glory! : david lynch

washer

Goodnight my love Remember me as you fall to sleep Fill your pockets with the dust and the memories That rises from the shoes on my feet I won't be back here Though we may meet again I know it's dark outside Don't be afraid Everytime I ever cried from fear Was just a mistake that I made Wash yourself in your tears And build your church On the strength of your faith Please Listen to me Don't let go Don't let this desperate moonlight leave me With your empty pillow Promise me the sun will rise again I too am tired now Embracing thoughts of tonight's dreamless sleep My head is empty My toes are warm I am safe from harm...

Tuesday, January 28, 2025

david lynch

he passed two weeks ago. he was a father to me, his worlds were a home i never left. its weird. i got the call in my car before getting my nails done and i bawled in my car. i dont wanna talk much about it, just a little, im devastated and i had to wait a while just to mention it.

the night before he passed i had a dream of an effeminate little boy. filmed just like his lingering scenes with that orange green tone. he lived with his mom who loved him but feared for him. it seemed to be cold ontario or oregon and he had this big red jacket. i remember murmurs in the town about some cat scratch fever or something that was spreading, it was contagious. half quarantine. the boy fell with the fever and in his dreary haze he went downstairs. his mom owned a printing shop or a stationary shop something like that and he was a huge fan of marilyn monroe. he went downstairs to fetch a poster he had drawn of marilyn and his mom was sitting on a couch by the door. he got scared, thought that he was getting scolded since it was so late. as he turned for the stairs he heard marilyns voice and she had turned into marilyn monroe, he was starstruck, face plumped with the glow. in a blink she turned into a barn owl and attacked him.

lynch i think is the single greatest artist of our generation and generations past. such magic never to be replicated. the beauty and unabashed, unashamed dedication to his art has always inspired me. not for a second did he succumb to conventions, to anything but the world he could see but we couldnt. i am devastated but so thankful.

we watched eraserhead last weekend and it left us all silent and sleepless. we have been watching twin peaks for six months. it puts us all down. i felt he understood me, i felt as if we could have had a nice chat over coffee. what a privilege but what a loss. i wish i could talk to him. i am always happy to put on his movies or some soundtrack. i wonder when he will come back and in what shape, but something tells me he wont. he is off somewhere nice.

i will always remember lynch, everyday i think of him, everyday. me and so many others. rest in peace.

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sylvia plath, the bell jar

I saw my life branching out before me like the green fig tree in the story. From the tip of every branch, like a fat purple fig, a wonderful future beckoned and winked. One fig was a husband and a happy home and children, and another fig was a famous poet and another fig was a brilliant professor, and another fig was Ee Gee, the amazing editor, and another fig was Europe and Africa and South America, and another fig was Constantin and Socrates and Attila and a pack of other lovers with queer names and offbeat professions, and another fig was an Olympic lady crew champion, and beyond and above these figs were many more figs I couldn't quite make out. I saw myself sitting in the crotch of this fig tree, starving to death, just because I couldn't make up my mind which of the figs I would choose. I wanted each and every one of them, but choosing one meant losing all the rest, and, as I sat there, unable to decide, the figs began to wrinkle and go black, and, one by one, they plopped to the ground at my feet.

Psalm 18: 6-11

In my distress I called upon the Lord, And cried out to my God; He heard my voice from His temple, And my cry came before Him, even to His ears. Then the earth shook and trembled; The foundations of the hills also quaked and were shaken, Because He was angry. Smoke went up from His nostrils, And devouring fire from His mouth; Coals were kindled by it. He bowed the heavens also, and came down With darkness under His feet. And He rode upon a cherub, and flew; He flew upon the wings of the wind. He made darkness His secret place; His canopy around Him was dark waters And thick clouds of the skies.