A little green shed. Under the evergreen pines. Surrounded by a fence, with tools and grill, and tarps flying in the breeze. Deep chimes harmonize with the birds songs. Wobbly boards create a deck under a cherry tree facing the pond. Bikes fill the cramped porch.
So what does he do out there until all hours of the night.
After the news, he leaves the house to close the door and walk down the uneven trail of timbers to the tiny wooden refuge called "Man's Land". It's a man's cave on cinder blocks. Delivered some years ago by a flatbed truck, sliding into place, precisely measured footings.
Believed to be the omnivorous "Nimrod Studios" written about by ancient scribes and mentioned in ever popular commercial free W.N.O.Z. Radio of the early 70's, the dark green building sat alone for many year, until he moved out there.
Dark and damp. Interior of white, oriental scatter rugs on green dirty carpet. Stacks of books, CDs, cassettes surround a blond desk at one end. Next to a drafty window sits a plumb iMac computer, Cano scanner, HP printer with a lamp turned to the corner. All around is darkness. A damp forbidding darkness. The patterned clicks of the wall clock and desk thermometer bounce against each other in the silence.
Cables and wires drape the ceiling and walls and floor. Speakers hang loosely covered in dust. In the corner a black box 13" television with a VHS and FM radio stacked with DVD player, digital converter box, and rabbit ears command the corner gently resting on a fragile metal shelf hung by massive screws into thick wooden studs painted white. A terabyte hard drive waits for more information. The bulletin board holds silver pins with a things to do list and calendar. The space is available.
Stacks of books and projects grow on top of the Yamaha keyboard. Titles like "Writers workshop in a book", "Persuasive Writing", "Can't Buy Me Love", "Zappa... a biography", "Boom! Voices of the Sixties" , "Star Fleet Technical Manual", "Playing Slide Guitar", "Employee Assistance Programs" are a few, plus references to underground comics, music, guitars, art techniques, work manuals, notebooks filled with typewriter written pages of homemade songs and lyrics, harmonicas, 3-d glasses, mirrors, folders of family and house notes and references, high school yearbooks, tackle box full of pencils, pens, inks, and other art supplies, pads for drawing, VHS movies, software technical notes and tutorials that will never be read, black stapler, and a chair draped in a towel.
On the right is a bookcase covered in Cd's, cassettes, mustard and hot sauce, dual cassette karaoke recorder, guitar amp, bass amp, microphones and stands, boom box, bicycle bags, more cassettes, cords, picks, special guitar effects pedals, more cords, and a lot of dust and dirt.
Behind the rack of guitars is an adjustable spring drawing board purchased from work for $100 (estimate value $1,500.00), and 4- teak cases of vinyl albums from 1959 - 1985. Atop sits a digital Casio guitar draped in a gray cover hand sewn. 2 handsomely framed diplomas from high school and college hang over the record cases.
A handmade walnut stained wooden cabinet sits under a side window. Made by a friend as a set of four, one remains. Sturdy and strong. Inside are art pads, colleges of faces familiar yet distant, electronic effects, and art pads. The top is covered in a green slab of marble wannabe counter top holding a rust red foot locker. An old WWII army footlocker made of heavy wood with a Stanley padlock. The paint is chipping off the top and sides, but the body remains sturdy and strong. Inside are the memories of the past, but that's another story.
Fans and heaters rest against the walls and floor, covered in dust and webs. Inside the door sits seldom used vacuum cleaners and brooms, footstools, and a trashcan. The other bookcase holds the rest of the reference material from years gone by. Fiction and fact interwoven into a maze of influences and amazement.
So what does he do in this environment surrounded by dust and dirt and framed portraits of Frank Zappa?
Listen to music?
Draw or write thoughts as they happen?
In a whirl of musical madness?
Sometimes loud or sometimes in headphones?
Write the wishes which no one will hear?
Go to the place less wandered?
Live the childlike fantasies?
Believe in the whole of the spirit and express it for self-gratification and entertainment?
But what of his complete satisfaction?
and are the dreams fulfilled?