Beautiful Blue Skies and Golden Sunshine All Along the Way.

I had a dream. In fact, it was the night I met you. In the dream, there was our world, and the world was dark because there weren't any robins. And the robins represented love. And for the longest time, there was just this darkness. And all of a sudden, thousands of robins were set free, and they flew down and brought this blinding light of love. And it seemed like that love would be the only thing that would make any difference. And it did. So, I guess it means there is trouble 'til the robins come.

It’s probably strange for the first post of a blog to be so brief. And to be about someone else entirely—equally bizarre for someone I’d never once had the privilege of being in the same room with—but during our time existing together wherever it is we find ourselves, David Lynch taught me things many others who’ve been in and out of my lifetime have been too afraid to broach.

Through Lynch I’ve discovered that there is beauty and love to behold—endless shimmering wells of it—in the places that weren’t often meant for its grace. In dreamlike or nightmarish surreality, of course; but even still, reality. In mundanity. In liminality. Pain and sadness. Between other broken people. In a strong black coffee and the sweet taste and high of a fresh cigarette. And now in the darkest part of life that greets us all some day.

It would be easy to talk about his peculiarities and absurdities; as they were plenty. I could craft full retrospectives of the times I’ve seen Twin Peaks and how many tears I’ve shed for Laura Palmer; how he selflessly strove to kept us sane through COVID lockdowns and beyond with his infectiously positive weather reports; maybe even how much I’ve laughed at his arguing with a monkey, showing off his collection of Woody Woodpecker dolls, or shutting down correspondents who probed too deeply for insights into the personal significances in his work. But ultimately, it's more than all of that; Lynch inspired me to fix my heart and seek my own beauties. He taught me how to speak truly—to craft freely, with weightless abandon; to try avoiding the answers when asking the questions; because the questions are what's most important. And while there is a respective splendor in that; I am still, regardless, broken some now that he is relegated to be but a brick in my foundation.

Regardless, the light—his inspiration, his love—lives forever on in me, and so many others. Certainly he and Bowie have some catching up to do in whatever curtained lodge, whatever beautiful bright and wonderful reality they create together in the hereafter, rousing the lonesome forgotten spirits there to dance and speak again; and setting free the robins, to come and sing to those of us still in the dark.