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shouldn’t say it, double o, boo secrecy private

Posted By ruth On 05.13.2013 @ 7:16 pm

What are stories? Stories are everything we are, have been, or ever hope to be. It’s what we tell our children, our friends, ourselves. They’re all our hopes, fears, ideas. Everything.

Posted By ruth On 05.06.2013 @ 4:10 pm

I love to make cakes. Sometimes it’s really got me through. I’ve been having a day when I don’t think I can continue and I mix those ingredients to create something beautiful and I realise life does have some things good to give.

Posted By Ruth On 04.07.2013 @ 11:05 am

the little lamb cried that day and every day afterwards for she has lost her mother. Her mother had been slaughtered by a man who ate lambs live and torn apart their limbs one by one. The little lamb was lonely and longed for life and listened to all

Posted By Ruth On 03.04.2013 @ 7:29 pm

I find bleeding to be quite a repulsive word. I don’t really have any affection for blood, it makes me feel squeamish. I’ve seen a few unexpected open wounds and they make me light headed so bleeding as an action is weird for me. Also reminds me of Leona Lewis.

Posted By Ruth On 02.27.2013 @ 7:20 am

I guess that weathered means worn. Like worn stones, and old faces. But they hold so many memories, years of time is shown in that word, weathered. It makes you wonder what that person or object has experienced. Traces of experiences.

Posted By Ruth On 02.21.2013 @ 8:09 am

Flailing in water, drowning, flailing in life, struggling, I’m not struggling, I’m not doing anything, maybe I’m flailing in my options, in my future, I don’t know what to do next, but it doesn’t matter to me, I have so many things i can do, what if I don’t want to do anything? its like I need to peel of a layer off skin, get to the new stuff, I’m stale, I want someone to notice me but not while I’m stale.

Posted By Ruth On 02.18.2013 @ 12:59 pm

wall. they aren’t very exciting. This one is white. Any bumpy and probably could use some help. Walls may keep the cold in and the heat out. I should hang more pictures. I guess I need a hammer and nails for that.

Posted By Ruth On 02.03.2013 @ 1:12 pm

higher than a plane higher than a akite higher than the clouds in the sky higher than high higher than him high enough to thouch the moon past the stars past the sun past the unierse in to the great unknown

Posted By Ruth On 12.04.2012 @ 9:28 pm

you left and took a part of me with you, i never even know what it was or why and i don’t even want you back, i just want you to never have come into my life in the first place because i need closure but i know i’m never going to get it so thanks for nothing

Posted By ruth On 10.13.2012 @ 12:13 pm

Chemistry. Boring. Sleeping. Struggling. Failing. Tutoring. Close calls. Mrs. Brown being mad.

Posted By Ruth On 10.08.2012 @ 2:22 pm

I flailed as if one hundred hounds were chattering at my feet. Too much, I had taken too much and gotten too little out of the bargain. How could I continue this charade when I knew the time had come for me to stop. Stop and figure out the ending to my own story.

Posted By Ruth On 09.29.2012 @ 3:09 am

The doctor called again last night. It was sometime early in the 3 am range of time, blearily I answered the phone remembering to breath before the doctor could tell me whats wrong, what my future will hold. He told me I was a carrier.

Posted By Ruth On 09.27.2012 @ 2:58 pm

despite the fact that it was over, despit all of the screaming, and all of the little irritations and the sad, sad days when nothing happened but they woke up pissed off and they went to bed pissed off and nothing changed because nothing would ever change no matter what happened, they sitll managed to love each other.

Posted By Ruth On 09.19.2012 @ 10:02 am

Life is a miracle. Humans are actually amazing. Living, breathing, loving machines. I am a miracle. So are you. So is everyone. Apart from Hitler. He was a bit of a dick.

Posted By Ruth On 09.04.2012 @ 9:07 am

black dark dioxide necessary vital for life atmostphere very black black as night part of molecules

Posted By Ruth On 08.27.2012 @ 4:52 am

comfortable couch i love you you give me love when no one else would you hug me when i’m sleepy and let me sit on you with no complaints

Posted By ruth On 08.21.2012 @ 1:49 am

joy division ian curtis there are so many substances drugs things have no substance anymore why is that? where did all the substance go? things are empty words are empty thoughts are empty we are all empty there’s no meaning in our society it’s dead all dead no substance

Posted By ruth On 08.09.2012 @ 12:10 am

What methods are these, that require such actions? Are they required, or are we merely stuck in old tropes, false “truths”? Do we have choices, real choices?

Posted By Ruth On 07.31.2012 @ 2:47 pm

Losses, thousands of losses. Some huge – the loss of her mother as a toddler. Smaller losses, as when the dog stole her cookie off the coffee table shortly afterwards – keenly felt and keen she did. The pain of the loss just overwhelming.

Posted By Ruth On 07.30.2012 @ 4:08 pm

fuses. the force that through the green fuse drives the flower drives my being. i don’t remember the exact words of the poem, or who wrote it–whitman? but that we could see the new science, the new interest in knowing how things work and not merely that a god–God–created them and that they were unknowable to us. We could know, we could learn, soon we would have no need of God and other creation myths.

Posted By ruth On 07.23.2012 @ 7:52 pm

they are what light up your life. they are round and used to be made of glass, the last time I checked. Things may have changed, but I don’t think they’ve changed too much with respect to electrical devices.

Posted By ruth On 07.23.2012 @ 5:55 pm

She fuses ideas together like a crafter with a hot glue gun. If they are in proximity to one another, she will glom them together. No logic needed. And then blather. And blather.

Posted By Ruth On 07.23.2012 @ 11:41 am

The icing on the cake was seeing the male goldfinch fight out a claim against the much larger house finch. Two dinosaurs quarreling outside my kitchen window. Less than half an ounce each.

Posted By Ruth On 07.22.2012 @ 2:30 pm

Instructions for sorrow. Lie to yourself, lie to others. Lie to yourself as to whether you lie to others. Mull over the fact that people give you a hard time. Never admit fault. Grasp what you can while you can. Sorrow is yours.

Posted By Ruth On 07.21.2012 @ 1:27 pm

She suspects. You can tell by the way she moves, warily, stealthily. Looking with eyes rolled upwards. She suspects they know. It was she. She did it. She ate the box of chocolates. All of them.

Posted By Ruth On 07.20.2012 @ 11:53 am

He wanted to be in the role of adviser to her, to take her on as a project, to take her raw materials and refine them, to take her half-considered ideas and flesh them out, and, of course, he wanted a sexual relationship with her as he did these things. She already turned him on. But he could make her into a woman he’d be proud to have everyone know he was fucking.

Posted By ruth On 07.11.2012 @ 3:07 pm

The room had a pleasing configuration with comfortable furnishings that invited one to linger for a while. Sit here, have a drink, read this. Relax, unwind. The only thing required of you is that you do only what pleases you. In this space, you’re the Master Designer and you configure all that pleases your senses.

Posted By Ruth On 06.27.2012 @ 8:51 pm

To me the loveliest symbol of the change in the preoccupations of artists, in their freedom, from the depiction of religion and the court to that of our everyday life, is the appearance in art of women in aprons, bundling switching in their husbands’ fields, and resting there to have their midday meal, latter day madonnas, and closer to us, and a truer reflection of our lives than any biblical depiction of St. Sebastian.

Posted By ruth On 06.12.2012 @ 7:19 am

It does sound old-fashioned to say, but thinking of him, my heart made a racket. Was it my age, nearing fifty, or was it the unaccustomed rush of love that assaulted me whenever I thought of him? I could hardly sleep for the pounding, and when my sorry heart was not pounding, it was beating erratically and loudly while I lay very still inside my secret.

Posted By ruth On 06.10.2012 @ 8:28 pm