to: david lynch

I remember the first time I saw you. six men getting sick, six times. I was bulimic at the time, and numb. by the sixth time, I was throwing up too. I didnt know famous artists could make you feel so much. I watched the alphabet next. his head tumbling in, paint brick red. your wifes dream... you loved her so much. I read your interview about the dead birds you kept. I was hoarding them too, in an attempt at reality. My psychosis is ongoing, but knowing you understood gave me the strength to live when my roommates tried to kill me... Rabbits is what I have felt in every room for my entire life. All noises too loud, nothing making sense. a terrifying sense of god, of being watched, of the room im in being the only room. it has been so comforting knowing you feel it too. you made me want to be an artist, if only to save someone the way you have saved me....

i'll miss you alot. goodbye, my friend.