Liner Notes

Who made this noise. This street dropped almost every careful habit our other sites have — careful palettes, careful hedging, the balanced tone. It kept exactly one, and this is the page where it lives.

Credits are about the people who made this street. What it keeps about the people who visit it, which is very little, is on the privacy page.

The jukebox

Ten tracks on the dancefloor, every one of them lifted from our own published We’re A Double Rainbow All the Way. Nothing is hosted by us. Each one is a press-to-play facade: until you press it, this site has made no request to YouTube on your behalf. The titles and channels below were resolved against YouTube’s own oEmbed endpoint rather than typed from memory.

None of these artists are affiliated with Stimpunks and none of them endorse us. They are here because their work is on a page of ours already.

The Chappell

Thirteen more facades, in a subroom off the dancefloor, and all of them one artist. They come from a different place than the ten above and are kept in a different file for that reason: the jukebox was extracted from our own Double Rainbow page, and these were extracted from a playlist we published, Unabashed Pleasure and Righteous Inclusion With Chappell Roan. Ids, titles, channels and runtimes were read off YouTube — the playlist page, its watch-page panel, and the oEmbed endpoint — rather than typed from memory. Nothing is hosted by us, and every one is a press-to-play facade that names its runtime before you press it.

All thirteen are Chappell Roan. Chappell Roan is not affiliated with Stimpunks and does not endorse us. The playlist header says fifteen and thirteen of them render: YouTube counts private and deleted entries in that total and shows nothing at all for them, so thirteen is what plays and thirteen is what is published.

The Latibulum

Two more facades, in the burrow under the hill, and a third data file for them because they came from a third place: the wireless is a Stimpunk’s own composition, published on our ocean page and pointed at again from the Bodymind Break; the television is the class we chose for a Campfire Learn Together on somatic practice. Neither is hosted by us. Adriel gave Stimpunks permission to use Ocean Waves however we like — and it stays where he put it anyway, because a permission is not a reason to take a copy of somebody’s work off its own shelf. Runtimes and channels were read off YouTube’s own watch pages.

Adriel Jeremiah Wool is a Stimpunk; Annette of Itstimefitness is not affiliated with Stimpunks and does not endorse us. Neither of them made anything for this street. They are credited as the authors of work this room points at, which is the whole job of a facade.

The Jungle Room

Every nature cam our own events page lists, in the viewing room under the canopy, and a fourth data file because they came from a fourth place: our own Watering Hole Hangs events page, which puts one of these up in the background every weekday. The groups below and their order are that page’s, not ours. Not one frame is hosted by us, and not one of these says how long it runs, because a live camera does not stop — which is the one place on this street where a runtime would be the dishonest thing rather than the careful one. The titles and the channels were resolved against YouTube’s oEmbed endpoint and, where oEmbed refuses an id, against the watch page’s own owner name; none of them was typed off our link text. Whether each one plays, and whether its owner allows it to be embedded at all, was measured the same day.

None of these people or organisations is affiliated with Stimpunks and none of them endorses us. None of them made anything for this street; they put a camera somewhere and left it running, and they are credited as the authors of the work this room points at. Where a cam our events page lists answers UNPLAYABLE it is not in the galleries, and the row above says so — the entry stays in the data file with the date it was found dead on, because a dead link quietly deleted is a correction nobody can see. Replacing one is a decision for the events page, and a replacement that arrives from there carries a note in the data file saying what was measured on it before it went up.

The Den

Sixteen more facades, in the room behind the Jungle Room, and a fifth data file because they came from a fifth place: a discography rather than a page of ours. In 1976 the Jungle Room at Graceland — Elvis Presley’s own den, the one with the green shag and the fieldstone waterfall — was converted into a recording studio, and the bulk of his last two albums were made in it. Presley wrote none of these songs, so the writers are named on every cut in the room as well as here. The track list, session dates and album attributions came off the two albums’ own articles; each video id was searched, filtered to his official channels, and then checked on its own watch page — channel, playability, embeddability and length — before it went in, and matched against the released runtime so that an alternate take could not get in wearing a master’s name. Nothing is hosted by us, and every button says how long it runs before you press it.

All sixteen are Elvis Presley recordings, produced by Felton Jarvis. Neither the Presley estate, Graceland, RCA nor any of the songwriters is affiliated with Stimpunks and none of them endorses us.

The Solarpunk Hermitage

Two kinds of borrowed thing in the cabin at the far end of the campgrounds, from two places, which is why they are two tables and not one. The layout of the room is not ours either: the cave, the campfire and the watering hole are David Thornburg’s primordial learning spaces, from From the Campfire to the Holodeck, documented on our own Caves, Campfires, and Watering Holes; the room names him rather than using the shape quietly. The argument the pitch is built on is Betsy Selvam’s, and hers is the distinction between being alone well and being left out. Neither Thornburg nor Selvam is affiliated with Stimpunks and neither endorses us.

The documentaries are Ryan’s list; nothing on it was chosen in this repo. Every id was checked on its own watch page before it went up — status, embeddability and length — and every title and channel was resolved against YouTube rather than typed off the links that arrived. Nothing is hosted by us, every button says how long it runs before you press it, and the one whose owner has embedding switched off is published as a door out rather than as a screen that would show a refusal where the picture should be.

The books on the cave’s shelves are ones stimpunks.org already argues from, and each row says which page of ours put it there — read out of the Knowledge System mirror’s own frontmatter rather than typed from memory. Every one can be borrowed; a buy link is a bonus. Our library page says knowledge is infrastructure and access to it is mutual aid, and a shelf that could only tell you where to buy would be a shop with an argument painted on it. The notes in the room are ours and are not lifted from a blurb. None of these authors or publishers is affiliated with Stimpunks and none of them endorses us.

The Hermitage’s watering hole

Three benches in the workshop, and the rule across all three is that nothing is on a table unless one of our own pages argues from it. The herbarium is named by its sources rather than by taxonomy: nothing on it is determined to species, because a Latin binomial typed from memory is a taxonomic claim nobody checked wearing the one kind of authority a herbarium sheet has — make-hermitage.py refuses a specimen name shaped like one. Two sheets carry work that is Helen Edgar’s, at Autistic Realms, and say so on their own faces.

The solar bench’s videos came off our own Solarpunk entry and its reading off our own Electrify Everything. Nothing is hosted by us and nothing plays until it is pressed, and every button says how long it runs first. The ids were checked on their own watch pages and every title and channel resolved against YouTube rather than taken from our link text — which mattered: our glossary credits the first of these as “ft. @Andrewism”, and the channel that published it is Our Changing Climate. None of these people or organisations is affiliated with Stimpunks and none of them endorses us.

The third bench is Star Stuff’s, our sibling site, linked out and not reproduced — the generator refuses an entry on that table whose link does not point there. Star Stuff is Stimpunks × More Realms; its zines are open edition and free to print.

• A Field Guide to the Ways of Being Alone — Twelve ways of keeping your own company among our Terran kin. A lone wolf is not an outcast, it is a disperser — young, deliberate, crossing empty ground on its way to founding a pack.
• A Field Guide to Symbioses — Mutual aid written into biology: fungi feeding trees, bacteria making soil, a fish that cleans the teeth of a predator that could swallow it.
• A Mycelium and a Rhizome — Star Stuff zine No. 26: how neurodivergent knowledge grows — no trunk, no centre, many doors.
• Measured Against a Tree — Star Stuff zine No. 73: six ways a moss fails as a plant, and the finding that the list is backwards.
• Seeds That Wait — Star Stuff zine No. 93: some seeds do nothing at all when you plant them, and they are not broken. Read-aloud science for four to eight, with every source kept on the page.
• The Garden and the Stars — Star Stuff zine No. 18: on knowledge gardens, the commons, and how star stuff comes to know itself.

Club Chronic

Thirty-six more facades, in the punk club, and a sixth data file because they came from a sixth place: the selection is It Take a Joyful Sound’s, on Star Stuff, our sibling site — its six racks, their order and their themes. The notes in our room were written for our room; the essay is the better thing and is linked from the rack. Nothing is hosted by us, every id was checked on its own watch page before it went up, and every title and channel was resolved against YouTube rather than taken from the link text they arrived with. Every button says how long it runs before you press it. None of these artists, labels or channels is affiliated with Stimpunks and none of them endorses us.

The two playlists on that stage are ours — Chronic Neurodivergent Depressed Queer Punk, kept on YouTube by the Stimpunks Foundation and on Spotify by Ryan Boren — and neither carries a runtime, because a list somebody keeps adding to does not have one. Spotify is the first frame on this street that is not YouTube, which cost an origin in the Content-Security-Policy and another in love-embed.js; both are still facades and neither company hears anything until somebody presses the button.

Black Leather Lagoon

A drive-in screen standing in black water, out past the last streetlight in The Outskirts, and its own data file because everything in it came from its own place. The room is an appreciation of The Cramps — Lux Interior and Poison Ivy, formed 1976, active until 2009 — and it is the unusual case here of a room built on something no page of ours has ever written about. Most of these rooms dress up an argument stimpunks.org already makes. This one had nothing to dress, so every word of the appreciation is the room’s own and the sources are named on the page: the band’s history off Wikipedia, the covers and the Goo Goo Muck revival figures off its article on Psychedelic Jungle, the ids, runtimes and channels off YouTube, and the release years off MusicBrainz.

The year beside a record is the record’s and not the upload’s, and that distinction is the most useful thing this room turned up. Every one of these is an auto-generated upload from a licensor’s catalogue, and each carries a “Released on” line giving the date of the reissue that was licensed rather than of the record — 1984 for most of this rack, which is a compilation, and 2014 for three of them. Trusting it would have printed 1984 beside a 1978 single, in the one field a reader has no way of checking. A tenth song was dropped rather than published with a year nobody had resolved.

A song was also pulled by the check, for a reason nothing here had met. Can Your Pussy Do the Dog? answers LOGIN_REQUIRED rather than OK: it is age-gated, so it plays perfectly for a signed-in adult and would have rendered a refusal inside our frame for everybody else. That is neither a dead video nor an embedding permission — it is a third thing, and it is playing is not the same permission as embedding arriving once more: playing is not the same permission as playing without an account, on a street whose whole promise is that nothing is asked of you before the press.

Not one line of any of these songs is on that page, here or anywhere else on this site, and tools/make-lagoon.py refuses a note shaped like verse. A room built out of one band, whose words are half of why anybody loves them, is exactly where that rule would have been broken affectionately. Nothing is hosted by us, nothing is ranked, and every button says how long it runs before you press it. Neither the band, their labels, their estates nor any of these channels is affiliated with Stimpunks, and none of them endorses us.

The screen carries our own Halloween playlist, Gather ’Round Creeps, kept on YouTube by the Stimpunks Foundation. It carries no runtime, because a list we keep adding to does not have one — the same rule the punk club’s stage and the nature cams both keep, from opposite directions.

Covenstead

A meeting place, and a shopfront on the street: a kitchen in the afternoon with one window open and the good china out, not one cup matching the next. That mismatch is the subject of the room sitting on the table, because a covenstead is where a group meets — several people who do not entirely agree, meeting on purpose anyway.

It began as turning 03 in The Outskirts and was moved. Ryan’s call, 2026-09-22, and the reasoning is about what each area is for: the campgrounds are for people who want to be somewhat apart from each other, at peace in nature, with the street still in reach; the road out of town is for night revelry and for being as far off as you can get. A covenstead is neither — it is a group that meets regularly, which wants a premises with a door on a street where people already are. Helen Edgar’s observation sharpened the split: that everything out on that road could sit on the campsite if it had planning permission, which turns out to be a useful test for anything placed in either area.

It changed worlds when it moved rather than being relocated with the same paint on it. Out there it was a dark room lit by several lamps that did not match — the only room on the street lit by more than one source. Here it is daylit, warm and domestic, and the argument moved with it: the thing carrying several people who do not match, meeting anyway is now the china. That device is load bearing, and if the crockery is ever made to match, the room has lost its subject and kept its wallpaper.

Terry Pratchett’s words are on that page, and they are the point of it. First Sight and Second Thoughts are his, named in the Discworld books, and the sentences that define them are the tenets — the way the Rede’s couplet is. An earlier draft named the concepts and linked out for the words; it described the thing instead of showing it, and it gutted the room. Ryan’s call, 2026-09-22. Every quotation names its author, its work and its year and links to the edition, which is the habit this site keeps when it drops all the others.

What is not there is the scene. The lines about storing things in other people come out of a long exchange running to several hundred words, and that stays quoted properly, at length and in context, on our own philosophy page — the better thing to read, linked rather than raided. tools/make-covenstead.py sets its own cap rather than borrowing the Zibaldone’s: thirty words is right for a quote bank, where the danger is drift, and wrong for a room quoting a handful of named passages it is actually about. Sixty fits a defining sentence and refuses a scene.

The Rule of Three is argued about inside the tradition, and the room says so instead of settling it. It is not a universal article of faith: there are Wiccans who read it as an over-elaboration on the Rede and others who consider it a modern innovation built on Christian morality, with a possible prototype in a 1949 novel of Gerald Gardner’s. A page stating it flat, as the witch law, would be deciding a live argument inside somebody else’s religion on their behalf, from the outside, in passing, for atmosphere — and the flattened version is always the one that travels. The tool refuses a tenet marked contested that does not say what is contested about it.

Rede means counsel, not commandment, which is the hinge the room turns on: Middle English for advice, first publicly recorded in its best-known couplet in a 1964 speech by Doreen Valiente, and still counsel sixty years later rather than a code somebody can be expelled for breaking. make-covenstead.py refuses a tenet written as an order — which is the opposite of the rule one turning up the road, where make-sithen.py refuses advice outright. Two rooms in one area holding opposite rules about the same vocabulary, for the same underlying reason, and they must not be made to agree.

Nobody is initiated and nothing is counted. No degrees, no levels, no test at the door, no record of how often you came. The Wiccan material is somebody else’s religion, treated as such, and read off the Rede and the Rule of Three on 2026-09-22.

Dead Tired Society

Peer support by and for people in burnout and people on the far side of it, and a shopfront on the street: a borrowed room after hours with the big lights off and the door left ajar. The name is a play on Dead Poets Society (1989, directed by Peter Weir, written by Tom Schulman; read off Wikipedia’s summary on 2026-09-23), a film about a group resisting the conformity of the school it meets in. The room takes the shape of the name and nothing else — no line, no scene, no character, no still, no motto — and tools/make-dead-tired.py refuses the film’s characters, its school and its two famous lines anywhere on the page, because the most famous parts of somebody else’s screenplay are exactly the parts most tempting to borrow for atmosphere.

The light comes from outside the room, and nobody sits in it. The only light is a corridor’s strip lights through the gap in a door, lying across the floor as one hard wedge, and every word on that page stays in the shade on purpose: masking is performing under a light, and this is the room where nothing has to. The drawing places everything — a beanbag, a mug, a chair with a coat over it, a mattress, a pair of shoes, an armchair — outside that wedge, and draws nobody at all, because nobody in there is on display. The corridor’s tubes do not flicker, at any setting, for Club Chronic’s reason.

Every line on a peg is somebody else’s and says whose. Each was read off our own glossary entry for that peg on 2026-09-23 and is credited to the source the entry credits, never to the entry. Where an entry named only a title or only initials, the authors were resolved rather than guessed: Botha and Frost against Crossref’s record for their DOI, and Kramer, Jones and Broadbent against the journal’s own citation metadata, because Crossref has no record for that one. The definition of burnout at the top of the room is the title of Raymaker and others’ paper in Autism in Adulthood, 2020, also checked against Crossref. The line under each quotation is ours, written for this room.

Nothing there gives advice nobody asked for, counts anything, or praises anybody for how much they can take. The tool refuses the vocabulary of all three in the room’s own voice, with a window so the room can still say it will not — and skips the quotations, because two of them are the sharpest things anybody has said against resilience, and a quotation criticising a word has to be allowed to contain it. The page is not a meeting and does not pretend to be one: it has no times, no sign-up and no facilitator, and it points at our community, where the people are, and at mutual aid.

The type is Sorts Mill Goudy, Barry Schwartz’s revival of Goudy’s Oldstyle, for the society’s name and headings — set like a founding charter for a society whose members are lying on the floor — and Lexend, by Bonnie Shaver-Troup, Thomas Jockin, Santiago Orozco, Héctor Gómez and Superunion, for everything that is read. Lexend was drawn to reduce visual stress and ease reading fatigue, which is the whole reason a room for the dead tired sets it. Both under the SIL Open Font License, read off their own records in google/fonts.

Laughingstock

A comedy club on the street, down a ramp rather than a flight of stairs. The writing that leads the room is ours, from our Campfire Learn Together Being Disabled Can Be Pretty Funny, where the community watched sets by Josh Blue and Tina Friml together and talked about what their work reveals. The takeaways and the three questions further down come from the same write-up.

The lines standing in the spotlight are the comics’ own, quoted from that write-up, checked word for word against our own copy of it on 2026-09-23, and credited to the comic whose line it is. The write-up does not say which set each line comes from, and the room does not guess: a line credited to the wrong special would be exactly the kind of made-up mapping this site spends a page arguing against. In that room, the comics’ words are the only thing set in the light, and everything of ours sits out in the dark with the audience.

Every set belongs to the comics who wrote and performed it, named on every row, and to the channel that published it. The stage is our own Disabled Comedy playlist, put on whole, and it carries no runtime because it is a list we keep adding to. The bill beside it was read off that playlist on 2026-09-23, in its own order, and every id was checked on its own watch page the same day — playing, embeddable, and none of them behind an age gate. Nothing is hosted by us, none of the comics or channels is affiliated with Stimpunks, and none of them endorses us.

Nobody in that room is called brave or inspiring for getting on a stage, and nobody headlines. tools/make-laughingstock.py refuses both vocabularies in the room’s own voice, with a window so the house rules can still say that nobody is — and it skips the comics’ lines, so that “I suffer from people” is allowed to say suffer.

The type is Yellowtail, by Astigmatic, a sign-writer’s script under the Apache License 2.0, for the neon and the comics’ names and nothing you have to read; and Bricolage Grotesque, by Mathieu Triay, under the SIL Open Font License, for everything you do. Both read off their own records in google/fonts.

Nothing For Sale

A free market in a lay-by, turning 07 in The Outskirts. Everything on its tables is ours, and free by its own page’s account, checked table by table on 2026-09-23: our library, our courses, our broadsides and our zine walls, and the Autism and Neurodiversity Starter Pack by David Gray-Hammond and Helen Edgar. Our mutual aid grants are pointed to and not laid out, because they have an application and a waiting list and a table would promise otherwise.

The line about mutual aid not being charity is Sparrow’s, from Mutual Aid: How We Survive, How We Transform at Unstrange Mind, as our Mutual Aid entry quotes it; the site’s own About page gives the author as Sparrow, and so does this. Solidarity, not charity is the mutual aid movement’s. The lay-by is invented. The type is Patrick Hand, by Patrick Wagesreiter, for the name, the headings and the signs, and Figtree, by Erik Kennedy, for everything you read; both under the SIL Open Font License, read off their own records in google/fonts.

The Repeater

A radio mast on the ridge at the far end of the road, turning 06 in The Outskirts. The argument is our own Shared-Signal Space entry, and the two lines quoted from it are ours. The Autistic Rhizome was named by DGH Neurodivergent Consultancy, for the network of Autistic communities on Discord, in an article our Autistic Rhizome entry quotes. That article’s own address serves a holding page now and the Internet Archive has only a redirect for it, so the room links our entry rather than a dead page, and names the consultancy rather than a person, because no byline we could read names one; and Helen Edgar has written about it at Autistic Realms. The first draft of this room credited the name to Helen alone, because hers was the article our entry cites; our own Autistic Rhizome entry says otherwise, and both are named now. The study on communication preferences is Howard and Sedgewick’s, ‘Anything but the phone!’, in Autism, as our entry cites it.

The open line is made in your browser and goes nowhere: a quiet noise synthesised when you press the button, with nothing fetched, nothing sent and nothing listening. The ridge and the mast are invented. The type is Syncopate, by Astigmatic, under the Apache License 2.0, for the name, the headings and the call on each card, and IBM Plex Sans, by Mike Abbink and Bold Monday, under the SIL Open Font License, for everything you read. Both licences were read off the families’ own records in google/fonts rather than assumed; the first draft of this line said both were OFL.

The Small Hours

An all-night diner for bodies that keep other hours, turning 05 in The Outskirts. Every quotation in it was read word for word off a page of ours on 2026-09-23, and tools/make-small-hours.py checks each one against that page again whenever the Knowledge System mirror is to hand. Every author was resolved against a library record rather than remembered: our Sleep entry prints the passage about the crayons under a link to the book without naming who wrote it, and the name this room was nearly given from memory belonged to a different Autistic writer. It is Sarah Kurchak’s.

The diner is invented, and so is the menu. The type is Righteous, by Astigmatic, for the sign and the headings, and Libre Franklin, by Impallari Type, for everything you read; both under the SIL Open Font License, read off their own records in google/fonts.

The jukebox is Josephmooon’s, both albums, played from the band’s own site and hosted nowhere here. Josephmooon is the music project made for the lyrics of Ronan Boren, a Stimpunk, and Stimpunks helped produce it. “Up All Night” is printed in full, with permission: Stimpunks holds permission to distribute the song and its lyrics, and the words are not under this site’s licence. Its credits are Ronan Boren, all lyrics; Bill Paige, vocals and guitar; Ronnie Nice, guitars, keyboards, bass, drums and programming; and Ian Nice, piano, keyboards and backing vocals. Track titles are the albums’ own listings, and every runtime was measured off its file on 2026-09-23.

Dance, Punks

A silent disco on an old airstrip, turning 04 in The Outskirts. The crate is ours and the music is not. Dance, Punks is a playlist Stimpunks Foundation keeps on YouTube, read off its own page on 2026-09-23. It is played, not hosted: every song on it belongs to the people who made it and sits on somebody else’s channel, and none of those artists, their labels or those channels is affiliated with Stimpunks or endorses us.

The three channels are one crate started in three places, because YouTube’s embed answers to exactly one lever — a starting video — and plays on in order from there. The room says so rather than calling it three DJs or shuffle. The opening song of every channel was checked on its own watch page on 2026-09-23: playing, embeddable, no age gate, and the channel read back off YouTube rather than typed. The lines beside each channel are about the room and not about the songs, because nobody writing them listened for the purpose, and a sentence about how a record sounds typed without hearing it is a guess wearing a credit.

The one quotation is from Autistic Joy: My Favourite Part of Autism, by Authentically Emily, as our Autistic Joy entry quotes it. The type is Unbounded, by NaN, for the name and the headings, and Manrope, by Mikhail Sharanda, for everything you read; both under the SIL Open Font License, read off their own records in google/fonts.

The Lightbulb Picture House

A picture house on the street where every screening is a relaxed screening: the house lights stay up, the captions are on, and anybody can move, stim, sit on the floor or leave. The name is borrowed from a film, Lightbulb Moments: Being Autistic, by Thriving Autistic, which is on the first screen.

Both screens are our own playlists, put on whole, and carry no runtime because they are lists we keep adding to. Both were read off their own playlist pages on 2026-09-23, and every film on them was checked on its own watch page the same day — playing, embeddable, and none behind an age gate. Every film belongs to the people who made it, named below wherever the film’s own description names them, and to the channel that published it. None of them is affiliated with Stimpunks and none of them endorses us, and nothing is hosted by us.

The words on the rack are ours, written from the films rather than from their titles. Fourteen of the fifteen were read from their captions; the fifteenth, whose captions could not be fetched, is described from its maker’s own description and from our Autism Pathway, which already carries it. Every card says what is in its film before the press, beside the runtime — a panic attack, a bullying scene, jokes about suicide, a sponsor segment — and tools/make-picture-house.py refuses a card nobody checked for that. No maker’s pronouns are used anywhere on the rack, because not one of the films says what they are, and the tool refuses one.

Nothing in the building is blue, and the tool reads the room’s palette and refuses a blue: a lightbulb theater in a neurodiversity room, lit blue, would be the Light It Up Blue campaign, which autistic people have spent years refusing. The one quotation in the room, on exactly that, is Amy Sequenzia’s, from I Don’t Want Your Awareness, as our Acceptance entry quotes it. The ornament over the screen is the gold infinity, Autistic UK’s, from Au, as our Neurodiversity Infinity Symbol entry tells it.

The type is Limelight, by Nicole Fally and Sorkin Type, an Art Deco fascia face, for the name and the headings, and Outfit, by Smartsheet Inc and Rodrigo Fuenzalida, for everything you read. Both under the SIL Open Font License, read off their own records in google/fonts.

Samefood Cafe

A café on the street for samefoods and safe foods, and for understanding food aversion rather than correcting it. The menu is three entries from our own glossary — Samefood, Safe food and Food aversion — and every line quoted on it was read off one of those entries and credited to the person the entry credits, never to the entry. Two were then read against their own pages on 2026-09-23: C.L. Lynch’s at NeuroClastic, whose byline came out of that page’s own metadata because our entry credits only the site, and Kari Burroughs Kraakevik’s at Thinking Person’s Guide to Autism. The two lines from the book could not be checked against a copy of it from here, and the room says so beside each of them rather than letting them sit among the checked ones looking the same.

The book on the counter is Color Taste Texture: Recipes for Picky Eaters, Those with Food Aversion, and Anyone Who’s Ever Cringed at Food, by Matthew Broberg-Moffitt (Penguin Publishing Group, 2023, ISBN 9780593538593), which our Food Aversion entry recommends to our community. Title, subtitle, author, publisher, year and ISBN were read off Open Library’s edition record on 2026-09-23 rather than typed. Open Library has no copy to lend, so the library link is a WorldCat search on the ISBN; the shop link is the one our Samefood entry already uses. No pronoun is written for the author, because none of the pages we read gives one.

The regulars’ samefoods belong to the people whose names are on the trays, and are written down exactly as they were given: nothing capitalised, glossed, corrected, sorted or merged, and nothing counted across the trays. Ryan’s, Helen’s and Ronan’s arrived in the brief for the room on 2026-09-23, Helen’s and Ronan’s relayed by Ryan as they gave them, and each tray carries a bowl of that person’s samefood of the moment; the rest are being collected in the community’s Discord. Every list comes down when its person asks, and every food drawn on the plate in the window is off one of them, so tools/make-samefood.py stops until the drawing lets go of a list that has come down.

Nothing on the table in the drawing touches anything else, and the tool walks every coordinate of it to make sure. Each tray’s bowl is that person’s dish the way they eat it, and its contents may touch: separation is offered here, never imposed. The drawings are ours. Ronan’s ketchup is in a ramekin of its own because that is how Ronan has red things, and it is Ronan’s way rather than the house’s: the café defaults to structure, separation and predictability and accommodates every guest individually, so nobody’s way is imposed on anybody else. The tool holds Ronan’s food, and only Ronan’s, to Ronan’s ask. The type is Fredoka, by Milena Brandão and Hafontia, for the café’s name, its headings, the specials line and the names on the trays, and Inclusive Sans, by Olivia King, for everything you read. Both under the SIL Open Font License, read off their own records in google/fonts.

Looming Rocks Amphitheatre

An open-air stage at the foot of enormous rock faces, turning 03 in The Outskirts. The real venue is Red Rocks Amphitheatre, near Morrison, Colorado, owned and operated by the city of Denver, formed by two sandstone monoliths named Ship Rock and Creation Rock with the smaller Stage Rock between them, seating 9,525 — read off Wikipedia on 2026-09-22. Every recording here was made there. Looming Rocks is not Red Rocks: it is a room on a made-up street that is fond of the real place, Stimpunks has no connection to the venue and is not endorsed by it, and the sentient rocks, the solar array and the ultraviolet rig are this street’s own invention.

The lichen is real and the room says so without making a lesson of it. Fluorescence under ultraviolet light is a genuine property of many lichens and a genuine field technique for telling species apart. An earlier draft split the page into what is real and what is invented, and Ryan cut it — this is a street named after a genderqueer, shape-shifting road, and a disclaimer explaining that the sentient rocks are fiction is a page apologising for being the thing it is. What still needs saying is the part about somebody else’s property, which is a different job and lives in the credits.

The guard stayed even though the paragraph went. tools/make-looming.py refuses anything shaped like a species name anywhere in the file: the room must never say which lichen glows which colour, because nobody here has checked and a confident binomial beside a colour is the format most likely to be believed. That is the herbarium’s refusal arriving in a light rig — but not the herbarium’s check, which does not survive the move. A bare shape test works on a page of short labels and matches the start of nearly every sentence in prose; its first run here refused “Rocks that”, “Once something” and “Ferrell sings”. It is a shape in a place now: sentence starts are ignored, and it only reads sentences that are about lichen at all. Verified in both directions — a real binomial in a lichen sentence is caught, and a band name in a note is not.

Every id was checked on its own watch page before it went up — status, playableInEmbed and length — and the runtimes below are measured rather than typed. That matters more here than anywhere else on the street: these are full concerts, none of them under the hour and the longest over two, so a wrong number in front of a press breaks the street’s promise at the largest scale it can. Nothing is hosted by us and every act names the channel it is on — most of them the artist’s or the band’s own, which is the most durable shape of upload this site carries. The count and the range printed in the room are generated from this same file, because both were typed by hand at first and both were wrong within a day.

The stage is the Hermitage’s set on a rock face, and it keeps that set’s promises because they are the street’s rather than that room’s: while the stage is dark, tuning is silent and nothing is fetched; once something is playing, tuning changes the picture. looming.js is a separate file from hermitage.js on purpose — the two sets look alike and are not the same object, and a shared widget would be the harmonising instinct arriving through a script tag. What is shared is love-embed.js, still the only thing on this site that builds a YouTube iframe. The running order is a <details> and opens and closes with no script at all.

None of these artists, their labels or the channels hosting these recordings is affiliated with Stimpunks, and none of them endorses us.

Sithen

A fairy fort seen from the outside, turning 02 in The Outskirts. Two novel series are what pointed us at it and nothing in the room is drawn from either: Laurell K. Hamilton’s Merry Gentry books and Seanan McGuire’s October Daye books are named and linked in the room as the reason it exists, and not one court, character, politics or cosmology of either is used. Those are invented worlds belonging to living authors, and the difference between being pointed somewhere and helping yourself is the whole of what this site means by attribution. The refusal is enforced rather than remembered — tools/make-sithen.py will not build the page if a rule’s source names either series or either author.

The name was checked rather than assumed. Scottish Gaelic sìthean, a hillock inhabited by fairies, from sìth plus the diminutive — cited to Colin Mark’s Gaelic–English Dictionary (Routledge, 2003, p. 530) by way of Wiktionary, read 2026-09-22. That mattered because one of those two series uses this exact spelling for the fae court, and a room taking the name while claiming to owe the books nothing would have been advertising a debt it does not otherwise have. The word is older than both.

The documented half is kept apart from the folklore on purpose, because they are not the same kind of claim and a reader should not have to tell them apart by tone. Ringforts, the thirty-to-forty thousand of them identifiable in 1991, the whitethorn taboo and the 1999 campaign that saved a thorn bush from the M18 at Latoon in County Clare were read off Wikipedia’s article on fairy forts and its article on the Latoon fairy bush.

The rules are traditional and the readings beside them are ours. Every taboo says where it comes from; every line under what it is like was written for this room and is not claimed to be in the folklore. Nothing on that page tells anybody how to behave, and the tool refuses the vocabulary of advice, because a page about unwritten rules that ended in tips for following them would be a social skills curriculum with thorns on it.

The Mopery

The shelves. Nine novels, and the only room on this street whose books are not ones our own pages already argue from. Every one belongs to the person who wrote it; the notes and the shelf-talkers are ours.

• The Secret History — Donna Tartt, 1992. Open Library
• Bunny — Mona Awad, 2019. Open Library
• The Atlas Six — Olivie Blake, 2020. Open Library
• A Deadly Education — Naomi Novik, 2020. Open Library
• Nocticadia — Keri Lake, 2023. Open Library
• Gothikana — RuNyx, 2023. Open Library
• A Discovery of Witches — Deborah Harkness, 2011. Open Library
• The Historian — Elizabeth Kostova, 2005. Open Library
• Dionysus in Wisconsin — E. H. Lupton, 2023. Open Library

The parlour screen. One song, several times over. “Paint It, Black” was written by Mick Jagger and Keith Richards and released by the Rolling Stones on Aftermath in 1966; the arrangement nearly every version below is answering was written for Netflix’s Wednesday by Danny Elfman and Chris Bacon. Nothing is hosted here and nothing loads until you press it.

• The Rolling Stones — Official lyric video, 3:46, on ABKCOVEVO. Written by Mick Jagger and Keith Richards.
• Wednesday Addams — The cello scene, from the Netflix series, 4:43, on The Wizard. Written by Mick Jagger and Keith Richards.
• The Cello Doll — Solo cello, in costume, 2:59, on The Cello Doll. Written by Mick Jagger and Keith Richards.
• Brooklyn Duo — Cello cover, 2:09, on Brooklyn Duo. Written by Mick Jagger and Keith Richards.
• Julia Kim — Viola, arranged by the player, 2:22, on Julia Kim Viola 줄리아킴 비올라. Written by Mick Jagger and Keith Richards.
• Amadeus — Two violins, cello and piano, 4:38, on Amadeus - The Electric Piano Strings Quartet. Written by Mick Jagger and Keith Richards.
• Prime Orchestra — A Wednesday medley, not only this song, 7:32, on PRIME ORCHESTRA. Written by Mick Jagger and Keith Richards.
• Imperial Orchestra — A Wednesday number from a cinema-medley show, 6:43, on Imperial Orchestra. Written by Mick Jagger and Keith Richards.

The reading nook. The Raven is Edgar Allan Poe’s, first published in the Evening Mirror, New York, 29 January 1845, and out of copyright everywhere. Our text was transcribed from Project Gutenberg ebook #1065, transcribed 2026-09-21. The twenty-six engravings are Gustave Doré’s, made for the 1884 edition and published after his death in 1883, so they are out of copyright everywhere. Ours came from Project Gutenberg’s ebook #17192. Where each one sits is our decision and the room says so: that edition printed the poem straight through and the plates after it, and here each plate stands at the lines its own caption quotes. The captions are printed verbatim, which is how a reader can see that the 1884 text is not quite the one we set beside it.

The scanned book is The Raven, Philadelphia: Tyndale, Mitchell & Co., 1865, with illustrations engraved on wood by Scattergood — digitised by Lehigh University and published by the Internet Archive under the Public Domain Mark 1.0. The whole book is there; three leaves of it are shown in the room. A separate facsimile of the poem in Poe’s own hand is linked and not copied, at the Library of Congress: that printing was made in 1949 and carries a reproduction notice on its own first leaf, and this site does not relicense other people’s assets by copying them. One explicit licence and one notice saying no; the room shows the first and points at the second. The typefaces in the picker belong to their own designers, under the SIL Open Font License or Apache 2.0 face by face, and are listed above.

The Oracle Deck

Every picture in this deck is somebody else’s and nobody’s. All of them are public domain works in the Metropolitan Museum of Art’s Open Access collection, whose images of public domain works are released under CC0 — which asks for nothing. The names below are here because naming the hand is this site’s habit, not because anybody made us. The card names, the questions and the notes are ours and are CC BY-SA 4.0 with the rest of the site; the engravings are not ours to license.

• The Melancholy — Albrecht Dürer, Melencolia I, 1514. Harris Brisbane Dick Fund, 1943, 43.106.1. Object 336228
• The Full Moon — Claude Mellan, Full Moon, 1635. The Elisha Whittelsey Collection, The Elisha Whittelsey Fund, 1960, 60.634.36. Object 393543
• The Waxing Moon — Claude Mellan, The Moon in its First Quarter, 1635. The Elisha Whittelsey Collection, The Elisha Whittelsey Fund, 1960, 60.634.38. Object 393278
• The Waning Moon — Claude Mellan, The Moon in its Final Quarter, 1635. The Elisha Whittelsey Collection, The Elisha Whittelsey Fund, 1960, 60.634.37. Object 359769
• The Threshold — Giovanni Battista Piranesi, Title Page, from "Carceri d'invenzione" (Imaginary Prisons), ca. 1749–50. Harris Brisbane Dick Fund, 1937, 37.45.3(21). Object 362797
• The Tower — Giovanni Battista Piranesi, The Round Tower, from "Carceri d'invenzione" (Imaginary Prisons), ca. 1749–50. Harris Brisbane Dick Fund, 1937, 37.45.3(27). Object 337725
• The Lamp — Giovanni Battista Piranesi, The Pier with a Lamp, from "Carceri d'invenzione" (Imaginary Prisons), ca. 1749–50. Harris Brisbane Dick Fund, 1937, 37.45.3(29). Object 362463
• The Watcher — Charles Meryon, The Vampire, 1853. H.O. Havemeyer Collection, Bequest of Mrs. H.O. Havemeyer, 1929, 29.107.108. Object 360188
• The Sleep — Goya (Francisco de Goya y Lucientes), Plate 43 from "Los Caprichos": The sleep of reason produces monsters (El sueño de la razon produce monstruos), 1799. Gift of M. Knoedler & Co., 1918, 18.64(43). Object 338473
• The Bogey — Goya (Francisco de Goya y Lucientes), Plate 3 from "Los Caprichos": Here comes the bogey-man (Que viene el Coco), 1799. Gift of M. Knoedler & Co., 1918, 18.64(3). Object 360412
• The Armour — Odilon Redon, Armor, 1891. Harris Brisbane Dick Fund, 1948, 48.10.1. Object 339671
• The Veil — Odilon Redon, A Veil, a Printed Image, 1891. Rogers Fund, 1920, 20.30.1. Object 369636
• The Thicket — Rodolphe Bresdin, The Good Samaritan, 1861. Rogers Fund and the Elisha Whittelsey Collection, The Elisha Whittelsey Fund, 1979, 1979.573. Object 391670

The Doomscroll

Every poem on the scroll is out of copyright everywhere — not only in the United States — because every one of these writers has been dead more than seventy years, which is what tools/make-doomscroll.py checks before it will build the page. Each text was transcribed from Wikisource and each entry names the printing it came from, because these poems exist in several and they differ. The headlines and the lines under them are ours.

• Dulce et Decorum est — Wilfred Owen (d. 1918). First published Poems (1920), edited by Siegfried Sassoon and Edith Sitwell. Text from the first published edition, transcribed from Wikisource's scan-backed text.
• The Second Coming — W. B. Yeats (d. 1939). First published The Dial, November 1920. Text from Michael Robartes and the Dancer (Cuala Press), transcribed from Wikisource's scan-backed text.
• No worst, there is none — Gerard Manley Hopkins (d. 1889). First published Poems (1918), edited by Robert Bridges. Text from Bridges' first edition, transcribed from Wikisource's scan-backed text.
• Neutral Tones — Thomas Hardy (d. 1928). First published Wessex Poems and Other Verses (1898). Text from the 1898 first collection, transcribed from Wikisource's scan-backed text.
• Because I could not stop for Death — Emily Dickinson (d. 1886). First published Poems (1890), edited by Mabel Loomis Todd and T. W. Higginson, printed there as “The Chariot”. Text from the 1890 first printing, transcribed from Wikisource's scan-backed text.
• Dover Beach — Matthew Arnold (d. 1888). First published New Poems (1867). Text from The Poetical Works of Matthew Arnold, transcribed from Wikisource's scan-backed text.
• Annabel Lee — Edgar Allan Poe (d. 1849). First published the New-York Daily Tribune, 9 October 1849. Text from The Works of the Late Edgar Allan Poe, vol. 2 (1859), transcribed from Wikisource's scan-backed text.
• Ozymandias — Percy Bysshe Shelley (d. 1822). First published The Examiner, 11 January 1818, signed “Glirastes”. Text from The Examiner's own printing, transcribed from Wikisource's scan-backed text.
• Darkness — George Gordon, Lord Byron (d. 1824). First published The Prisoner of Chillon, and Other Poems (1816). Text from The Works of Lord Byron (1901), edited by E. H. Coleridge, transcribed from Wikisource.
• London — William Blake (d. 1827). First published Songs of Experience (1794). Text from the 1826 copy of Songs of Innocence and of Experience, transcribed from Wikisource's scan-backed text.
• The Sick Rose — William Blake (d. 1827). First published Songs of Experience (1794). Text from the 1826 copy of Songs of Innocence and of Experience, transcribed from Wikisource's scan-backed text.
• Death be not proud — John Donne (d. 1631). First published Poems (1633). Text from the Holy Sonnets, transcribed from Wikisource.
• Sonnet 73 — William Shakespeare (d. 1616). First published Shake-speares Sonnets (1609). Text from the 1609 quarto, transcribed from Wikisource's scan-backed text, spelling unmodernised.

The typefaces

One family for every room that insisted on one, because no two rooms on this street share a voice — nor does the subroom behind one of them, the campground past the treeline, or the yurt pitched on it. All are self-hosted — reading a page here makes no third-party request, the same rule queering.earth and starstuff.earth follow. Most are under the SIL Open Font License and four are under the Apache License 2.0 — Permanent Marker, Rock Salt, Special Elite and Ultra, each marked below. This page said all of them were OFL until The Foundry read every family’s own record instead of repeating what we had written down, which is what that room is for.

Bungee & Bungee Shade

David Jonathan Ross. The street signage, and the whole reason the front door looks like a front door.

Shrikhand

Jonny Pinhorn. The dancefloor.

Monoton

Vernon Adams. “Living out loud”, in neon — and, in gold leaf, the whole of The Chappell. It was the last display face on the street no room had claimed.

Ultra

Astigmatic, under the Apache License 2.0 rather than the OFL. The Den. A slab with no contrast in it at all, which is what a record sleeve was set in the year those sessions happened — and what keeps a green room off the green room it hangs behind.

Karla

Jonny Pinhorn. The sleeve notes on the back of that record.

Atkinson Hyperlegible

The Braille Institute of America. The Pebble Board, and Norah Hobbs’s choice rather than ours — a face drawn so that letters which usually collide stay apart at low vision. The one typeface on this street picked for legibility before looks, which is why it is also the one that could not be swapped when the other two had to be.

Gloria Hallelujah

Kimberly Geswein. The hand on the board — a felt pen writing a label, which is not the Faery Yurt’s brush and not the zine’s.

Josefin Sans

Santiago Orozco. The board’s filing labels and the brass plate on its frame. Geometric, which nothing else here is.

Yeseva One

Jovanny Lemonad. The Jungle Room. The one face here whose strokes thicken as they turn, which is as close as type gets to something grown rather than drawn.

Cabin

Pablo Impallari, Rodrigo Fuenzalida and Igino Marini. The caption under every leaf in the Jungle Room.

Rock Salt

Sideshow. Every margin scrawl on the street. Apache License 2.0, not OFL.

Archivo Black

Omnibus-Type. The ransom note, and the zine’s shouting.

Special Elite

Astigmatic. The typewriter half of the zine table. Apache License 2.0, not OFL.

Courier Prime

Alan Dague-Greene. The zine’s body copy.

VT323

Peter Hull. Hear Queer Here, in a terminal.

Instrument Serif

Rodrigo Fuenzalida and Jordan Egstad. The quotations in the quantum room, and the missal face in The Chappell.

Titan One

Rodrigo Fuenzalida. The Playhouse.

Alfa Slab One

José Miguel Solórzano. The routed sign at the gate of the campgrounds, and every marker post in the field.

Bitter

Sol Matas. The laminated notice on the campground board, and the body face out there. It ships as a variable font, so its bold was byte-identical to its regular — the field sets emphasis in Alfa Slab One rather than serve the same file twice under two names.

Cormorant Garamond

Christian Thalmann. The headlines and book spines in the Faery Yurt. Helen’s choice, named in the mockup she sent.

Crimson Pro

Jacques Le Bailly, after Sebastian Kosch. The yurt’s body copy. Also Helen’s.

Caveat

Pablo Impallari. The two handwritten lines in the yurt — the photograph’s caption and the hint under the window. Also Helen’s.

Press Start 2P

CodeMan38. The whole of the Arcade and nothing else on the street. A pixel face is the one thing no other room could have borrowed without turning into the arcade, which is what the eighteenth family is for.

Bree Serif

TypeTogether — Veronika Burian and José Scaglione. The planed beam in The Latibulum. A soft slab with round terminals, which is what keeps a warm brown burrow from reading like the warm brown tent in the campgrounds: that room sets high-contrast italic serifs, and a smial is carpentry rather than calligraphy.

Nunito

Vernon Adams, extended by Cyreal and Jacques Le Bailly. The burrow’s body copy, and the only rounded sans on the street. It ships as a variable font, so Google serves the same file for regular and for bold — it is downloaded once here and declared twice against the weight axis, which is the call the campground made the other way when Bitter did the same thing.

Overpass

Delve Withrington, Dave Bailey and Thomas Jockin, for Red Hat. The nameplate, the road legends and the dates on Danny the Street, and nothing else. It is drawn from the lettering on American highway signs — a face whose whole reason for existing is being painted onto or bolted above a road, read at speed, from a long way off, by somebody who is doing something else at the time. That room sets no text face of its own and uses the street’s ordinary sans for its prose, which makes it the exact inverse of the Garden: two text faces and no display face at all, because a garden has labels and no signage.

IM Fell English

Igino Marini, after the types John Fell gave the Oxford University Press in the 1670s. The Mopery, and the face The Raven opens in. The one face on this street that looks impressed rather than drawn — ink spread and battered counters left in on purpose — which is what keeps a candlelit serif room off the Faery Yurt, whose Cormorant is high-contrast and cut yesterday.

Spectral

Production Type — Jean-Baptiste Levée and Ilya Naumoff. The Mopery’s reading face. Low contrast and drawn for screens, which is the opposite of the yurt’s: the two warm serif rooms are kept apart at the stroke rather than at the palette.

Cinzel

Natanael Gama. The Oracle Deck. Inscriptional Roman capitals — letters cut into stone rather than pressed into paper — and nothing else here is cut. It ships as a variable font, so one file serves both weights.

Cardo

David Perry. The commentary on the back of every card in that deck. A classicist’s type, drawn for people setting Greek and Old English beside Latin, which is the right face for something that expects footnotes.

UnifrakturMaguntia

j. ‘mach’ wust and Peter Wiegel, after Peter Schöffer. The Doomscroll’s masthead and nothing else — never a headline, never a line of a poem. Eighteen lines of blackletter is an access failure wearing atmosphere, and the gothic cliché is spent here rather than in the library two doors up, which is what keeps the dark academia room off the obvious peg.

Vollkorn

Friedrich Althausen. Every poem on the scroll. Drawn for small text on cheap paper, which is what a broadside is. Variable, so one file carries both weights.

Permanent Marker

Font Diner. The pen somebody actually had on them, in Club Chronic. Apache License 2.0, not OFL — it had no entry of its own here until The Foundry went through the whole shelf.

Stardos Stencil

Vernon Adams. The Foundry’s nameplate and its headings, and nothing else. A stencil letter is a hole rather than a mark — a shape cut out of metal so it can be used again and come out the same — which is the idea of type arriving four centuries early and in the wrong material, and it is what gets painted on a workshop’s crates. Anton is the street’s other condensed display face and is Club Chronic’s: solid, on a black wall, pasted up under a marker.

Work Sans

Wei Huang. The Foundry’s prose, and a workhorse on purpose: a room whose content is other people’s typefaces cannot have a voice that argues with what is in the window. The Garden made the same call by setting no display face at all; this one keeps a display face and makes the text face get out of the way.

Space Grotesk

Florian Karsten. The body face wherever a room does not insist on its own.

The quotations

Karen Barad

“Indeed, causality is an altogether queer matter.” — Nature’s Queer Performativity, Kvinder, Køn & Forskning nr. 1–2 (2012), 25–53.

Helen Edgar

“We are not broken objects. We are relations, all of us still becoming.” — We Are Made of Relations, More Realms. Helen is a colleague, not a corpus: her writing is credited to her and never folded into our “we”.

Stimpunks Foundation

“Queer and neurodivergent liberation are entwined.” — Queer and Neurodivergent Liberation are Entwined. Ours, and the one line on the street that is.

Ex Hex

One line of Rainbow Shiner, written by Laura Harris, Betsy Wright and Mary Timony, from It’s Real (22 March 2019), quoted on issue #2 of the zine where the course it closes is distilled. Buy it from the band — the song is theirs and nothing musical is hosted here.

Embodied Education

“Supporting nervous system regulation means tending to and responding to the body’s needs first and foremost…” — Embodied Education: Creating Safe Space for Learning, Facilitating and Sharing, quoted on our own Bodymind Break and quoted again from there in The Latibulum. The shelf of things to do with a bodymind on that page is lifted from the same source, and is ours.

Lewis and Short

“A hiding-place, lurking-hole, covert, den, of animals.” — the entry for latibulum in A Latin Dictionary (Charlton T. Lewis and Charles Short, Clarendon Press, 1879), which is also where the burrow gets its second sense and Cicero’s latibulum et perfugium doloris mei. An 1879 dictionary is public domain; it is credited because a room built on one word should say which book it read.

Chairy’s lines

Twenty-eight sayings, each recorded in data/chairy.json with the page it came from. Five are paraphrased from our own Behold the Spectrum, which in turn quotes Carol Black’s A Thousand Rivers. The rest come from our philosophy, framing and creed pages. Two are not ours and Chairy says so aloud: “Nothing About Us Without Us” is a motto of the self-advocacy movement, credited on our own page to Michael Masutha and William Rowland of Disabled People South Africa, 1993; and “Design for Real Life” is a book by Eric A. Meyer and Sara Wachter-Boettcher. A talking chair that passed off a movement slogan as a house line would be the exact failure this site argues against.

The voices

Ryan Boren

The five passages on monotropism in Hear Queer Here, and the first yell in the Playhouse. Ours, recorded by us.

Enigma

The second yell in the Playhouse, lent to us on 2026-09-20 — the first on that button from somebody other than the person who built the room, and published under the name it came with. It carries no onward licence, unlike the rest of this site: CC BY-SA cannot be revoked, and a voice somebody lends us has to be one they can take back. One message takes it down, and taking it down means deleting the file and the record rather than hiding a flag. The room says whose yell it was out loud on the press as well as saying it here.

“Oh, so cozy.” — Ryan Boren

2 seconds behind “a small mountain of blankets” in Helen’s regulation nook — an easter egg she and Ryan wanted in her room. Ours, recorded by us, so it keeps the site’s licence; a voice lent to us by anybody else would not. It is credited here as well as hidden there, because a joke is not a reason to stop saying whose voice it is.

“Squish.” — Ryan Boren

2 seconds behind “a whole squad of squishmallows” in Helen’s regulation nook — an easter egg she and Ryan wanted in her room. Ours, recorded by us, so it keeps the site’s licence; a voice lent to us by anybody else would not. It is credited here as well as hidden there, because a joke is not a reason to stop saying whose voice it is.

“Twinkle, twinkle.” — Ryan Boren

3 seconds behind “fairy lights, obviously” in Helen’s regulation nook — an easter egg she and Ryan wanted in her room. Ours, recorded by us, so it keeps the site’s licence; a voice lent to us by anybody else would not. It is credited here as well as hidden there, because a joke is not a reason to stop saying whose voice it is.

“Mmmm.” — Ryan Boren

2 seconds behind “the smell of vanilla cupcakes” in Helen’s regulation nook — an easter egg she and Ryan wanted in her room. Ours, recorded by us, so it keeps the site’s licence; a voice lent to us by anybody else would not. It is credited here as well as hidden there, because a joke is not a reason to stop saying whose voice it is.

“Ahhhh.” — Ryan Boren

4 seconds behind “a standing supply of coffee” in Helen’s regulation nook — an easter egg she and Ryan wanted in her room. Ours, recorded by us, so it keeps the site’s licence; a voice lent to us by anybody else would not. It is credited here as well as hidden there, because a joke is not a reason to stop saying whose voice it is.

“Nom nom nom.” — Ryan Boren

2 seconds behind “cheese and pesto, always, for emergencies” in Helen’s regulation nook — an easter egg she and Ryan wanted in her room. Ours, recorded by us, so it keeps the site’s licence; a voice lent to us by anybody else would not. It is credited here as well as hidden there, because a joke is not a reason to stop saying whose voice it is.

Helen Edgar

Reading the five passages on developmental pace, when they are recorded. The words are ours and the voice is hers, which are two different facts — and her recording will carry no onward licence, because somebody who lends us their voice has to be able to take it back.

The borrowed names

The rooms named after things other people made. None of these people or estates are affiliated with Stimpunks, and none of them endorse us. The rooms are homage, not licence — we took the shape of the idea and wrote our own words in it.

Danny the Street

A character from DC Comics’ Doom Patrol, created by Grant Morrison and Richard Case, first published in August 1990. A sentient street who turns up wherever somebody needs shelter and rearranges what is on them to suit whoever has arrived. The whole architecture of this site is stolen from Danny, and we would like that on the record — which is why the credit is no longer only in a scrolling marquee that a screen reader never reaches. There is a page about it now: where the name came from, what Danny has been since, the television version, and why the Danny in our marquee uses they/them. Nothing of DC’s is reproduced there; every drawing on it is of a road.

Pee-Wee’s Playhouse

Created by Paul Reubens. Where the idea of a room in which every object is alive and clickable comes from.

Pink Pony Club, and Chappell Roan

A song by Chappell Roan, and now also a subroom of thirteen videos from the same catalogue. Both take the shape of the work and none of the words — not because a lyric is untouchable, but because this room never needed one to make its point. Where we do quote a song we follow how we quote: a line or two, never the chorus on its own, and the songwriter named separately from the performer.

The smial, and J.R.R. Tolkien

The Latibulum is drawn as a hobbit-hole — round door, brass knob in the middle of it, thick walls, lamplight, a hill on top — and that shape is Tolkien’s. Smial is his word for it too, which is why it is in this list rather than in a comment. The Tolkien Estate is not affiliated with Stimpunks and does not endorse us. What the room takes is the silhouette and the argument that a hole in the ground is a good place to live; no name, character, place or line of his is used, and the room is named in Latin for that reason.

Latibulum — Walkabout Saga

The word came to Ryan from A New (Very Old) Word and What It Means for Today, which is where anybody who wants the essay rather than the dictionary should go. The room checks the sense against Lewis and Short rather than restating the post, so that the two can be read against each other.

Enid Sinclair

A character in Netflix’s Wednesday. Colorful goth, and the patron saint of not matching the house.

Riot grrrl

A movement rather than an author. The zine table takes its form — xerox, ransom note, staples, free — and none of its text.

Quantum queering

Barad’s argument, carried into physics education by Alexis Buzzell and Ramón Barthelemy, and read from Autistic experience by Helen Edgar.

Esmx the Porkypine — Kaya Oldaker

Not borrowed, and in this list anyway. Esmx is the Stimpunks Foundation’s mascot, commissioned from Kaya Oldaker and ours to use; the artist is credited here, in the Arcade and on the drawing itself, because holding the rights to a commission is not a reason to stop naming the hand that drew it. “Esmx” is CC BY-SA 4.0 with an invitation attached — feel free to customise! Make variants of Esmx to represent your community — and the Esmx in the cabinet is us taking our own invitation rather than pasting in the original. Kaya also asks that anybody sharing Esmx include alt text. Esmx’s own page has the originals, every official variant and the blank template.

Sonic, and Pokémon

Named on Esmx’s own page as the inspiration behind the design, due to their popularity within the Autistic community. No character, sprite, sound or mechanic of either is used here; what the Arcade takes from them is the fact that the mascot already came from that shelf, which is the reason there is an arcade at all.

Penguin pebbling — Amythest Schaber

Not borrowed and not ours either. Penguin pebbling is one of the Five Neurodivergent Love Locutions, coined by Amythest Schaber (Neurowonderful) and documented by Stimpunks in 2022. The line most people meet it through is @brainsandspoons’: “I thought about you today. I remembered this thing about you. Here’s something I want to share with you specifically.” Helen Edgar wrote it up at Autistic Realms in 2023 — a pebble, a twig, a flower, a photograph from a walk, and explicitly not spending money. The cabinet is built on the locution and on nothing else.

Penguin Pebbling, the card game — Helen Edgar & Ryan Boren

There is already a Penguin Pebbling game and the cabinet here is not it. Penguin Pebbling: A Game of Creating Belonging, Building Connection and Understanding Autistic Identity is thirty cards across all five locutions, by Helen Edgar (Autistic Realms) and Ryan Boren (Stimpunks), 2026, with Helen’s artwork. Go and play that one — it is the better thing and you can print it. The cabinet takes nothing from it: no cards, no prompts, no artwork, no five-locution structure. The reason is a licence rather than modesty. The deck is CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 and this site is CC BY-SA 4.0; an adaptation would carry the non-commercial clause onto a page that cannot hold it, and share-alike means that is not a thing we could quietly absorb. Relicensing is not ours alone to do either — half the authorship and all the artwork are Helen’s.

What the penguins are actually doing

Adélie and gentoo penguins build nests out of stones, carry them about, and steal them from each other. The tidy romance is the popular retelling — one penguin choosing the perfect pebble and presenting it to its beloved — rather than the finding, and the cabinet says so on its own face. The locution is named after the image and is not weakened by that: a metaphor does not have to be a finding.

Otterly Adorbs, and the otters — Helen Edgar

Not borrowed either, and here for the same reason. The Stimpunks Solidarity Session leaves an otter cam running every Saturday while the conversation drifts in and out, and Helen Edgar wrote down what that was doing for her in Stimpunks Solidarity and Otters (Autistic Realms, 2026) — the otters as parallel play, a cave and a watering hole in one animal. Otterly Adorbs is built on her reading, and it is hers: credited to her by name and not folded into our “we”. Helen is at Autistic Realms.

What the otters are actually doing

The mechanics come from The Stone You Keep (Star Stuff No. 58), which took Helen’s reading to the primary literature and sources every finding. The three the cabinet states on its own face: Tinker, Bentall & Estes, PNAS 105(2) 560–565 (2008), on individual dietary specialisation — there is no standard otter; Hall & Schaller, Journal of Mammalogy 45(2) 287–298 (1964), Point Lobos, thirty instances over six days, a mussel taking a mean 35.5 blows with a range of 6 to 88; and Law et al., Science (2024), 196 tagged otters, tool use varying enormously between individuals and the users showing less tooth damage. One thing the zine corrects and this cabinet follows: the lifelong favourite rock kept in a pouch under the arm is a popular retelling, not a finding. The primary supports a stone kept and reused across successive food items within a bout of feeding, and that is all the game does with it.

Quill Drift’s one rule

That a porcupine cannot shoot, throw or fire a quill is the correction on card No. 3 of the Quillery, which sources it to Uldis Roze, Porcupines: The Animal Answer Guide (Johns Hopkins University Press, 2012). It is the cabinet’s whole mechanic and not a note at the bottom of it.

Swaying Sweetgrass

Pitch 02 in the campgrounds, and the room on this street with the most borrowed material in it, which is why its credits are four tables rather than one. Nothing about sweetgrass on that page is ours. The teachings belong to the nations and organisations that published them, the book belongs to Robin Wall Kimmerer and Milkweed Editions, and the twenty-one-strand teaching belongs to an Elder we cannot name because the video does not name him. None of them is affiliated with Stimpunks and none of them endorses us.

Every id was resolved against YouTube on 2026-09-21 rather than typed off the links that arrived — status, embeddability, length, title and channel, off one fetch of each watch page. That check is the only reason the two lists below are two lists: the chapter readings arrived looking exactly like the talks, and the channel is what told them apart.

At the fire — Kimmerer in her own voice

Authorised recordings: her publisher, her university hosts, her conference keynotes, her interviews. Every one is a screen, nothing is hosted here, and every label says how long it runs before you press it.

The chapter readings — a door, and why

These are an unauthorised recording of a book that is in copyright — Braiding Sweetgrass, Milkweed Editions, 2013, its author living and publishing and narrating the real audiobook herself. Every one of them plays and every one of them would embed, so nothing in the machinery would have stopped them going in as screens. What stopped them is that the room’s whole argument is the honorable harvest, and a page making that argument cannot serve somebody else’s entire book off its own surface. So they are published as links out, labelled as what they are, with a borrow link to the real thing beside them. Ryan’s call, 2026-09-21, once the provenance had been put to him: keep both, her voice as the fire and these as a door. make-sweetgrass.py refuses one marked as a screen, so the decision survives being tidied.

The field guide, and the braid

Ryan’s selection, and every one of them is somebody’s teaching on their own channel. The room links them, names the publisher and says in one line of ours what each is about; it does not retell any of them, and there is nothing on that page instructing anybody how to harvest, braid or burn sweetgrass. The twenty-one-strand teaching is transcribed from the first row below, at 0:53, and it was matched to that video rather than guessed at — the transcript was opened and read against the words. The video does not name the Elder speaking: not in the description, not on the channel, not at the end. So the room names the organisation and says plainly that the speaker is unnamed there, rather than inventing one. The words are the video’s own captions, punctuated and not otherwise changed, with the timestamp kept so anybody can check.

The passages, and what was checked about each

Four from Braiding Sweetgrass, all four supplied by Ryan. Three are verbatim on our own published pages and were checked against the Knowledge System mirror rather than retyped. One is not on any page of ours and could not be confirmed against the book from here — archive.org’s search-inside was unreachable and Google Books rate-limited every attempt — so it is published on Ryan’s word and this table says so rather than letting it sit among the checked ones looking identical. Star Stuff’s zine No. 72 has a standing caveat on a fourth: a Stimpunks post had attributed “as if your children’s future mattered” to Barry Lopez, the zine corrected it to Kimmerer, and noted it had not itself confirmed the line against the book rather than against quotation sites. That caveat is still open. The same zine is why the room carries a correction to our own glossary about reciprocal ethical unity, a phrase Lopez never wrote.

The ten-second video of backlit bunchgrass is Ryan’s own, already published by us on the Nature glossary entry. It is served from VideoPress, the third origin this site will build a frame for. That allowlist now lives in exactly one place — love-embed.js’s own array, which make-csp.py reads to write the Content-Security-Policy and make-sweetgrass.py reads to refuse a bad URL before it can render as a blank box. The plant in it is deliberately not named to species: nobody here determined it.

The Pebble Board

The board is community show-and-tell, and almost nothing on it is ours. Pebbling is Amythest Schaber’s locution, documented by Stimpunks in 2022 and written up by Helen Edgar at Autistic Realms in 2023. Every pin credits whoever made the thing and, where we know it, whoever brought it.

Summer 2026: “Things We Collected” — Norah Hobbs

Collected at a gathering on 2026-06-25 and assembled by Norah, Stimpunks’ Program Director, in the block editor on stimpunks.org; rebuilt as a standalone page with Claude in June 2026 and carried onto this street on 2026-09-21. The edition’s paper is hers — the cream, the tape, the tabbed drawers, the scatter, the wording of every card, and the decision to set the memorial on its own dark spread at the end.

Two of her three typefaces were substituted, and this is the note about it

Norah set the board in Caveat, Special Elite and Atkinson Hyperlegible. Atkinson Hyperlegible stays: it is the Braille Institute’s low-vision face, so replacing the body text would have been an access regression rather than a style choice. The other two had to go, because both were already spoken for — Caveat is the Faery Yurt’s glimmer hint and Special Elite is the Zine Table’s typewriter, and a punk-paper noticeboard set in the zine’s own typewriter is exactly the collapse this street exists to refuse. Gloria Hallelujah and Josefin Sans in their place, Ryan’s call on 2026-09-21. Written here rather than left in a diff, for the same reason the one colour of Helen’s that this repo changed is written up in four places.

The artwork — Treebeard, PalePixel, NewPartingtonPower

A watercolour spread, a lighting study, a trace study, four symmetry doodles and a station ident, all made by members of the community and published here with their permission recorded in data/pebble-board.json. Sharing a drawing at a gathering is not the same as agreeing to have it published on a public site, so the tool refuses a piece whose maker has not agreed. If any of them wants their name spelled differently, linked, or the piece taken down, that is one line in the data and a rebuild.

The photographs

Governed by the same terms as everything in photos/ and carrying no onward licence. They do not hang on Enid’s wall — a consent record is not a booking for somebody else’s room — but the record and the withdrawal work identically: say so once, and they are deleted rather than hidden. The board is also why the young-person policy was rewritten on 2026-09-21: a flat no-children rule would have taken a teenage volunteer’s own activity off the page and left the adults beside her on it. See the changelog.

Four things came off, and one had already gone

Two widely-reproduced memes were dropped for having no attributable source. A screenshot of the City of Austin’s Facebook post, a screenshot of an Instagram story, and a foundation’s product render came off because they are other people’s images of other people’s things — the cards themselves stayed, with the stories in our own words. And OK Go’s “And the Adjacent Possible” had gone private between the gathering and publication; the entry is kept in the data with what was measured, the way the Jungle Room keeps its dead cams.

The Adventurer’s Guild

The trope is somebody else’s — the guild hall with the inn over it and the board of posted jobs by the door, ranked by difficulty class, which turns up in more games and shows than anybody could list and is catalogued on TV Tropes. What is ours is what it was pointed at.

The Adventurer’s Guild. The job board, the markers standing in every room, and the codes that join them are built from data/quests.json by tools/make-guild.py. The guild sets Rye, a woodtype face for posted bills, and Public Sans, the typeface of the United States Web Design System — a civic form face, because the joke of that room is that it is the one tidy room on a street that refuses tidiness. Both are under the SIL Open Font License.

Every question on the board is answered by a sentence already published on the page its marker stands on, and each was read off that page rather than remembered. Where a question asks for a name it is a name one of our own pages already credits.

The candle stub on the Faery Yurt’s windowsill is ours, not Helen Edgar’s. That room is her design and this repository does not redecorate it; the only other design change we have made to it is the one colour noted above. On 2026-09-23 Helen gave a standing yes to maintenance that changes nothing you can see, and the first of it is the width and height on her two photographs, so the page no longer jumps while they load; anything that changes how her room looks is still hers to decide. The marker was added with Ryan’s say-so so that her pitch is not the one room on the street with no job in it, it is drawn in her own declared colours, and it is written down here for the same reason the colour is — a change to a contributor’s room should be visible somewhere other than a diff. Helen has the final say on whether it stays.

The Feed

The object is somebody else’s: a split-flap indicator board is a Solari di Udine machine, the kind that stood in railway stations and airports for decades and the reason a particular clacking noise still means something has changed. The one in that room is drawn from nothing in CSS, is not one of theirs, and makes no sound. Solari are not affiliated with Stimpunks and do not endorse us.

What is on the board

One wire per site, read off each site’s own RSS feed by tools/pull-arrivals.py into data/arrivals.json, and drawn by tools/make-arrivals.py. Which feed belongs to which site was read off each sibling repository’s own feed.xml — the self link its generator writes — rather than guessed from the domain. Two of those sites publish more than one feed, so which one a wire carries is a decision recorded in the data file, named on the board and linked.

Whose words they are

The room holds none of them. A row is a title, a date and a link, and there are no summaries, excerpts or opening paragraphs anywhere on that page — make-arrivals.py refuses a row carrying one. Every title belongs to whoever wrote the page it points at. Several of those sites were built with Helen Edgar of Autistic Realms, who is named rather than folded into our “we”; Penguin Pebbling is hers and Ryan Boren’s together.

The running order

Not ours to choose. It is the order our sites appear in on stimpunks.org’s own feeds page, which is the one place they are already collected by somebody deciding. Re-sorting them here — alphabetically, or by which wire had something newest — would be this room overruling a decision made somewhere else, which is the rule the Jungle Room keeps about its cams.

Why it says the minute it was set

None of those hosts sends a browser the header that would let our page read its feed, so the board cannot be live, and the ways round that are a proxy we do not run and a third-party reader we would be handing visitors to without asking. So it is a snapshot and it says so: every plate carries the minute its own wire was read, the hall carries the minute the whole board was set, and both numbers are generated from the same file the rows come out of. This is make-jungle.py’s refused runtime upside down — a live camera has no length to give, and a board has a time it was set.

Nothing is ranked

No busiest, no quietest, no rows-per-week, nothing saying which of our sites has been getting on with it. make-arrivals.py refuses the vocabulary in the room’s own copy. A board that showed that would turn publishing into a race between our own people, most of whom are Disabled and several of whom are one person.

The typefaces

Michroma sets the room’s name and the nameboard over each machine and nothing else — a very wide squared face is what machined signage looks like and what a paragraph must never be. Space Mono sets every row, date and plate, because a flap board is a grid of cells with one character in each. Both are under the SIL Open Font License. The prose is the street’s ordinary sans, so only the machine has an accent.

This street is on its own board

stimpunks.world’s changelog feed is fetched over the network like every other wire rather than lifted out of the file next door, which means the board can be out of date about this site too. A board that listed every sibling and left itself off would be claiming to be the station rather than a platform in it.

The Garden

The knowledge garden is stimpunks.org’s own idea and its own page, and the argument this room is built on — that ideas spread sideways, that nothing needs to be read in order, and that a garden with no fallow ground is a catalogue — is that page’s. What is ours here is the drawing of it.

The Garden. One bed per site we publish, built from data/garden.json by tools/make-garden.py. Which sites are in it is not decided in either of those files: the roster and the running order are read out of data/arrivals.json, whose order is the one our sites appear in on stimpunks.org’s own feeds page — the same list The Feed runs on, and the same reason: re-sorting it here would be this room overruling a decision made somewhere else.

What each site is was read off that site’s own pages, and where one of them describes itself in a phrase worth keeping, the phrase is attributed to it rather than absorbed — Star Stuff calls itself the public flowering of this garden, which is its sentence and not ours. The notes here are written for this room: The Feed says what has arrived from a site and this says what grows there, because two rooms holding one paragraph is one room with two doors.

Every bed says whose hands are in it, on the face of the bed. Half of these sites were made with Helen Edgar of Autistic Realms; Star Stuff is a collaboration with More Realms; the Cavendish model is David Thornburg’s three primordial spaces by way of Steve Silberman’s NeuroTribes; monotropism is Dinah Murray, Wenn Lawson and Mike Lesser’s; the pebbling locution is Amythest Schaber’s. A credit filed only here and not in the room is a credit nobody reads, so the generator refuses a bed with nobody on it.

The garden next door is Helen Edgar’s and is not a bed. Autistic Realms and More Realms are hers, so the only way to plant them would have been to write them into the roster above — which would put them on The Feed as our own wires and claim her work as ours in the one file this room is not allowed to invent anything in. They are through the ivy instead, and the grammar inverts to say so before the words do: a bed shows its soil and most of them show what is under it, and a plot stops where the ivy runs, because we do not get to draw the ground of somebody else’s garden. Nothing over there casts a shadow either — the sun has not moved, the floor is past the ivy. What each of them is was read off its own pages, and the phrases in quotation marks are theirs.

It was a woven fence for an afternoon, and Helen asked for ivy and stars instead. Her call, on a drawing of her own gardens, and she was right about more than the picture: a fence says kept out and ivy says this is as far as we can see. What that line marks is the edge of what we know and never the edge of where anybody may go, which is the opposite reading and the correct one on a page about somebody else’s work. The stars are glimmers caught in the ivy rather than a sky — this room is still midday, nothing is lit by them and nothing was added to the page — and threads, glimmers, and soft, weird spaces is More Realms’ own line about itself, which is where the word comes from. They are limewash white carried by an outline, because white on this path measures 1.07 and what has to separate is the edge: the ghost pipe’s answer in Queering.Earth’s bed, in a star.

The drawings are ours, and each one is a different habit of growth — a rhizome, an umbel, a plant with no chlorophyll in it, a frame with seedlings under glass, a runner, a dry seed head, a scramble, a tendril. That is the campground’s grammar inverted on purpose: out in the field each pitch gets one lit colour of its own, and there are not many kinds of light. Every habit is also written out in a sentence beside its bed, because the drawings are decoration a screen reader never reaches and the habit is the argument. The Garden Spider is ours too, and it is an orb weaver rather than anybody’s mascot.

The spider’s own words are stimpunks.org’s. That a spider is a guide to the garden and never a replacement for it, and that its best answer is an entrance, are lines from our Ask page, quoted from ourselves rather than paraphrased into something softer. The typefaces are Faustina and Mulish, both under the SIL Open Font License, and this is the one room on the street that sets no display face at all.

The Zibaldone

The object is nobody’s invention of ours. A zibaldone is a notebook people have been keeping since the fourteenth century, the English word for it is a commonplace book, and our own glossary has had an entry for one since 2022. The room was asked for by somebody in our community — a quote bank, quotes for any state of mind. What is ours is the desk, the drawings and the rules. The good lines belong to the people who wrote them, which is the entire point of the room and the reason its generator refuses so much.

The Zibaldone. Built from data/zibaldone.json by tools/make-zibaldone.py, which refuses more than any other generator here: a quotation over its word limit, a song, a line naming a title but no printing, one with no record of how it was checked, a public domain claim that does not clear for the translator as well as the author, a margin note carrying a second quotation, and the vocabulary of ranking. Nothing in that room is ranked, counted or voted on.

Every quotation names its printing, and the room prints how it was checked. The public domain lines were read out of the transcriptions named on each card rather than recalled — which is how the Dickinson turned out to be in the second series and not the first, and how the Thoreau kept the sentence he actually wrote instead of the one everybody quotes. The contemporary lines were read off our own published pages. Karen Barad, Helen Edgar, Montaigne, Whitman, Dickinson, Thoreau and Marcus Aurelius by way of Meric Casaubon’s 1634 English — because a translation is a copyrightable work of its own and has to be out of copyright too.

The room quotes lightly and refuses songs. The word limit is a number in the generator and the page prints it; a quote bank is the shape of thing that becomes a book one entry at a time. No song lyrics at all, refused by the tool rather than by care, because nothing musical is hosted on this street and this is where that promise would have been broken in the way that looked most harmless.

The typefaces are EB Garamond, Newsreader and Lora for the quotations and Kalam for the hand, all under the SIL Open Font License, and the tool refuses a quotation set in the hand. The drawings are ours, one pressed thing per leaf, and each is described in a sentence beside it because a drawing is decoration a screen reader never reaches. The attribution slip copies to your clipboard and sends nothing anywhere — its fields are Creative Commons’ TASL with the three a quotation also needs.

The Rabbit Hole

Seven more facades and six engravings, down the shaft at the end of the street, and a fifth data file because they came from a fifth place: our own glossary entry, Rabbit Hole. Every video below is one of that page’s own embeds, in that page’s order, which interleaves them with the quotations they sit under — so the running order is an argument somebody made and not a list to re-sort. Titles, channels and runtimes were read off YouTube’s own watch pages on 22 September 2026, along with whether each one plays and whether its owner allows it to be embedded; none of them was written from memory. Three are published by a rights holder and four are re-uploads on individuals’ channels, which the room says on every plate, because that changes how long a link lasts. Not one second of it is hosted by us.

The words to White Rabbit are not on that page and will not be. Our glossary entry prints them; this one does not. Song lyric reproduction is a minefield in the United States in a way prose is not — music publishing enforces on quotation where prose publishing shrugs, the licensing is separate from the recording, and one line is a far larger fraction of a song than of a novel — which is the same reasoning that makes the Zibaldone refuse a song outright. So the recordings are offered, Grace Slick’s own published account of writing it is quoted, and tools/make-rabbit-hole.py refuses a lyric field and any value shaped like verse rather than leaving that to anybody’s care. The two headings on that page that are her phrases are credited to her where they stand.

The engravings are John Tenniel’s, cut for the first edition of Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland in 1865. Tenniel was born in 1820 and died in 1914, so they are out of copyright everywhere; each scan below is one that Wikimedia Commons carries an explicit public domain statement for, which is exactly what the Mopery’s Library of Congress facsimile did not have and the reason that one is linked rather than shown. Every file was re-encoded to greyscale here and written out with no metadata carried over. Nothing was cropped, tinted or filtered. Which engraving sits beside which paragraph is our reading — the 1865 edition captioned none of them — and the room states that rather than letting a reader assume they are looking at the book’s own arrangement. The hole itself is Lewis Carroll’s.

One performer is not named and we did not guess. The trailer edit describes itself as an edited remix of the Jefferson Airplane recording and credits no remixer in its title, its description or on its channel, so the plate says what the upload says and says that the hand is unnamed there. The drawing at the top of the room — the shaft, seen from inside it — is ours and is abstract on purpose, because the engravings further down are the real thing.

None of these people is affiliated with Stimpunks and none of them endorses us. They are credited as the authors of work that room points at, which is the whole job of a facade — and, for the engravings, as the hand that cut them, which a public domain mark does not require anybody to do.

The Healing Checkpoint

Room 429 is built out of one page of ours: the glossary entry for Rest, read out of the Knowledge System mirror on 22 September 2026 rather than fetched live, because on stimpunks.org a 301 is a failure and not a pass. Three lines are quoted from it, each under the thirty-word limit tools/make-checkpoint.py enforces and the room prints, and each one names the page it came from and the day it was checked. Two things on that page are named here and deliberately not copied onto this street — a poem, and three illustrations of Disabled people resting — because a page built out of somebody else’s page should say what it did not take rather than leave it to be noticed.

Nothing in that room says what rest is for, and that is a refusal in a tool rather than a habit. Star Stuff’s zine No. 58 spends a spread refusing “rest so you can produce”; otterly.js already holds that line for one cabinet, where floating fills nothing. This is the room where the whole street says it, so the generator sweeps its own data and the published page for the vocabulary of rent — earn, deserve, recharge, productive, bounce back, so you can — with a negation window, so the room can still say out loud that it will not. The friendly edit here arrives from somebody being kind, because every wellness page on the internet is written the other way round, and one sentence of encouragement would turn rest from a thing owed into an investment.

Nothing in it is counted and nothing is stored. No total, no streak, no visits, no local storage, no server — which is the pebbling cabinet’s refusal of a tally arriving where a counter is the most obvious improvement anybody could propose, and one floor above a job board that does keep a list in your own browser. A checkpoint that remembered you would be keeping a record of how often you needed one. The Retry-After slips send nothing anywhere: each one is a <details> that works with scripts off, and checkpoint.js only adds a copy button that ships hidden — the Zibaldone’s slip and the guild marker’s arrangement, in a room that cannot afford a dead control.

The status code is the joke and it is load-bearing. 429 Too Many Requests was added to HTTP by Mark Nottingham and Roy Fielding in RFC 6585, April 2012, and it says the rate is wrong rather than that the sender is. The room quotes it because a rate is a property of a situation and not of a person. The bed, the alcove and the light in the floor are ours; the trope is TV Tropes’ name for a thing games have always had, and belongs to nobody. The typefaces are Quicksand and Rubik, both under the SIL Open Font License, and they are the only two rounded faces in the room because it is the only room on the street with no hard edge in it.

None of these people is affiliated with Stimpunks and none of them endorses us. The first three are quoted; the last two are named precisely because their work is not in that room.

The rooms somebody else designed

Your Room has always said that a storefront on this street belongs to whoever decorates it. This is where that is kept.

The Faery Yurt — Helen Edgar

Pitch 01 in the campgrounds is Helen’s, and hers is the design as well as the words: the palette, the three typefaces, the drawings, the bookshelf, the glimmer window and every line of copy came from a mockup she built and sent on 2026-09-20. What this site added was its own plumbing — the dial, self-hosted faces, the consent record behind the photograph — and one colour, because her smallest grey measured 4.30 against the tent ground and 3.43 under the ember glow, and contrast is one of the two things that stay careful here. Helen is at Autistic Realms. She is a colleague, not a corpus; the room is credited to her and is not folded into our “we”. The small drawing of her yurt on the campground’s board is ours and not hers — it is the field’s sign for the pitch, drawn in the field’s own inks from outside in the dark, and it changes nothing on her page. Noted here rather than left to be inferred, because “we drew a picture of somebody else’s room” is the kind of thing that should be visible rather than implied in a diff.

The street itself

Built by Stimpunks Foundation. Text and design are CC BY-SA 4.0 — take the room apart and build a better one. The typefaces keep their own licence — the SIL Open Font License, or Apache 2.0 for four of them — the songs keep their own copyright, and the community photographs on Enid’s wall keep theirs — those belong to the people in them and carry no onward licence, because a licence you cannot revoke is not compatible with a promise that a photo comes down when somebody asks. None of the three is ours to relicense. See the terms.