Monday, October 3, 2011

Celica Girl

Once I was completely obsessed with this girl called Celica Girl.
Pretty much stalked her without ever really breaking the law.

Didnt have the heart to go straight up to her and put my heart on the line.
Actually, didnt know you were allowed to do that. So...did the next best thing and followed her. Eventually enough casual bump ins did the trick, co-ordinated my Fri night with hers, casually, no date required here and then prepared to make our moves on the dancefloor. I think Deni Heines provided the soundtrack to our love.

They've over worked the dried ice on the dance floor so we wait until it's cleared
and I can make out Celica Girl's long legs amongst the other riff raff. There she is.
She has flow from where Im at it seems. I move slowly, pretending I haven't seen her yet, sipping my Midouri Illusion like it's an aged wine.

She'll see me first. Like Michael Hutchence I move through the cloud and into her space. Im here Celica Girl. Im here. I look up from my shaker. Legs and arms akimbo. She's looking right at me. I hadnt seen her smile before. She looked better melancholy, thought I. That's alright but what the hell is this octopus doing in front of her waving about like it's been poisoned??

My god. It's her. God dammit, the bloke on the smoke machine has gone fucking nuts. I cant see a thing. Just these limbs of hers.

Flapping like a chicken.

And that was it. Celica Girl was flapping like a chicken on the dance floor. She was actually doing the chicken dance and she wasnt meaning too. I remember now. It wasnt Deni it was Tori Amos, and the girl I had painted into a corner as being my saviour and whom could do no wrong was doing wrong. Very wrong. Smiling like a nomad and giving it all to me but flapping like a chicken.

Im not proud of what I did next but it's instinctive. I waited for the knob to hit his smoke machine button one more time - gas the place out and in the haze with a whirl of arms and legs darting in and out I vanished. Into the Piano Bar.

Propped my Illusion up on the Grand and joined the back of the group for another fucking rendition of the song about filling up at the gas pump or whatever the fuck it is.

All the while.....Chic...I mean Celica Girl's arms and legs cavorting at the brink of my memory.

No comments:

Post a Comment