Ode to the Eraserhead Baby

Oh, to occupy such a simple shape!

I thank you, Eraserhead baby, for your guidance and your constancy, reminding me as often as I need it that no, no matter how much my biology pitches it with such enthusiastic insistency, now is absolutely not the time to pop a baby out, it would not be a good or fun time, it would not absolve me of any of my existing responsibilities, and would in fact make my life desperately, hauntingly difficult. 

I admire you, Eraserhead baby, for your graceful geometry and gentle movements. Oh, to occupy such a simple shape, to be reduced to naught but planes and curves and swathes of linen, the simplicity of such an existence, and the joy you must get from your only God-given purpose being to freak the hell out of Jack Nance. 

I respect you, Eraserhead baby, for your enduring modesty, your martyr-like suffering and eventual sacrifice, in service of giving film bros the world over for the past forty-odd years something to argue about, a weapon by which to demonstrate their superiority in the arena of ideological, interpretive battle. 

I recognize you, Eraserhead baby, as an enduring symbol of the trials of the artist, as a representation of the fact that we all of us contain hidden depths, multitudes, an inner world that strains to be revealed, that seeks out the scissors of the gatekeepers willing to slice us open, and expose the tender and terrifying churning flesh of half-baked concepts and stupid ideas, in order to transform us into the giant floating head of a True Creator.

I ask you, Eraserhead baby, to watch over me in my journey through the barren nightmare cityscape of the creative industry, and keep me on my toes, delivering unto me all of the unsettling, prophetic, pseudo-Freudian dreams I require as fuel for my fight against the threats of normalcy and convention.

In whatever Lynchian afterlife you dwell in, and in whatever form you take, I seek you out, Eraserhead baby, in supplication and in praise, and out of respect, I will refrain from asking what the goddamn hell you even fucking are.