as those of a child. I must be honest, I haven’t felt this way about a woman since Caroline. It has taken meeting Annie for me to realize how gray my life has been since Caroline’s death. How cold and solitary. Although occasionally, there is something to be said for solitude.

Diane, Thursday, 9:05 p.m. I’ve just returned from a place called Owl Cave. How I got there is a rather complicated story. It all began with a pair of tattoos.

Diane, I’m holding in my hand a nationally distributed newspaper. My opening move, responding to Windom Earle’s opening move, was printed in the personal columns per my instructions. But I’ve already received his response to this… yesterday. He anticipated my response to his opening move perfectly. He’s toying with me, Diane. I wonder where he is and what he’s planning. Meanwhile, I’ve spent the past two days without badge and gun the best way I know how: Occupying both body and spirit. Looked into some real estate, what the local agent charitably refers to as a fixer-upper. Nonetheless, it’s a kind of place where a man might make a home, raise a family, which is something, in spite of my past, I still hope I’m able to do. However, as is the case here in Twin Peaks, even this bucolic hideaway is filled with secrets. Secrets that may be connected to my trouble at the Bureau and the cocaine that was found in my automobile. Agent Hardy’s deliberations will soon be completed. And if I’m not adequately able to defend myself, there’s a very real possibility of imprisonment.

Diane, when I’ve got a moment, remind me to tell you about Agent Bryson.

Diane, it’s 11:05 p.m. I’m in my room at the Great Northern Hotel. There’s not a star in the sky tonight. Ben Horne is in custody. The trail narrows, Diane. I’m very close, but the last few steps are always the darkest and most difficult.

Diane, 10:03 a.m., Great Northern Hotel. Sheriff Truman and I have just been with the one-armed man, or what’s left of him. In another time, another culture, he may have been a seer, a shaman priest. In our world, he’s a shoe salesman and lives among the shadows.

Diane, it’s 2:47 p.m. I’m in the conference room at the sheriff’s station with the remains of Laura Palmer’s secret diary. A great deal of it has been mutilated. Much of what I’ve been able to decipher supports the contention of the one-armed man. There are repeated references to a Bob. He was a threatening presence in her life from early adolescence. There are intimations of abuse and molestation on a regular basis. He is referred to, on more than one occasion, as a friend of her father’s. And I just uncovered this entry dated less than two weeks before her death: “Someday I’m gonna tell the world about Ben Horne. I’m gonna tell them who Ben Horne really is.”

Diane, the Giant was right. I did forget something.

Diane, it’s 6:42 a.m. Rough sleep. I had dreamt I was eating a large, tasteless gumdrop. I awoke to realize that I was aggressively munching on one of my Ear-Pillow silicone earplugs. Hence the tastelessness. Perhaps I should keep a closer eye on my after-dinner coffee consumption. Persistent soreness in the rib area, which I’m treating each morning with fifteen extra minutes of yogic discipline. After which, thankfully, the pain retreats to a cul-de-sac in a distant suburb of my conscious mind. I’m going to begin today with a headstand. Ah. Diane, I am now upside down. Ah. Mind becoming porous. The day’s tasks coming into focus. Objects growing clearer.

Diane, I received some very bad news today. Windom Earle has vanished. The disappearance of my former partner is extremely troubling. I also learned that Audrey Horne is missing. Audrey’s absence touches me in ways I could not predict. I find myself thinking not of clues, or of evidence, but of the content of her smile.

Diane, it’s 11:55 p.m., approximately nineteen hours since the shooting incident which nearly caused me to make a premature purchase of the proverbial farm. I’m dog-tired. A man can only go so long without submitting to a period of rest. For as we know from experiments conducted on American GIs 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 whether I was going to live or die, that I thought I saw a giant in my room. Or perhaps that’s a story I’ll save for another time. This is me, Dale, Room 315 at The Great Northern Hotel, signing off.

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 bulletproof 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 nine 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. But I guess you could say that about almost 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 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. 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. They’re here.

Diane. 4:37 a.m. 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 Earplugs, 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 that 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.

Diane, it is 4:28 a.m. 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’ve 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 percent 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 earplugs 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. However.

Diane, it’s 12:27 p.m. I’d like you to look into my pension plan options regarding outside real estate investment. I may look into purchasing property at what I assume will be a very reasonable price.

Diane, 7:15 a.m. I’ll be heading to the sheriff’s after breakfast. From there, we’ll be going on to Laura Palmer’s funeral.