on the street · the community center · blinds half open
Open to everybody · no sign-up at the door
Community Center
CB sign-on at the front desk
The street’s community center, at about ten in the morning. The sun comes in through the blinds, the chairs are stacked against the wall, and there is a radio on the front desk. The radio is the CB, a chat channel patterned after citizens band radio, and this is the only place it is switched on. Sign on with a handle and this week’s password and it rides along in the corner of your screen, on every page of the street, until the password changes or you sign off. On the wall by the desk is the community service board: every way there is to give something to a room on this street, and how.
The front desk
A handle is whatever you type, up to 24 characters. The password is shared with the Stimpunks community and changes from time to time, so ask for it there; if you are not in the community yet, joining is on stimpunks.org.
You are on the channel as .
Signing on keeps your handle, a pass and where you put the radio in your own browser. What the channel keeps, for how long, and what it never keeps are all on the privacy page.
How the radio works
- Open is on and closed is off. While the radio is open and the tab is in front of you, it listens to the channel every few seconds. Fold it away, or look at another tab, and it stops listening altogether.
- No alerts. No sounds, no notifications, no badges and no unread count, and nothing is saved up for when you come back. If you were not there when something was said, you missed it, and that is how it is meant to work.
- Ten messages, then midnight. The latest ten are all there is on the channel; an eleventh pushes the oldest off, and everything is deleted at midnight, Colorado time.
- The same sign-on writes on the chalkboard. Plural Mural has a chalkboard at the foot of its wall, Helen Edgar’s idea, and only people signed on here can chalk a note on it. It is not the channel: anybody walking past can read it, signed on or not, and a note stays up for seven days rather than until midnight.
- It sits in the bottom right corner. Drag it by its bar to put it somewhere else, or press Move and use the arrow keys; Home puts it back in the corner. It remembers where you left it.
- It reads aloud if you want it to. With the radio open, a screen reader hears new messages as they come in. The switch on the radio turns that off.
- There is one room it stays out of. The Healing Checkpoint, room 429, promises that it writes nothing down about you, and a radio that listens to a server and remembers where you put it would make that untrue. So the radio waits outside that door and is there again when you come out.
House norms
- Our covenant is the floor. Everything in the Stimpunks Covenant applies on the channel, as it does in every Stimpunks space.
- A handle is not proof of anybody. Nothing checks them, so do not borrow somebody else’s, and do not take anybody’s as proof of who they are. The one mark that is checked is BASE: only our moderators can send it.
- It is a room, not a private line. Everybody with this week’s password can read the channel. Say what you would say in a room with people in it.
- What is said here stays here. The channel forgets at midnight; do not carry it off in a screenshot or a repost unless everybody in it has said you can. That is the covenant’s own privacy norm, on the one channel of ours built to forget.
- Nobody has to answer. There are no alerts because nobody is waiting on you. A message into a quiet channel is fine, a quiet channel is fine, and you can leave without saying goodbye.
- Plain words are fine. Say ten-four and breaker-breaker if you like them. Nobody needs to know the codes.
- Keep the password inside the community. It changes from time to time, and everybody is signed off when it does.
- If something is wrong, tell the base. Say so on the channel, or reach us privately. The base station can take a message off the air. If it keeps happening, the password changes, which signs everybody off at once, and that is the only other lever there is.
The covenant
The Stimpunks Covenant is where our community norms live, and it is longer and better than anything this room could say about them. It starts from the Contributor Covenant, version 2.1, which every Stimpunk agrees to abide by, and adds what we have learned since: no proselytising, prosocial ways of settling conflict, and how to repair harm when it happens. Read it on stimpunks.org, where it is kept up to date, rather than here, where it would not be.
The community service board
The steel sorter on the wall by the desk has a slot for every room on the street that takes something in from our community. Each slot says what the room takes, what it asks of you and how to send it, and points at the room’s own words, where the full terms are.
Nothing on this board sends anything, and neither does the CB: the radio forgets at midnight and everybody signed on can read it, which is the wrong place for somebody’s photograph. Everything here goes the way its own room says, and you do not need to be signed on to the radio for any of it.
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A photograph of you
The Polaroid Wall, in Enid’s Room
A photograph of you, for the wall in Enid’s Room.
- Say how you want to be named, and what you want said about the picture, or nothing at all.
- The yes has to be yours. A young person’s yes is their own, and a parent’s does not stand in for it.
- It goes up as you sent it: nobody crops it or filters it.
Send it through the Stimpunks contact page or in our community.
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Something you collect
The Collection Collection
Photographs of something you collect, for a cabinet of your own under a lamp you choose.
- Choose the lamp, and say why it suits what it lights. No two lamps in there are alike.
- The house writes the titles and descriptions and says it did, so you do not have to.
- Nothing is counted, priced or called rare, and nothing in a photograph may say where you live.
Send it through the Stimpunks contact page or in our community.
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Your yell
The Playhouse
A recording of you yelling, badly, hoarsely, briefly, whatever comes out, for the yell button.
- Say how you want to be named, or stay anonymous. The room says whose yell it is out loud when it plays.
- A voice identifies you as surely as a face does, so it keeps the Polaroid Wall’s promises, and one message takes it down.
Send it through the Stimpunks contact page or in our community.
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A pebble
The Pebble Board
A song, a poem, a picture, a joke, a recipe: anything you would bring somebody because it made you think of them.
- The board is what one gathering brought each other, and a new edition goes up after the next one.
- Whoever keeps that edition decides what gets pinned.
Bring it to a gathering in our community.
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A quotation
The Zibaldone
A short line for the commonplace book, for any state of mind.
- Thirty words at most, and never a song lyric.
- Say who said it, which printing it is in, and where you found it. The attribution slip in the room writes that out for you.
- Say what you are unsure of. It is checked against a printing before it goes in, and a line nobody can place stays out.
Send it however you already talk to us: the contact page, our community, email, a text message.
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A page for the zine
The Zine Table
A page for the next issue, or an idea for one.
- One sheet, black and white, legible out of a bad printer.
- On paper, by photo, by voice note or by AAC: any way you have of getting a sentence out counts as writing.
- Your name goes on it the way you spell it.
Send it through the Stimpunks contact page or in our community.
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Your samefoods
Samefood Cafe
The foods that carry you right now, for a tray of your own.
- Written exactly as you give them, capitals and spelling and all. Nobody’s list is tidied, sorted or compared with anybody else’s.
- Say how you like it served, if you do.
- It comes down the moment you ask.
Tell us in our community.
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Your look
The Dopamine Dress-Up Den
What you wear, in your own words, for a look on the peg with your name on it.
- Words, not a photograph: the pieces, the prints, the colours, and how they feel if you like.
- Your words go beside the look exactly as you give them. If something you wear is not on a rail yet, the house draws it and hangs it up.
- Say how you want to be named. Nothing is rated, and it comes down the moment you ask.
Send it through the Stimpunks contact page or in our community.
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A mural
Plural Mural
Something you would like painted on the end wall, in words, for the house to paint and put up in turn.
- Words, not a picture: what is on it, what it says if it says anything, and the colours. The house paints it.
- Nobody real is painted on the wall.
- Your words go beside the mural exactly as you give them. Say how you want to be named. Nothing is voted on, and it comes down the moment you ask.
Send it through the Stimpunks contact page or in our community.
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Something to watch
The rooms with a screen in them
A recommendation for a room with a screen in it.
- Laughingstock: a set by a Disabled comic, on their own terms.
- The Lightbulb Picture House: a film about being Autistic, ADHD or otherwise neurodivergent, best of all made by the people it is about.
- Looming Rocks: a whole concert, filmed.
- Black Leather Lagoon: something spooky for the Halloween playlist on the drive-in screen.
- The Solarpunk Hermitage: a documentary for the campfire.
- Every one is checked before it goes up: that it plays, that it can be shown here, and how long it runs.
- A film for the Picture House is watched first, so its card can say what is in it before anybody presses play.
- A recommendation is a suggestion rather than a booking, and the choosing stays with whoever keeps that room’s list.
Send it through the Stimpunks contact page or in our community.
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Something to listen to
The rooms that keep a playlist
A song for a room that keeps a list of them.
- Dance, Punks: something to dance to on the airstrip.
- Vital Plant Living: a song about food for the stereo.
- Club Chronic: a song for Chronic Neurodivergent Depressed Queer Punk, the playlist on the stage.
- Nothing musical is hosted here, so a song goes in as a link to where it already lives, and no lyrics go on any page.
- Every one is checked to see that it plays and can be shown here before it goes in.
Send it through the Stimpunks contact page or in our community.
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A poem for the scroll
The Doomscroll
A poem of doom, for the scroll behind the Mopery’s library.
- Public domain everywhere, not only in the United States: its author has to have been dead more than seventy years.
- Say which printing it comes from, because poems change between printings.
Send it however you already talk to us: the contact page, our community, email, a text message.
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A room of your own
Your Room
An idea for the empty storefront with the keys in the door.
- One paragraph is plenty: what it is for, who walks into it, and what it looks like when they do.
- No form, no application, and no portfolio.
- A room here does not expire, and it comes down if you say so once.
Send it through the Stimpunks contact page or in our community.
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A new shop, pitch or turning
The street, the campgrounds and the Outskirts
An idea for somewhere new: a shopfront on the street, a pitch in the campgrounds past the treeline, or a turning off the Outskirts past the last streetlight.
- Say what it is for, and which way it goes. The campgrounds are for being somewhat apart, at peace, with the street still in reach. The Outskirts are for crowds, noise and staying out late, and for getting as far off as you can.
- Helen Edgar’s question helps: would it be just as happy on the campsite? Then it is probably a pitch.
- No two rooms here look alike, so say what the light is like in there, if you know.
Send it through the Stimpunks contact page or in our community.
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Something we got wrong
Anywhere on the street
A name spelled wrong, a credit missing, a quotation we cannot back up, a colour you cannot read, a button you cannot reach.
- Anything you cannot read, reach or press is a fault in the room, not in you.
- A correction is written up in the changelog and stays on the page it was made to, rather than being quietly swapped.
Send it through the Stimpunks contact page. A security hole goes privately on GitHub instead.
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Taking something back
Anything with you in it
Your photograph, your voice, your tray, your cabinet, your look, your page, your name in a credit.
- It comes down when you say so. One message, no reason needed.
- Coming down means gone, not hidden.
Send it through the Stimpunks contact page or in our community.
Whose this is
The CB was Ryan’s idea: a simple chat patterned after citizens band radio, a shared password that rotates, no alerts, a short history cleared daily, and a radio that floats on the screen once you are on. It is the one thing on this street that talks to a server, and the only thing that sends anything anywhere, and the privacy page says in plain words what that server keeps.
The type is Varela Round, by Joe Prince, for the letterboard, and Radio Canada, by Charles Daoud, Coppers and Brasses, Alexandre Saumier Demers and Jacques Le Bailly, for everything that is read, both under the SIL Open Font License and read off their own records rather than typed. The radio on the desk is ours. Everything is credited in the liner notes.
Job marker — a push-in letter, fallen off the letterboard
You have found a job marker. The Adventurer’s Guild is a shopfront on the street, and it posts jobs that send you round these rooms. Take the code below to its board and that job is done. Nothing here is scored, nothing expires, and one is a perfectly good number of jobs to do.
The job: The door the radio waits outside
Before the code: Which room does the CB's radio stay out of?
Hint 1
It is the last thing in the list headed How the radio works.
Hint 2
It is a guest room with a bed nobody is charging you for.
Last hint
Its room number is 429.
Give me the answer
The answer is The Healing Checkpoint. Room 429 promises that it writes nothing down about you and has no fetch in it. The radio listens to a server and remembers where you put it, so it would make that promise untrue, and it waits outside the door instead.
Taking the answer is a real way through this, not a lesser one. Nothing is watching and nothing is written down.
Quest code: TENFOUR
That is the one.
Room 429 promises that it writes nothing down about you and has no fetch in it. The radio listens to a server and remembers where you put it, so it would make that promise untrue, and it waits outside the door instead.
Quest code: TENFOUR
HOW LOUD DO YOU WANT IT?
Starts wherever your device says. Nothing moves, flashes, or plays until you say so.