Broken Links

in a dark parking lot
under a fluorescent lamp
he is diety
an expert of the web
speaking many obscure languages
so he tells me
and why should i doubt
such a curved smile
and blue jeans that seem
delectable?
i want to know the texture
of his denim
down to the bone
of his ankle
but he tells me
"as i traverse your site
i find broken links"
so i ask forgiveness
for the bad code i cannot change
just yet
but he'd rather look
at his watch tonight

Written 1/16/2002

I wrote that poem awhile ago, in the middle of much angst and loss.
I was reminded of this entry as I was putting together a site tonight. Sometimes, the outside can look so good, but the internal structure can be devastatingly horrible.

Posted by ruth at January 28, 2003 01:14 AM

Comments

so very true.
Posted by: kane on January 28, 2003 7:26 PM

Church of the Abs

Pretty soon, I'll be heading off to the gym. Andrew, one of the personal trainers, saw me and thought I was my twin sister, Naomi. He later expressed relief to Naomi that it was a mix-up.

"At least you're still lean" is what he told my sister.

I know I'm not mean and lean like my workoutoholic sister, but I'd say I'm at least pleasantly curvy. I strive to exercise at least four times a week and eat responsibly.

But these gym rats live in a different kind of church. They are judgemental in a different way. Their minds have been molded by the doctrine of lean. I pity the woman who has to live up to Andrew's ridiculous expectations. Ultimately, it's just so ... boring.

Posted by ruth at January 27, 2003 07:51 PM

Comments

I find that a woman with curves and softness is not only more attractive than many of the hardbodies that frequent these gyms, but they are generally more realistic and down to earth. Just my opinion.
Posted by: kane on January 28, 2003 7:24 PM

kane! why thank you!
a refreshing way to put it. "softness" - i like that.
Posted by: ruth on January 30, 2003 4:48 PM

Supposedly

Suddenly, you grow up, and the world gets jumbled up.

Everyone expects you to be a certain way, and for some reason another, you can't be "that" way.

I watch my parents' world tumble before their eyes. And as much as I want them to be happy, I cannot change what they see on the screen.

I hide so much from them. The great calamities they see are still just the edited version.

On the brink of 30, you'd think I'd have more freedom to think and do what I see is best.

Posted by ruth at January 19, 2003 05:02 PM

In the Face of Truth

I saw his face on TV this morning. He explained to reporters that he didn't care what people thought of him as long as the publicity helps to put Laci's face on TV so more people will be able to recognize her.

I didn't know much about the case and anything about the investigation. But this morning, my gut curled up as I watched a closeup of him speaking among throngs of reporters.

His face screams what his words deny.

Posted by ruth at January 17, 2003 10:25 AM

The Orange Teddy Bear

I had a dream that I was taking care of my infant nephew, Zack. Zack got really hungry.

I became flustered because the only food I had was pineapple slush, and I was worried that it would be too cold for Zack. But he suddenly turned into a cellophane Teddy bear that you could see through. The Teddy bear had black eyes, a black nose and a black mouth. So I filled the Teddy bear with pineapple slush, and from a clear-skinned bear, he turned orange-yellow. I slightly pinched his legs, and it was a cold Teddy.

Zack appeared to be OK. It's funny how in dreams that all of this seems normal.

Posted by ruth at January 14, 2003 02:45 PM

The Handshake

I saw an estranged friend at the mall today. The encounter was unexpected, since I hadn't seen him in over a year. It happened almost instantly as we walked past each other.

"Hi Ruth," he said, staring into my eyes.

"Hi," I said with a smile.

The brush was so quick. In a second, I was looking back as I watched him become smaller, folding into the crowd at the heart of Ala Moana.

Perhaps all the animosity has subsided. It seemed so easy to say "hi." Too easy. Maybe the pleasant moment was the extra push I needed before truly letting go, like the release of a gentle handshake.

Posted by ruth at January 02, 2003 07:29 PM