Street Street


Forget the whale, forget the throat, in the park once upon a time, O my Best Beloved, there was a Rhino who had eaten a whale and all the fishes, inclduing the starfish and the garfish, and the crab and the
dab, and the plaice and the dace, and the skate and his mate, and the mackereel and the pickereel, and the really truly twirly-whirly eel that had more recently passed as innovative architecture and micro-urbanism of the lawn-hugging type.

All the podiums and microphones, all the cell phones and mouth washes the Rhino could find in the deep grass of the park he swallowed with his deep program.

Till at last there was only one small Kipling left in all the park and he was a small astute being who always managed to see whilst lying on the grass with eyes pointing to the sprinkler.

Then the Rhino stood up on its own podium and
said, ‘I’m hungry.’

And the small astute Kipling said: “oh Noble and Generous Starfucker of Architectural Utopias and ukka Dreams have you ever tasted Man?’

‘No,’ said the Rhino who could still remember eating the whale. ‘What is it like?’

‘Nice,’ said the astute,’Nice but stubbly.’

‘Then fetch me some,’ said the Rhino and he made the grass twitch with hyperrealism.

‘One at a time is enough,’ said Astute and began the exercices to round up all the podiums and illuminati known as stars who were frozen architecture still abandoned in the unheated public garden.

With nothing on but a pair of blue canvas breeches, a pair of suspenders and a jack-knife, one
anxious sprinkler, it is only fair to tell you, is the sprinkler of infinite-resource-and-sagacity.

So the Park waited whilst the Rhino fought with the whale inside, and the stars made it over the long grass to the paddling pool where from another park and another set of instruments he found a shipwrecked Portuguese Mariner, Eduoardo Willem de Cunha trailing his toes in the water.

Then Kipling said, “this is my park and hold on, this is not my story and the whale cannot be inside the rhino even if the architecture of the brain allows all sorts of things to happen in a Texan park.”

Then all the charcters in the park – the sprinklers, the micriphones, the rotary blades, the scissorheads, th chargers and pagers – all sat down into this warm grass of infinite-resource-and-sagacity.

Given Kipling was now well and truly in the park, they all found thimselve truly inside the Rhino’s
warm, dark program, interfacing with quite the strangest set of zeros they had ever come across.

Inside the program these three zeros stumped and jumped and thumped and bumped, pranced and danced, and banged and clanged, hit and bit, leaped and creeped,
prowled and howled, hopped and dropped, cried and
sighed, crawled and bawled, stepped and lepped,
danced the Portuguese hornpipes where they shouldn’t, and the Rhino felt most unhappy indeed that architecture of such intrigue was still being made without him.

You probably wonder what this has to do with Kipling in the Park, well this comes from the Lahore days of Kipling’s father and the little Astute
hiding under the Whale’s tummy, as it was all being drawn whilst the park opposite looked so ooshy-skooshy
with their own special guest in the park, Shakespeare.

Everything frankly in the park was becoming doubly velvet and blue. The Rhino was now very bubbly, and besides made everyone hiccough in the long grass.

What shall we do?’

‘Tell Kipling to come out,’ said Astute who was obviously moonlighting for the faux-Kipling. No sooner said than done when the Rhino called down his own throat and extracted by a series of excruciatingly time consuming renders, the man they had all ignored: the Shipwrecked Architect.

So the Whale-eating-Rhino cleared his own throat, checked the program for the Park and the grass, checked all the filters and podiums, screens and cell phones, and said: ‘Come out and behave yourself. This park has got the hiccoughs.’

‘Nay, nay!’ said the Shipwrecked Architect. ‘Not so, but far otherwise! Take me to my natal-earth and the white grass of the Dallas Foundry and I shall begin to to dance more than ever.

‘You had better take him home,’ said Astute who wss still not talking to his father and all the other fishes out of water on the parched grass, the vindication we know it of the lawn..

Pingle is not a name we recognise or a program in the Suite bit it is hiding among the roots of the big seaweed that grows in front of the Doors of the Equator.

But that’s wrong, I have drawn the Doors of Perception. They are shut. They are always kept shut, because a door ought always to be kept shut.

The ropy-thing right across resembles a Chinese crime scene tape. It is the Equator itself. And the things that look like rocks are the two giants Mer and Ahaz who keep the Equator in order.

They drew the shadow-pictures on the doors of the Equator, and they carved all those twisty fishes under the Doors and let everyone in when they realised it was a Park.

There are some furnitures in the park with queer heads These are still called Hammer-headed Sharks. Becoming friends would take longer.

So the Rhino swam and swam and swam, the program lit up the grass and the park became resplendent with narrative panache and a useful absurdity, with both flippers and tail and everyone began running as hard as they could before the hiccoughs turned into sneezing and no one could ever stop the architect from sneezing at least 9 times, though his record was ten.

And at last the Rhino was no longer confused about the archiecture that was out of his control, and he rushed
half-way up the beach, and opened his mouth wide and wide and wide, and said, ‘Change here for Dallas Central, Texarcana and Zetaville.

And just as he said Zetaville the whole park emerged out of his mouth, out of the machine which he lived in, and whilst the Shipwrecked Architect had been swimming, out of his mouth the park tumbled with its podiums, its cell phones, its tablets, its sprinklers and Super 8 cameras.

And whilst all this had been happening and as there was an intense competition for who amongst them was a person of infinite-resource-and-sagacity, somenone had taken his jack-knife and cut up the raft into a little square grating all running criss-cross, and he dragged that grating good and tight into the Rhino’s throat, and there it stuck! Then he recited the following _ rats, which, as you have not heard it, I will
now proceed to relate–

By means of a grating
I have stopped your ating.

No one knows they this is there.
For the Shipwrecked Mariner was also a Celt and the park, the shingle, the shale and the grass all made for a game of Shingle otherise knowns in French as boules..

And the Rhino stepped out on the new park and then went home to his mother, who had given him leave to trail
his toes in the water; the Park actually married and lived happily ever afterward as did Kipling, the Rhino and the whae which swam back out of the architecture into its own stomach.
The story has changed, Astute went off to see his father after hiding himself in the mud under the
Door-sills of the Equator. He was afraid that the Whale might be angry with him.

Somebody took the jack knife home, and the rest of the story and the park has turned out rather well.

Why, then you will know (if you haven’t guessed)
You’re ‘Fifty North and Forty West!’
And Kipling is offering a gentle reminder
That in the park you need only search to find her.

Project Details

CLIENT : Storefront for Art and Architecture

DATE : 01/06/2015

TAGS : Projects