i have a car that will take you away, but you have to drive.
Bodhisattva
He wants one. And so. She arrives in her gold
Buick Century beckoning him to satori. Gone
will be the pretence of buses, city streets, culture
that offers respite from nirvana. Her cure: cut
the bullshit. A tree is a tree, urban or suburban,
leaves green (going golden) need the burden
of a man ready for relief. Imagine the woman
at the post office knows your name and gives
you letters lost for years. Imagine the only sound
you hear, cicadas and wind; yes there is traffic off
of the highway, cadences new because distance
offers perspective. The Bodhisattva asks, don't you
want to live, break loose of loss and longing? She
comes, real, unforgiving. There is only one promise
land. Kneel to beauty. Bold need. Can you be bold?
And one more thing. I come disguised. So don't expect
ease. Don't expect to fake it because you're afraid.
Hells welcome the man who doesn't heed his call.
She can fall for the unenlightened mortal but that fall,
fleeting. Her recovery reminds all men of opportunity
lost. Hello. I have a car that will take
you away, but you have to drive.
~Cassandra Labairon
***
I think "I have a car that will take you away, but you have to drive" would be the great title of a story, but I am not sure what that story would be. I will add it to my list.
I am feeling an urge to discuss titles again. Consider this a placeholder until I do.
***
Is it wrong that every time I answer a comment on Beggars Would Ride, I am seized with the desire to reread it? I usually just end up rereading the epilogue, which a few people felt was rushed or unnecessary or opaque, or a variety of other things, some of which I don't actually disagree with, but it makes me happy.
In the end, that's what I have to go on - I write stories that make me happy, or at least I try to. Which is why I am always baffled when people talk about not writing a story because they think no one will read it. My make-or-break reason for writing a story is whether *I* want to read it (or whether it just won't leave me alone). Admittedly, I've written stories that, had they been written by someone else, I probably wouldn't have read them, but those are usually the ones that yammer so loud in my head that I can't *not* write them.
I mean, don't get me wrong, I love that people read and like my stories. Obviously. I wouldn't keep posting them if I didn't crave love feedback, and I appreciate every bit of it I get. And sometimes, yeah, I wonder why something didn't get as much of a response as I might have hoped for, but mostly I am happy with my stories, even when I see the flaws.
Hmm... this was mostly me procrastinating. I have a thing to do that is just going to be long and frustrating, involving our very un-user-friendly stationery ordering system, and then I have to focus on my harlequin story. Which I will do! I do not understand why I am finding it so hard to write a story I am so excited about! It's making me crazy.
***
He wants one. And so. She arrives in her gold
Buick Century beckoning him to satori. Gone
will be the pretence of buses, city streets, culture
that offers respite from nirvana. Her cure: cut
the bullshit. A tree is a tree, urban or suburban,
leaves green (going golden) need the burden
of a man ready for relief. Imagine the woman
at the post office knows your name and gives
you letters lost for years. Imagine the only sound
you hear, cicadas and wind; yes there is traffic off
of the highway, cadences new because distance
offers perspective. The Bodhisattva asks, don't you
want to live, break loose of loss and longing? She
comes, real, unforgiving. There is only one promise
land. Kneel to beauty. Bold need. Can you be bold?
And one more thing. I come disguised. So don't expect
ease. Don't expect to fake it because you're afraid.
Hells welcome the man who doesn't heed his call.
She can fall for the unenlightened mortal but that fall,
fleeting. Her recovery reminds all men of opportunity
lost. Hello. I have a car that will take
you away, but you have to drive.
~Cassandra Labairon
***
I think "I have a car that will take you away, but you have to drive" would be the great title of a story, but I am not sure what that story would be. I will add it to my list.
I am feeling an urge to discuss titles again. Consider this a placeholder until I do.
***
Is it wrong that every time I answer a comment on Beggars Would Ride, I am seized with the desire to reread it? I usually just end up rereading the epilogue, which a few people felt was rushed or unnecessary or opaque, or a variety of other things, some of which I don't actually disagree with, but it makes me happy.
In the end, that's what I have to go on - I write stories that make me happy, or at least I try to. Which is why I am always baffled when people talk about not writing a story because they think no one will read it. My make-or-break reason for writing a story is whether *I* want to read it (or whether it just won't leave me alone). Admittedly, I've written stories that, had they been written by someone else, I probably wouldn't have read them, but those are usually the ones that yammer so loud in my head that I can't *not* write them.
I mean, don't get me wrong, I love that people read and like my stories. Obviously. I wouldn't keep posting them if I didn't crave love feedback, and I appreciate every bit of it I get. And sometimes, yeah, I wonder why something didn't get as much of a response as I might have hoped for, but mostly I am happy with my stories, even when I see the flaws.
Hmm... this was mostly me procrastinating. I have a thing to do that is just going to be long and frustrating, involving our very un-user-friendly stationery ordering system, and then I have to focus on my harlequin story. Which I will do! I do not understand why I am finding it so hard to write a story I am so excited about! It's making me crazy.
***