I could tell you how like the deaths of Andrew Wyeth and Toni Morrison before him, his also reminded me how rare it is for an artist or storyteller to see us, truly see us for what we are in all our absurdity, sorrow, cruelty, kindness, ugliness, and beauty.
I could tell you how not a day goes by that I don’t think about a moment, image, or feeling from Twin Peaks…how his work, more so than any other creator, influenced my own.
But instead, to honor David Lynch’s passing through those red curtains from this world into the next, I will tell you about a dream.
In September of 2015, my soon-to-be wife and I took a trip to France where we spent time in Paris, Colmar, and Versailles. For our two nights in Colmar, we stayed at the historic boutique hotel Les Maison De Tetes which is adorned with medieval heads and statues on its flamboyant external edifice and boasted an amazing breakfast spread advertised as making “your taste buds wake up, wake up!” which legendarily it did. I will never forget those breakfasts!
One of those nights, I had the strangest dream…which I will also never forget.
Sandra Bernhard, Kyle MacLachlan, and David Lynch came to Les Maison Des Tetes and chatted and ate while we watched on in wonder. They came for lunch. Why not the amazing breakfast, I wondered? Oh well. And they wore burn victim face masks, or something similar…think of what The English Patient wore crossed with the masks from Almodovar’s The Skin I Live In. After lunch they came up to me and wanted to talk to me personally. They spoke in riddles and David Lynch asked me, “Who is responsible for all the suffering in the world?”
I woke up with an eerie sense of fear, wonder, sadness, and joy…not unlike watching one of his works.
It birthed a story idea about ex-pats who buy a boutique hotel where an eccentric director and his entourage come for a surprise visit that I’ve yet to write.
I have so many things left to write. To tell.
I wonder what Lynch may have thought about in his final moments with the fire, that he obsessed over in many of works, so close. Did he tell us everything he wanted to say? I don’t know what happens when we die, but I hope he’s with the Log Lady now, and Angelo, and his music.
Meanwhile, here in our surreal world, the questions left to ponder after experiencing his works make me think he’ll never stop talking to us and asking us questions.
The Schleicher Spin 
Very moving tribute, it almost made me cry. And what a dream ! Did they eat the famous cherry pie that’ll kill you ? Dreaming of Lynch in France is fabulous, because we welcomed his films almost every time with joy.
Now he’s in heaven and I hope everything is fine for him.
I don’t remember what they ate, only wondering why it was lunch and not the killer breakfast.