That Time I Sent My Poem to David Lynch

It was a few years ago. I remember the afternoon quite clearly. The desk was cluttered and my laptop was off to the side. My Lamy fountain pen was out, as were my customary sticky notes.

It’s amazing who you can find online—specifically, whose addresses you can find online. David Lynch, with some sleuthing, is no exception.

I’ve always liked the man as a director and as a proponent for meditation, but I can only watch a few Lynch movies at a time. They are as profound as they are disturbing; disturbing in a very specific way, like watching a bird eat her young. You can’t look away.

It was my opinion at the time that the best way to send David a letter was to do it in an unusual way. Using the Lamy pen, I wrote him something that popped into my head.

I never received a response, but I moved shortly after sending it.

Let’s assume he got it. Maybe it’s set up somewhere in his workshop. Maybe he looks at it when he lounges back in his chair, smoking a Spirit.

Let’s go with that!

Tom is a poet and writer based in Denver, CO.

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