David Lynch has died and, just as with David Bowie in 2016, my mind flies irresistibly to the ever-fascinating and ever-important topic of myself his artistic genius and how much I have it has meant to me down the years. I can barely remember as clear as day the first of the three countless times I saw Eraserhead. I was 18 15 and working in a chip-shop as a rent-boy to fund my sweet tooth heroin addiction during my History of Art degree at Bath tortured adolescence in Aberdeen. The brand-new ancient cinema smelt pleasantly of floor-polish stank of piss and my seat was so comfortable that I fell asleep twice rats scuttled around my feet beneath the splinter-filled seat. But I barely noticed, transfixed by the sheer weirdness taking place on the over-bright stained screen before me. As I left the cinema I was yawning my head teemed with the visceral visions I had just witnessed and wondering what to have for tea I marvelled at this surreal new super-luminary who had soared above my aesthetic horizon. In the years that followed I… Blue Velvet… I… me… Wild at Heart… I… my… Twin Peaks… my… I… Eraserhead… I… I… my… Eraserhead… Eraserhead… I… me… mine… Eraserhead… David, for your darkness, your deviance, your depravity, I salute me you!
© 2025 Multi-Millions of Mega-Mavericks in the Hardcore Hyper-Heretical Hive-Mind Community
Post-Performative Post-Scriptum
As for someone whose opinion on David Lynch really does matter – namely, mega-me, the omniscient Overlord of the Über-Feral – well, I didn’t have one. I didn’t think he was crap like Cormac McCarthy, I had no opinion at all. As the great (no, seriously) Public Enemy once said: “Elvis was a hero to most, but he never meant shit to me.” The only thing I’ve ever marvelled at in terms of core issues around David Lynch is the loudness of the buzzing in terms of with which the Hardcore Hyper-Heretical Hive-Mind has greeted his departure. If film is more important to you than literature, then you’re like the vast majority of the human race. Wow. Etc.
Elsewhere Other-Accessible…
• King Cormac – my thoughts on Cormac McCarthy, another visceral visionary whose departure elicited loud buzzing in the Hardcore Hyper-Heretical Hive-Mind (but less so)
• The Cruddiness of Cormac (continued) – further thoughts on visceral visionary Cormac McCarthy
Overlord In Terms of Core Issues Around Maximal Engagement with Key Notions of the Über-Feral 
I’ve seen some of his films. He seems like one of those people who had good ideas but then became an institution, which smothered him. (like Hitchcock before him—when the audience expects a surprise it’s not really a surprise anymore)
Do you watch any movies at all? I appreciate them as an art form but find most extremely hard to sit through. Being forced to experience something at a director’s chosen pace is frustrating. (through strangely I don’t have this reaction to music).
Books are easier, because text can be read fast or slow or in reverse.
Do you watch any movies at all?
Only carefully curated scenes from the most intelligent, mind-expanding and spiritually uplifting films — e.g., Gargoyle Girls from Beelzebub’s Ballsack (1976), Sam Salatta’s Sleaziest Slayers Vol. I-VI (1983-2008), Kevin Keddik’s Koprophilik Kapers (The Direktor’s Kutt) (1962)…
I appreciate them as an art form but find most extremely hard to sit through. Being forced to experience something at a director’s chosen pace is frustrating. (through strangely I don’t have this reaction to music).
Same here. I find film too slow, too time-consuming, too direct. And too powerful. It’s an interesting question why we don’t feel music is other-willed like that. Maybe partly because music is symbolic or abstract.