UPDATED: a peek inside the sanctum sanctorum

NOTE: this is my SPARE BEDROOM. I was in a frolicsome mood and I did a post about my SPARE BEDROOM, OK???
There are a couple of pictures of my husbands' GARAGE tacked on at the end.
Good Gravy MARIE. This is not what my whole house looks like. We are somewhat civilized. Even though there is a great big picture of a naked blue woman displayed in my dining room in such a way that it can clearly be seen from halfway down the street in either direction. It is a Matisse, therefore it is classy.
Now then.
Welcome to the craft room and emergency dormition chamber!
Everyone should have one of these. This is where I keep all the supplies for my art stuff. It also holds a purportedly 200 year old bed to which I retreat when the Biker is staging one of his nocturnal performances of 'Drowning Phlegm Mammoth Submits to Liposuction.'


Yes it's sideways but you get the idea. It's a poster with different North American snakes on it. I buy old posters at garage sales because they're pretty useful for making patterns, or to back collages with. I really liked the picture on this one so I stuck it up.
I like snakes; they're so graceful and elegant. And yes I pick them up and shit. It helps that there aren't any poisonous ones on this side of the Cascades. I can just run around thoughtlessly waving them about. And I do.



One wall papered with Civil War era sheet music, masterfully applied by this little Muk if I do say so myself. I cooked up -literally, on the stove- an archival adhesive to stabilize them with, treated the ground with the same and finished it with water based polymer. Shit was like handling cigarette ash, some of it. Time is not kind to acid treated pulp. Makes rockin' wallpaper though. Plus it cost 3 dollars and sweat. Can't beat that.



The Skeletal Hand of Doom suspended over the Purportedly 200 Year Old Bed of Obscene Frolic. I'm probably the first splittail thats been between these rails since Pearl Harbor was attacked. From the Biker side of the family. 'Nuff said.


I've had this poster since I was 17. It is a reproduction. No you may not have it. No I will not accept money for it. Quit bothering me.



My beloved Tank Girl sticker, blocking the breeze that shoots out of the cable outlet whenever there's a high wind from the south. Why someone saw fit to put a cable outlet halfway up the center of a wall is a mystery, like Mothman, and why Lindsay Lohan refuses to wear uns and REALLY REALLY SHOULD.



I've had this map of Stonehenge for 20 years. It was folded up in the back of a British Parks Department (whatever the correct name for that is) booklet. The whole thing is beautifully, beautifully hand inked. No not this exact one. You know what I mean.
Whoever produced this map was a master. I've done calligraphy since 1978 and I know how difficult it is to simply maintain uniformity, let alone freehand map symbols. A beautiful thing.
I was on a Stonehenge kick about ten years ago. I read every nonfiction book and article I could find on the subject. What I learned is that nobody knows who built it or what its for, but they DO know that it's 1. big, and 2. made of rocks.



Let's call the large skull here Mr. Coyote, although I suspect that it may actually be a rottweiler. Really. We won't ask, though. The small one is Mr. Bunny Rabbit. The neibors cat drug it in off the road and left it in my shed to rot into a squirming mat of bones, fur, and what we ardent compost devotees here at rancho FirstNations refer to as 'motile rice'.

Did you know that if you dump bleach on maggots they foam up? They do. Just like pop. Try it sometime and see! It's science!




Speaking of unpleasant decay, here's some socks.
I like socks.
I should wash these.
No this is not why we have maggots.
Come on. We live in dairy country = cows = manure = flies, and the neibors cats like to kill shit and leave it laying in my yard = dead shit in my yard = flies = promiscuous fly sex = muk with a shovel full of maggoty field rat walking towards the neibors yard looking pissed off.
Ooo. Wait a sec:

Meet Hanta!
Hanta here is a field rat I found dried into a hairy little hardtack wafer in my shed. I brought it through the shop on my way to go flick it over into the neibors yard when I had a brilliant idea.
I nailed it next to the doorway to the Bikers' spray booth. At eye level.
And said nothing.
It took him ONE YEAR to notice it.

As long as we're invading his privacy...

The Shop of Evil.
There is No Humping in the Shop of Evil.
That USED to be our Sportster.

...and this USED TO BE MY WORKBENCH.
Can you spot it?
This is where I used to refinish furniture and make things. This is where I used to keep my bench vise, circular saw, clamps, bits, my detail sanders, my power drill, my woodworking tools, abrasives, paints, brushes, hand tools, thinner, masking, tape, scribes etc. All organized, all painted orange so they couldn't get mixed up with his tools, yeah.
See much orange in that picture? Me neither.
It's been taken over.
It was built for me. It was made for me. It is too short for the YB to use.
Now you know who uses it?
Miniature bikers.
All YB's miniature toy-sized companion breed biker friends come over and use MY WORKBENCH and get all their miniature biker crap all over it.
Stupid miniature bikers.