Special Guest Blogger: David Lynch

Look, I didn’t plan to die. I mean, sure, I’ve seen the script, everyone’s got one, and mine had “Fade to black. Roll credits. David Lynch dies. Fade out.” Classic third act. But the whole thing came rather abruptly. And frankly, I wasn’t dressed for it.
When I died, one minute I’m in my cabin in Montana, sipping black coffee so strong it could revive a fossil, and the next I’m floating above my body like a confused helium balloon at a children’s birthday party.
Dying has given time to reflect on my legacy. What did I leave behind apart from movies and TV that made people say: 'What did I just watch?
I started out as a painter. Yes, believe it or not, before I was terrifying suburban moms with Eraserhead, I was just a quiet guy in Philadelphia trying to express myself through oil on canvas.
Then I made Eraserhead. A little movie about fatherhood, industrial decay, and a deformed baby that took five years to shoot and Critics called it unwatchable and audiences called it a mistake and yet, somehow, it launched my career. Such is life.
Then came The Elephant Man. A beautiful, tender film about humanity and compassion and after that, I did Blue Velvet. I wanted to show the rot beneath the picket fences. I succeeded.
And  then, a town with more secrets than a therapist’s notebook and people loved it.
But enough about my filmography, I’m proud of what i made. Sure, I confused people but I never tried to make sense and I did it all while wearing the same outfit every day since 1985, black suit, white shirt, pencil tucked behind the ear like a brain antenna. I didn’t dress for fashion. I dressed for focus. Also, dry cleaning is expensive.
So what would I consider my greatest achievement? The Palme d’Or? The Oscar nominations? I would say awakening inside people the realisation that life is short and very, very strange