I'm trying to remember who told me the story of the stars. How God unpacked them from a box in His attic. Don't ask me how they got there. I'm always finding plot holes. He had them up there forever, so dusty, so tarnished. He polished them with the sleeve and they soon regained their twinkle. Scratching His chin, he wondered where to put them When he remembered the old black table cloth His Grandad made from half of Great-Grandma's body. Her table stretched back to the seas, to the waves and mingling. He threw it up, unfurling it like the curtain of night, And cast up the stars, which hung crisp in the weave, And then there was time. Time to rest, Just like my old Grandma, who told spun me that yarn.
David Lynch, American filmmaker, painter, musician, actor and photographer, was born today in 1946.