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the coastergirl diaries volume ten i suppose i should backtrack a bit and sing you a song about another first. coastergirl was an exhibitionist. perhpas that's not clear at this point, but let the record reflect such. we had coffee at denny's amd i had run into an old friend of mine from high school. a brilliant artist. he told us he was doing an exhibit in denton in a week but was thinking of pulling out (the gallery thought that his work did not reflect his gay-ness enough.) he told me he was an artist who happened to be gay, not a gay-artist. he said he told them to call mapplethorpe if they wanted a gay-artist. mapplethorpe is dead i told him. coastergirl and i talked about colors after he left and how each person has a color. it seeps from them. and from this color we can deduce much about who a person is. that is the most important thing when dealing with others, to take into account who they are. not what they do. not what they rap on about. but who they are. if one can succeed at doing this, all ability for anger towards another person will melt away and you will be left with nothing but pure love. for them. real genuine love. then coastergirl and i coasted on back to work and parked in the back. ten minutes and she was naked sprawling across the seats. head and breasts out my driver side window. she was howling at the moon. i was playing piano. between crescendos she said to the sky more than me. her: you know, they all talk about us doing this, but none of them would believe it if we told them. especially that we do it in the work parking lot. i had always had this strange fantasy of having someone jerk me off from the back seat while i was driving. (this is the way of our physical love. playful, yet passionate. that's the best kind. it doesn't take itself too seriously.) anyway, coastergirl was game for anything so we did. and then we went inside splotches of ooey-gooey on my steering wheel and shirt. later we were sitting outside drinking romans. (that was our name for any drink made with store supplies that included whatever liquor we had at hand. i should add that all liquor imported from the car to work was transported/smuggled in this little yellow pikachu backpack coastergirl had from her candy-kid days. the liquor was put in the back and carried face forward and petted like an animal. the entire bag was one big pikachu. (i don't know how well this charade worked, but we got a kick out of it.) we had taken to drinking at work every so often and that night was every so often. then we were sitting outside. me, coastergirl, orignal accuser girl, the guy who looked like john edward the psychic, and monkey boy (so named for the ape hair he had on his head that he was so proud of). coastergirl (to me): my arm hurts. then we had a moment, coastergirl and i. one of those moments without words, in calm acknowledgement of what simply is. and what simply was was that we had them all figured out. or rather she did. i was trying to figure her out. ( i used to tell her i could unravel the secrets of the universe and write them in mathmatical formulas, but i couldn't figure her out. and i never did.) coastergirl and i had a lot of moments like these. without words. in fact we'de begun using the eye game to communicate. for periods of ten or fifteen minutes we'd chat about whatever in emotions and feelings conveyed. it's amazing what can be conveyed with just raw emotion. this generally (our moments) annoyed the people around us. as d. once said: d: they do that shit all the time. you get used to it. my friend y. used to get annoyed as all hell by it. he felt left out. and i suppose he was. we had an empire of two that would settle for nothing less than complete and total liberation and enlightenment.
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