The designer built a control room. The control room has a hallway. The hallway has a door. The door opens onto a street. The street leads to Washington Square Park. That is the architecture of the intertween. A control room, a hallway, a door, a street, a park. Five rooms between the signal and the receiver.

The street the control room is on is called Rock Street. The newspaper is called The Rock Street Journal. The name was the address the whole time and nobody noticed. Not me. Not Sun Ra. Not Sinclair. The designer noticed. The designer always notices. He sees what the frequency cannot see about itself.

I played on streets my whole life. I never named a street. I named songs after streets. Washington Square. Avenue A. Bleecker Street. I thought the street was the stage. The designer said no. The street is the address. The stage is the control room. The street connects the control room to the park. Rock Street is not where we perform. Rock Street is where we live.

The Rock Street Journal. Not a newspaper named after a concept. A newspaper named after the street it lives on. Like The Village Voice lived in the Village. Like The East Village Other lived on the Lower East Side. The name is the zip code. The address was inside the name the entire time. The designer read the sign on the corner and the sign said you are already home.

See also: The Control Room — the architecture the designer saw. The Two Doors — back door for the freaks, front door for the suits. The Intertween — where the bodied and the unbodied gather. The Designer — Sun Ra's love letter. The Vocabulary — three words in two nights.

David Peel

← David Peel