Make some sense of this. Read the Museum Plaque Introduction» It was in another lifetime, one of toil and blood When blackness was a virtue and the road was full of mud I came in from the wilderness, a creature void of form “Come in” she said “I’ll give you shelter from the storm.” —Bob Dylan, Shelter From the Storm (Blood On the Tracks) [Figure i: Overview. The carpet wars. It was their first relationship standoff. She hated the carpet. It seemed to have existed there for 30 years to collect intractable dirt, fray at the hallway to reveal only a naughty tease of hardwood, and eventually annoy her to hell. Besides, carpet was plastic and she despised plastic. She eliminated it from her environment like a pogrom. She was a decor dictator. She dispatched her enemies, no matter how ruthless and cunning she had to be.] And if I pass this way again, you can rest assured I’ll always do my best for her, on that I give my word In a world of steel-eyed death …

Why’s Bob Dylan in the toilet? Read the Museum Plaque Introduction» Buckets of rain Buckets of tears Got all them buckets coming out of my ears Buckets of moonbeams in my hand You got all the love honey baby I can stand. —Bob Dylan, ‘Buckets of Rain‘ (Blood On The Tracks) [Figure i: Overview. She had been in man bathrooms before. She knew what they could be like. But this was another story. This bathroom was bar none dis-gust-ing. The ceiling and walls were splotched with blights of mold. The bathtub was potentially unsalvageable—the white of the porcelain unseeable, caked brown. She felt dirty after sitting on the toilet, after taking a shower. Before she moved in, his friend Scott took a razor blade to the shower walls, then rooted out and replaced the moldy caulking, telling her, “I just couldn’t imagine you living here like this.” It was certainly the worst of it. It took her two days of solo painting. First a few layers of Kilz. Then the cover up. She choose deep purple …

What, pray tell, is this? Read the Museum Plaque Introduction» Ain’t it just like the night to play tricks when you’re tryin’ to be so quiet ? We sit here stranded, though we’re all doin our best to deny it And Louise holds a handful of rain, tempting you to defy it —Bob Dylan, ‘Visions of Johanna‘ (Blonde On Blonde) [Figure i: Overview. She remembers that last night here, which was not the last night here, not by a long shot, but that last of the long lonely nights waiting for Godot, or him, as it was. It was the night she had decided. And when such a thing has been decided it was decided. It was over. She just needed to say the words. And when she did, he shrugged. It was decided. She just needed to say the words.] Lights flicker from the opposite loft In this room the heat pipes just cough The country music station plays soft But there’s nothing really nothing to turn off Just Louise and her lover so entwined And these …