The Autobiography of FBI Special Agent Dale Cooper

by Mark Frost

  November 20, 1 A.M.

  Woke from a terrible dream and found myself staring at Marie sitting on the corner of my bed. It was not a dream, and yet I cannot compel myself to believe that it was real, though I know in my heart it was.

  She spoke not a word though her lips seemed to mouth the word stop. I asked her to help me, and moved closer to her.

  She shook her head no and disappeared.

  The room seems so very hot. I fear I am losing my mind.

  * * *

  Times of the next entries are again not clear.

  * * *

  . . Marie? No! Look out! Falling, falling, no! No! The ground! The ground! Coming, coming coming coming.

  November 22, 3 P.M.

  Woke screaming from a terrible dream and found the gentle hands of a nurse caressing my forehead. I am in the school infirmary, and am told I have been delirious with fever for almost two days. Was found by Howard, screaming in my bed at demons I can now only imagine. I am very tired and want to sleep . . . just sleep.

  November 22, 7 P.M.

  The gentle face of a nurse is as sure a remedy to infection as the strongest antibiotics. I do not know her name, but if angels do exist, she must be one.

  November 23, 5 P.M.

  I am back in my rooms. If it is true that dreams are the window into the subconscious, then I fear mine is a troubled place. While judgment is certainly questionable when suffering from a 103-degree fever, I nonetheless find myself believing that it was not merely infection that attacked my body, but somehow the evil that took the life of the young woman and was in striking distance of taking mine.

  Does this evil exist in as tangible a form as, say, a germ? Does it float as a feather would on the currents of air that bring life to this world; moving in and out of all our lives, and occasionally taking root on unfortunate souls? If that is true, then the battle that took place within my body was not viral in origin, but a struggle for my very soul. This time I trust I won.

  A note on healing. During the moments that I was cognizant enough to take in my surroundings, I found that the color of white worn by nurses seemed to stimulate a constant erection in all the male patients on my floor. My penis was no exception, as it seemed to react without any assistance from parts of my body above the waist. The nurses seemed to take this in stride and treated it very much like they would a radio antenna sending out signals of healing.

  December 15, 9 P.M.

  Have found a person who, for the first time since my arrival at this institution, I can call my teacher. Her mind is as open and free as that of anyone I've ever met. She is poet, scholar, and an archer. She has urged me to find a physical equivalent to the exercises I challenge my mind with so that my entire body will work in unison. She also suggested that I spend less time thinking about death and more time concentrating on living.

  December 25, 7 P.M.

  Returned home for Christmas. Dad's potter friend, Charlotte, cooked a goose and gave me a coffee mug she made in the shape of an eggplant.

  December 27, 11 P.M.

  Have decided that as long as I am home with some free time, I will use the time wisely and undertake to test certain limitations within the human body that I find bothersome.

  The first is sleep. Roughly half of our life is spent in the quiet solitude of slumber. Outside of the obvious benefits of dreams and physical rest, I find it to be unacceptable that the same benefits cannot be achieved without such a commitment of time.

  I am therefore going to attempt to establish two things. First, the duration for which my body can function effectively without sleep. And second, the minimum amount of sleep required to sustain a high level of operation. Log entries will be made on the hour beginning now.

  December 28, 12 A.M.

  Feel fine. Mental capacity functioning at a high level. Motor abilities suffering no impairment.

  1 A.M.

  The most challenging problem I anticipate facing is cutting the flow of coffee into my system. The intake of stimulants of any kind would render the exercise useless, so I have decided to forgo coffee for the sake of scientific accuracy. No greater sacrifice has ever been made before in the name of science. Should note that I feel fine and can shuffle one deck of cards in each hand with no loss of proficiency.

  2 A.M.

  Strong and alert.

  3 A.M.

  Whatever happened to Ronald Colman? And what was the name of the fifth Marx brother? Feel strong. Mind functioning at high level.

  4 A.M.

  God spelled backward is dog. Believe the test pattern used in television is similar in its ability to clear the mind to a spinning Tibetan prayer wheel. Last hour completed fifty pushups in sixty seconds. Aside from slight heaviness in the eyelids, feel tip-top.

  5 A.M.

  The first blue hints of the sun are beginning to break on the western, make that eastern horizon. A barbershop quartet just sang the national anthem on the television. Had no difficulty singing along without forgetting any of the words.

  6 A.M.

  Sunrise. All is well.

  7 A.M.

  Feel stronger now that the sun is up. Am convinced that we do not need to spend as much time sleeping as we do. Also believe that peanut butter and bacon have been neglected as food groups, particularly when eaten together.

  8 A.M.

  Am sitting behind the wheel of the family car. Have detected no loss of my driving skills while it does seem that many of the people driving around me have suffered a loss of their driving skills.

  9 A.M.

  The perfection of design that the modern doughnut represents has been overlooked by the academic world. One perfect circle of air-cushioned dough encircling another one of empty space. Few achievements in this century have equaled this level of form marrying function. It should also be noted that they taste damn good.

  10 A.M.

  Feel alert, strong, and fit. Am beginning to think that sleep is much overrated.

  11 A.M.

  Suspected for a short time that there was a man hiding in my closet. Investigations turned up nothing. Believe he slipped out through the window when I was attempting several headstands.

  12 P.M.

  Still no problems. Appears the voice I was hearing in the closet was not a voice at all but echoes from my own chanting as I was doing headstands.

  1 P.M.

  What did ever happen to Ronald Colman?

  2 P.M.

  Noticed first detectable sign that my motor skills are deteriorating. Attempted to tie a bowline around a watermelon and hang it from the ceiling light. The knot slipped and the melon impaled itself on the bedpost. Am pleased to note, however, that there is no reduction in my mental capacity.

  3 P.M.

  Note that sex drive does not appear to be affected by sleep. Penis firm and erect after only seventeen seconds of viewing Miss December.

  4 P.M.

  Think I have made a terrible mistake going to college. Have decided to become a shepherd and spend my days tending to flocks of goats.

  5 P.M.

  Am not sure, but have the strangest feeling that the last hour of my life was burrowed by someone in the animal husbandry business.

  6 P.M.

  Darkness is falling. My mind and body feel strong and alert. Have checked all closets in the house to make sure that none of the little people are hiding in them.

  7 P.M.

  Discovered a watermelon impaled on my bedpost. Dad says that he is worried about me. I told him that all is fine, that Dale is just conducting a small experiment, and that he would be done soon.

  8 P.M.

  I never liked the name Dale. Always wish I had been born an Apache and named Ten Sticks. Why, I do not know.

  9 P.M.

  Counted eighty-three stars in the sky before they began jumping around and hiding behind the moon. Three more hours and I will have proven that sleep is not necessary to a complete and balanced way of life as long as all the closets are locked.


  10 P.M.

  Have drawn a self-portrait of myself. I find my use of line is assured and bold. My drawing touches the inner self that I am only now beginning to understand.

  11 P.M.

  Ninety-nine bottles of beer on the wall, ninety-nine bottles of beer. All is wheel. . . well. I do not like large bugs with wings.

  December 29, 12 A.M.

  Have now completed forty-eight hours without sleep. My mind is clear. Am now convinced that Lee Harvey Oswald did not act alone in Dallas. It is my belief that a man standing on the sidewalk of the grassy knoll holding an umbrella had a gun concealed in the device. It is also clear to me at this late hour that the death of Marilyn and that of the president were not unconnected. I find as I bring this experiment to a dose that I am very much in command of my faculties. And that the need for sleep is a much overrated assumption.

  This is me, Ten Sticks.

  December 30, 3 P.M.

  Have just gone over my tapes of the previous days. The evidence would seem to speak for itself. I became a public health threat at about the forty-four-hour mark of sleep deprivation.

  It should also be noted that as I finally let go of the conscious world and drifted into sleep, the most extraordinary and vivid dreams I believe I have ever experienced flooded my subconscious. I do not seem to remember most of them, but when I woke, the watermelon had been eaten and all the seeds placed inside my pillowcase.

  January 8, 1974, 1 A.M.

  School has started once again. In the continuing effort to better understand the different functions of the mind and body, I have signed up for the school's winter sports weekend trip to the Poconos. What I seek is a test. A test to probe the working of the mind and its effect on physical activity. Believe I have found the perfect foil for this test.

  January 10, 11 A.M.

  Fernwood ski area. The ten-meter ski jump. To, if only for one brief moment, soar like the hawk. Have completed all necessary prejump drills. One hour of practice jumping off a soapbox completed without any incidents. Lars, the instructor, assures me that the possibility of a serious, lasting injury is entirely up to me. "Controlling your thinking," he said, "is the most important element of any successful jump." I now begin the long climb to the top of the jump. Am struggling to keep the rational side of my brain from panicking and taking control.

  January 10, 11:15 A.M.

  As I look down from the top of the chute toward my fate below, a sense of peace has come over me like none I have ever experienced. I have visualized the entire jump in my mind. The long, graceful slide down the chute. The spring in my legs as my skis touch the edge of the jump. The long, graceful descent as the ground falls out from under me. And then the soft flower-petal like landing.

  I am ready. Mind and body as one.

  January 10, 3 P.M.

  Man was not meant to fly. Little in the structure of our bodies should suggest to anyone that flying is even a remote possibility. Believe my mind and body ceased functioning as one soon after my skis crossed at the end of the chute. Technically it can be said that I flew, and, in fact, experienced a moment of freedom unlike any I have ever lived. But it should not be anyone's intention to fly off a ski jump in the same manner that they would dive into a pool. I did not land as a petal of a flower. Though the manner in which I did land is still not clear to me at this time, I do distinctly remember the sound of myself bouncing at least three times. My tape recorder, which was inside my knapsack, survived the fall as well. I do, however, owe Lars sixty dollars for a new pair of skis.

  Will limit my investigations into ground-based activities in the future and leave the air to the birds and Norwegians.

  January 15, 6 P.M.

  Andy returned from Holland with a renewed interest in the control of fluids. It is not yet clear whether mine are of any interest to her at the moment or not.

  January 17, 9 P.M.

  Just finished talking with Andy. Her husband fell in love with Holland and decided to stay and help build more dikes. Andy does not expect to see him until he has reclaimed at least one hundred square miles of land from the sea. She then gave me as a present a small book on the Kama Sutra. Believe this may have some bearing on the direction my fluids will be flowing.

  January 20, 7 P.M.

  Have decided to undertake another study on the limitations of the mind and body. Andy has agreed to assist. Believe her knowledge and experience will be a great asset. We have taken a small motel room just outside of town to conduct the study in.

  January 21, 1 A.M.

  First phase of study complete. As of this time I find no evidence to support the theory that too much of a good thing can be dangerous. The box score as it now stands is Andy nine, me five. We have ordered out for Chinese in an effort to refortify ourselves. Fully expect to make gains in my deficit as the evening moves along.

  January 21, 3 A.M.

  Score: Andy twelve, Dale nine. The mind and body began working very well together after the lemon chicken.

  January 21, 4 A.M.

  Final tally: Andy fourteen, Dale thirteen.

  January 21, 6 A.M.

  Score was tied at approximately 5:01 A.M. Eastern Standard Time. Would have had little chance of overcoming the deficit without the knowledge of concentration techniques learned on my travels. Suspect also that the rose-scented oil Andy pulled out of her bag had something to do with it.

  Am not sure at this moment if I will be able to move by checkout time.

  January 30, 7 P.M.

  Am aware that the scout law does not approve of sex before marriage. However, I feel that the drafter of that law never took into account the need to explore and expand the boundaries of human sexuality as one would explore a trout-filled stream.

  February 10, 8 A.M.

  Believe last night I caught a record trout.

  February 13, 11 P.M.

  Andy just received word that her estranged husband, Tim, was injured when a dike broke, and she has decided to return to Holland and nurse him back to recovery. She then told me that love was not a variable in our relationship. And that she wished me all the best in any future entanglements.

  The news that love was not a variable in our relationship came as somewhat of a surprise, both emotionally and semantically. I believe this is what is called being dumped.

  February 15, 1 A.M.

  Weather man says heavy rain in Holland. Hope it will be very difficult for Andy's husband to swim with a cast on his leg.

  sFebruary 17, 10 P.M.

  Find the attraction of academics pales in comparison to sex, particularly when one is not getting any.

  February 28, 3 A.M.

  Have decided to get a degree in anthropology, prelaw, and psychology. May also take a number of art classes taught at Bryn Mawr because the Quakers won't allow naked models at Haverford.

  March 10, 11 A.M.

  Am taking the train to New York to undertake a study of the effects of tall buildings on tribal structure. It is my belief that one of the root causes of society breaking down is that people no longer live on a horizontal plane, but a vertical one.

  March 10, 3 P.M.

  New York. The greatest city in the world. Will begin at Central Park, the green sanctuary, a place of the past, then work my way out to the glass and concrete fortresses that the citizens take shelter in during the night.

  March 10, 5 P.M.

  Darkness is beginning to fall. The park is peaceful, quiet. A gentle island in the middle of a storm.

  March 10, 6 P.M.

  Was chased out of the park by a group of marauding lunatics brandishing pipes and clubs. Took shelter in the entryway of a gleaming glass tower. This was an unexpected development. Have a new appreciation for tall glass buildings.