THE PRISM

One white light goes into the glass and a band of colours comes out. Since 1704 that picture has been reached for by an album cover, a flag, a frog with a banjo, a logo, a road in a video game — each one borrowing the same shape to say something of its own. The station does not decide what the shape means. It records that it was reached for, by whom, when, with a receipt, and strings the beads in order.

The picture, never the message. A thread names a shape, never a person.