Impossible to find the words. David Lynch was a fundamental force of the universe, a towering iconoclast who bent the entire artform purely with the power of his subconscious. I can’t even process reality without him. Without Lynch there’s no Twin Peaks, no X-files, obviously no Gravity Falls. (My Bill Cipher voice was just a crummy Lynch impression.) But he’s so much more than that. He wrote little books about Buddhism and did morning weather reports and abducted random abandoned woody woodpecker dolls on the side of the road, calling them his “friends” and then ditching them later because they had “dark energy.” When asked to explain his art he calmly replied “no.” Trickster weirdo genius legend. Pour out a mug of black coffee for the king. There will never be another one like him. Miss you already, David
David Lynch gave us the language we needed to better articulate the indescribable strangeness of our shared reality. “Lynchian” is so overused because it’s a viscerally understandable word without any known synonyms. I can’t imagine a more beautiful artistic legacy than that.