"A one hour window into what plays around our office after hours. Line array speakers hold court, they’re only a little loud. Someone’s vacuuming the carpets in another room adding white noise to the song. A security guard coming back up from a cigarette break can hear it all from inside the elevator. Magnified eyes see through a headset loaded with grids of light and lenses and loupes. Skulls on swivels make no sudden movements helicoptering over paperwork, pens, blades, vices, metals and gems. Artificial light pours from small canisters like those dragons that spring from cylinders, like the never-ending ribbons pulled from a magicians ear. Media fires back and forth and back again across the net. Sorkin-like walk and talks travel down the hallways further and further from the sound. This is Homer Radio. An office soundtrack. Can’t you hear our ‘voice’? It’s not a dead line.” — Frank Ocean