PRINCE DRIFTER:

Production rehearsal in the deep south, people & cold & the
random rhythm of constant buffeting & a wind so bitter it
nested in the bone & left me shivering hours after I’d come
indoors. The lights were the fist sign that everything was
returning to normal. The conversation of light on skin,
on retina, building sculptures in the air, talking directly
to the unconscious. I’ve missed it. More than the sound &
the groove, more even than the kick-drum. It’s the conversation
of light that I miss most when you’re not around.

(K)