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Wednesday, October 20 2004

Disappearing Act

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Sometimes people drop off the face of this earth. Sometimes they don’t really drop off but they just disappear. Maybe they’ve been picked up by UFO’s, maybe they’ve been kidnapped by some lunatic religious zealot, and maybe they’ll wind up on the back of a milk carton, where then you discover their real age and weight, and maybe, just maybe they come back into your life at some other point. But after they’ve been part of your life already, you don’t understand why they aren’t a part of your life anymore. That’s why I make up excuses about them leaving.

I recently found out that a boy I haven’t spoken to in over three years looked me up. Don’t ask me how, cause I don’t want to tell you, but I know he was here, at this site, looking at what’s gone on in my life. I had always wished he wouldn’t leave the way he did, always wanted him to get over himself, but realized that, with his strong personality and stubborn brain, this would never happen.

Then there are other people, who after weeks or months of talking all the time, or taking the time to get to know you, just simply disappear. I like to think that it’s an alien abduction thing, it makes me feel better, like it couldn’t possibly be because of me that they’ve gone missing. Maybe all of their communication skills were lost in the car accident that happened the night after the last time we spoke. Maybe they forgot everything about their life after they were poisoned by an apple by a secret witch who was envious of their talents.

I don’t know. I just feel like this week my communication signals with significant people have been screwy. I haven’t spoken much, or at all, with the people I normally speak to everyday. I don’t care if you’ve been in Spain or in New York or in and out of touch, or visiting life on another planet, all I ask is at some time you come back. At least to say hello. Let me know you haven’t joined the freak show in Coney Island or that you are married with two babies. Let me know. Cause I once cared, and once I care, it’s hard to stop.

So, get over yourself. Get over me. Get over whatever went right or wrong/did or didn’t happen. Get over my babbling and get the fuck in fucking touch.

Fuck. Get over the disappearing acts. They are so last year.

Tell Me You Love Me

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