black light

just finished john hawkes' novel "the beetle leg" and feel like maybe i need to start again at the first page. each paragraph creates its own world from scratch, with surreal, poetic descriptions that don't lend themselves easily to visualization. the big picture begins to materialize eventually, as it must, i suppose. maybe only because i wanted it to. maybe this book was the inspiration for ted berrigan's mock-western "clear the range," one of my favorite and most-revisited books. not a lot of people have had the patience to finish it, i've heard, which is pretty ridiculous seeing as how it's only 136 pages long.

buying a taco the other night at 2am, inbetween sets with casey (and nick this time also, whose loud but pretty electronics were a good filter for our sounds), a puerto rican on a barstool next to me asks if i "like those tee-tees." before i realize what he's asking i turn in the direction of his gaze to face a pair of breasts, bouncing in the black light. the place is full of men in glowing white tee shirts, all watching the same breasts as they roam around the room. when i ask the guy next to me if this happens often, he looks at me a little suspiciously (although he should know that since i was patted down upon entering that i am not an undercover officer of the law) and says "thursday, friday, saturday," and kind of trails off in such a way that suggests maybe he means every night. then he puts a finger to his lips and smiles. now that i think about it, he was smiling the whole time. the taco was only two dollars and really hit the spot.