by Travis Mateer

While preparing material for a podcast appearance, I ran across this interview with David Lynch by former Indy journalist, Skylar Browning. Here is an interesting excerpt relating to Missoula:

Indy: How long did you actually live in Missoula?

Lynch: Two months.

Indy: That’s it?

Lynch: I was born there, and right after I was born my parents moved to Sand Point, Idaho. I lived in the Northwest until I was 14, but always in different cities.

Indy: During those years did you ever make your way back through Missoula?

Lynch: No. My relatives in Montana were in Hungry Horse, Montana; my aunt and uncle lived there. My parents have a log cabin up near Kalispell—what’s the name of the ski resort? Whitefish? My Dad was raised near Highwood, Montana, on a wheat ranch, and my grandfather was a state senator in Montana. They retired from the ranch and lived in Hamilton for a while. I’ve been to Montana a lot, but never really back to Missoula.

Indy: So, when you came back, you were mostly heading back to the Kalispell area?

Lynch: Exactly. It’s beautiful up there.

Indy: Do you have any memories of Missoula at all?

Lynch: Um, no. Not really. But I’ve heard people say it’s a great town and I should go visit it because it’s got a real mood. And I want to go find the hospital I was born in and see if it brings back memories. I remember it was two miles from Hell’s Canyon…St. Patrick Hospital. That’s it. I’d like to get back there.

Using David Lynch’s connection to Missoula is just one way I’ve tried luring Christopher Knowles into a podcast interview.

Today I’m upping my game with a song, which I’ll eventually turn into a video I’d like to call Baphomet Big Bird. If that doesn’t make any sense, allow me to further confuse you with the song. I hope my Twitter fans enjoy this one!

a song by William Skink

TIF aware don't dare sniff
you'll take the township off a cliff
where the drift boats always miss
danger rocks for A-list tips

debt an ocean where not a drop
sees its role as flooding mop
smearing off the dirty hordes
from a Rockefeller floor

Ivy Getty, eleven six
Pelosi stands, official hiss
lovely shards, teflon scales
with pepperoni on emails

I forgot, you like it dumb
from any hint you'll quickly run
the beam is pink and also numb
when wieners hide inside the buns

triggered always--woke and rich
rocket tweets and Pharma's bitch
like the chick on coffee cup
star your bucks, then cut your nuts

do it for the dude in dress
Mithras, man, you'd never guess
unless a Chris decodes the tongue
of Sibyl songs and secret suns