Black magic, black cats, black eyes, soot, black bears and Panthers, the garb of witches and widows and nuns, that little black book with names, phone numbers, and addresses written in black ink, a bottle of Johnny Walker and, when not consumed in moderation, a man too drunk to walk or speak or stand, the stingy Nebraska defense, a biker’s leather jacket, the color worn to mourn the departed.
Holes in space from which not a single atom can escape, the scandalous Sox of 1912, days of the week — Tuesday at the stock exchange before the Great Depression, Friday after Thanksgiving at the outlet malls, trendy apparel — sleek skirts, mock turtle necks, cocktail dresses, pumps and boots and stilettos, free of debt on a bookkeeper’s page, stallions, mascara, asphalt, newsprint, caviar, the formal attire required for weddings and fundraisers and galas, one side of a two sided argument, the market for contraband, two diamonds denoting an advanced ski slope, the bough that wet petals sit upon, the sedans of federal agents.
The color of bubonic death in medieval Europe, the pitch black of lightlessness, karate belts, impenetrable sunglasess, the hexadecimal value of six consecutive zeros, the black and blue of bruises. When in the sky, the indestructible box of an airplane’s memory, a tart berry and a sophisticated mobile communication device, the blocked-out text of censored letters, blackbirds, Blackbeard, blacksmiths, but not Lewis Black; coal, crows, coffee without milk or sugar, boxes of Camel Crushes…the ominous, dismal, morose…silent ninjas, the robe of Death, and now, black tacos.
Black tacos. The color black’s relationship to culture is by no means monogamous, inconsistent through time and metaphor. And that’s exactly what Taco Bell has created with their Black Jack Taco, a culinary statement on a polarizing color — on one hand trendy and immaculate, on the other dark and foreboding — figurative conflict wrapped in a tortilla, a gateway into a finite but zesty heaven.
(Thank you, William Gass)