life is to short 〉〉 OPEN

[aurelia]

Life is to short so love the one you got

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BECAUSE YOU MIGHT GET RUN OVER OR YOU MIGHT GET SHOT[/CENTER]

She usually went to South Street for inspiration. It reminded her of her neighborhood at home - not the look but the feel. It felt familiar, friendly and energetic. There were always people around and in the summer it was lively and there were always new and interesting things. She had gotten a lot of decor for her apartment on South Street and a lot of posters for her walls. The most she felt at home was on South Street.

But she wasn't necessarily there for the food, the fun, or the shopping. Right then and there she was on a mission to get herself some of the best weed money could buy. Fuck food, clothes and technology, because her heart was dead set on scoring so she could immediately get high. It was easy and typical - there was a head shop down one of the small allies and if she were ten years younger she would be terrified, but dipping down into the basement of a building she found herself handshaking the dude behind the counter, who despite every attempt to fuck Aurelia just wasn't getting anywhere.

After a few minute of small talk she made her purchase, throwing a quick smile his way she thanked him and walked back up into the street, only stopping a moment to pull her sunglasses out of the bag which crossed over her chest and landed somewhere around where her pants met her shirt at her midriff, before continuing walking back the way she came. South Street hadn't slowed. There were people were still walking quickly through the crowds of people shopping in a rush to meet people. The cars still drove up and down the busy streets looking for parking, blasting music, or just enjoying the tourist attraction. Everything was exactly the same as she had left it.

Pushing her way into the crowd, the found herself walking towards the bar, but looking across the street at the relatively empty two story starbucks and really craving coffee. She had a few extra dollars on her because she had gotten a discount on her weed. And she thought it wasn't a bad idea. So, crossing the street she walked in the door, the small jingles of the bells echoing through the shop. Ordering her coffee she received it at a rather quick pace and soon found herself walking up the stairs and finding a nice spot to people watch before returning to her pace to smoke a few bowls.

-- LYRICS what I got -- sublime
-- WORDS 420 words
-- STATUS open :]

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[angel]

Not many people were early morning risers, and that was a fact. Well, not true. Not many people were early morning people. They were always half asleep when they tumbled out of bed, showered, and dressed themselves. It took coffee to wake them up, and even then it didn't really work. Ángel, on the other hand, could safely say he was a morning person. And on this particular morning he had crawled out of bed around three, only to shower and throw on a plain t-shirt that was already splattered with paint. He had left his hair alone, not really caring what happened to it. He reminded himself mentally--which didn't hold more than a grain of salt--that he needed a haircut. Upon picking up his paintbrush, however, he forgot about the haircut all together... He probably wouldn't ever remember until he was reminded by someone else. He would have made a mental note to get himself a day planner or an assistant, but that also went out the window when he touched the paintbrush. So much for short term memory, right?

The canvas he was working on was fresh, untouched by him previously. He had no idea what he was going to paint, but somehow he went to work anyway, working quickly yet somehow meticulously and slowly at the same time. Slowly the canvas came to life before his eyes--though that may have been a day dream or the side-effect of a set of drugs that he may or may not have been on. It took him a few hours to finish it, taking him right up to 7 in the morning. He sat down and seemed to stare at the clock for what seemed like several hours, but it was only about ten minutes. Eventually he grew restless and stood up, stretching. He could have run through a few yoga exercises, but he chose not to. Instead he started to rearrange the paints and canvases in his studio, making sure that they were still in alphabetical order. Then he organized anything else he saw fit, making sure it was pretty well aligned with the edge of the shelves they sat on. For someone that could find things in chaos, organizing his paint was something completely strange, yet he had to do it. It was almost necessary--he wouldn't call it OCD, but more of a.... necessity. Truthfully, he wasn't sure what to call it.

After that he found it in himself to participate in a few yoga exercises that he had learned a while ago from, surprisingly, one of his students. And then he meditated, almost like every other morning when he didn't have an early class to get to. He would have showered and changed after that, but it kind of slipped his mind. Instead he grabbed his messenger bag--which contained his sketchbook, a camera, and some sketching supplies--and his keys, and headed out the door. He didn't know where he was going, but he knew he was headed somewhere. The ends justified the means, right?

He walked in silence, walking to an invisible drum beat inside of his head, humming along to a completely different guitar line. Eventually he found himself in a small--well it wasn't so small--Starbucks that he'd been to once or twice. He opened the door and looked around. Coffee was good... coffee was very good... Just the taste of it, not so much the caffeine. He ordered his drink and looked around, not spotting many places to sit. So he headed up the steps, finding a table not far away from someone he thought he recognized from somewhere. He sat for a moment, watching her. He edged his chair in her direction quietly, careful not to make too much noise. "Are you enjoying yourself, miss..." He had to think for a moment. "True, yes... My apologies." Names were never something he was good at. "Enjoying your day off?"

Words: 662
Notes: No pretty-ness >: sowwy.

[aurelia]

Life is to short so love the one you got

[/SIZE]
BECAUSE YOU MIGHT GET RUN OVER OR YOU MIGHT GET SHOT[/CENTER]

She felt eyes on her first and then she heard the faint noise of a chair moving and finally a male voice spoke. It was recognizable in her head. Especially as he continued to speak and addressed her as Miss. True, a name few rarely addressed her as, it was her professor. Mr. Angel Rodriguez. He was an attractive man, stocky build especially next to her tiny frame, shaggy hair, and absolutely gorgeous eyes, they were almost haunting. Of course, he wasn't really her type and was somewhat older than her - she had never really gone after teachers, that wasn't her thing. Studying for perhaps a moment longer than she really should have - thinking about his looks, her art and his classes and momentarily thinking about the decent amount of weed she had in her bag, she shrugged it off.

Thinking a moment longer to actually process what he had said she flashed a quick smile. "Why yes, professor, I'm actually enjoying the day..." She sighed and then nodded, "I can only imagine it getting better." She flashed another smile, lifting her green tea to her lips and taking a quick sip. She loved green tea, there was something about it that made it absolutely addicting. She didn't necessarily love the flavor, in fact she barely tolerated it and something would get green tea just to down it as soon as humanly possibly, but it was a daily thing for her, along with her drinking and smoking.

Lowering her drink and keeping her slim fingers wrapped contently around the warm beverage, she asked, "What about you?" She paused to lick her lower lip, "I can only imagine ungodly quantities of art in your day off." She knew he was absolutely in love with art. She could tell when he spoke in class - his passion simply radiated off of him, it was in his eyes and his gestures and the tone of his voice. It was inspiring. She wished that she had his passion for art. She loved art but not in the same way he did.

Aurelia was playing nice with him. She typically wouldn't have been so polite, but for some reason, perhaps it was his maturity she felt it appropriate to act with a bit more decorum than she typically did. Of course, she never particularly acting out in class instead she acted with a sense of indifference with a slight interest. Though her brain was functioning at a 1000 thoughts per second as she processed all of the ideas and art that was being talked about.

Lifting her drink to her lips again, she took a bit longer sip and then realized, "Please, call me Aurelia. I'm not my mother." She finished a bit hastily with an unintended tone that could turn anything to ice. She usually was so smooth and spoke in a very mellow calm tone, but at her mother's mention a hint of disdain, hate and loathing came. It was only natural given the circumstances.

She cleared her throat, recognizing her tone, "Pardon me." Aurelia apologized quickly, her eyebrows jumping as she cleared her throat, her eyes diverting his for a moment before returning, awaiting his answer.

-- LYRICS what I got -- sublime
-- WORDS 547 words
-- STATUS ángel
-- OCC you post was lovely - no need to be alll glitz up, haha, i'm intensely and unnecessarily ocd about mine...

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[angel]

Ángel gave a slight nod. The day was seemingly perfect, so far, though he didn't want to jinx it by saying that out loud. Instead he just thought it, and thought nothing more of it. "La vida que viene, no?" He gave up a slight smile, forgetting for a moment that not everybody spoke Spanish. "My apologies. I get caught up in my thoughts... They're in Spanish, by the way. If you couldn't tell." Thinking in English was like blasphemy to him. It was always in Spanish, and only before he spoke did he translate it into English... though sometimes that didn't work out so well, which showed when he spoke directly from his thoughts--in Spanish. He chuckled very quietly, almost to himself. "Things can always look up. The life that's coming..." He didn't bother mentioning that he was quoting a song, lest it take away some of the value in it.

How was his day going? Well, he had already decided he wouldn't jinx himself by saying that it was perfect, because then it would take a turn for the worst, and he really didn't want to be picking up the pieces of the day. "Ungodly amounts of art? Is that a standardized unit to measure art, now? I was unaware of it..." Others probably would have chosen "shitload". "I limit myself, I assure you. I do have to eat and live and all of that." Though he had to admit that if he had his way he'd gladly live, breathe, and sleep art. Most artists would probably chose that option, because it was a greater alternative to living in a non-fantasy world. As Jimmy Buffet once said, 'He chose to live in a fantasy world, and I looked at him and I said 'well what the hell's wrong with that?'' And Jimmy Buffet made sense. In fact, he made all of the sense in the world.

His eyebrows arched ever so slightly at the tone of her voice, but he couldn't really say much. Sure, she was his student, but it was also his day off, so he could be human like anyone else. Though even his simple human side urged him to say something. The hatred and detestation was present, and very prominent. He refrained from speaking, though, figuring that it was none of his business. "No hard feelings... None at all. Formalities are not my thing, either..." He sipped his coffee quietly for a minute before asking the inevitable question. "How's the art working coming? Good, I hope... Right?" An art teacher and an artist at heart, the question was practically second nature. And since she was actually in his classes, well, it made it easier. She'd probably even have an answer, which was always a good thing. Some people just stared at him like he was insane, which he most likely was. He could always just blame the drugs, though that wouldn't be the first thing that he'd be admitting to a cop or similar figure of authority. Probably because that would be a very bad thing to do. He would probably end up in jail. Maybe they'd call his parents.

God, his parents. He glanced back at the girl. Perhaps she had parent issues, too. It certainly seemed that way to him, if only because she didn't sound to pleased at the mention of her mother. He didn't bother asking. It was none of his business.

Words--573

[aurelia]

Life is to short so love the one you got

[/SIZE]
BECAUSE YOU MIGHT GET RUN OVER OR YOU MIGHT GET SHOT[/CENTER]

His Spanish was gorgeous, and despite the fact that she had taken Spanish several years the only think she could really distinguish in his quickly spoken Spanish was life. Her brain focused on the word life for a while. The previous night she had watched episodes of a television show on the discovery channel which similar to myth busters, debunked oddities in life, and the episode she had watched were all about plants speaking to each other, breathes and feeling. Life was ubiquitous, even though some people didn't always see it that way.

He apologized for his beautiful, flowing, eloquent Spanish, as brief as it was. Her eyes looking up immediately from stirring her spoon in her drink, and focused on the rest of his words - wondering if he was going to say something beautiful yet somewhat unoriginal. She loved that kind of shit. And then he did; "Things can always look up. The life that's coming...". She knew it was the translation of what he had just said in Spanish. It was beautiful, and despite the fact that it was so fucking cliche, coming from him she always wanted to believe that things were going to get better. But, for her, it was her own actions that made life a little less bearable, it was her choices which in turn resulted in her future. She believed that fate could only take you so far.

After staring at him for a moment, she spoke "Don't worry about it." She shrugged, "I would probably walk around speaking in Spanish if it were my native tongue." She smirked a bit before beginning again, "I'd love to piss off a bunch of racist mother fuckers." She finished her tone playful, a laugh on her lips and her head shaking back and forth as if remember a memory of some sort. She tended to talk politics with the wrong people, people with vastly different ideas than her own, people who said things without thinking or without reading. "Ignorance isn't bliss for the rest of us who have to deal with it..." She mused. Then looking down for a minute to stir her tea, she looked up and smiled, "I wish I spoke another language. Spanish is so eloquent and beautiful."

Now she really didn't know what was going on. She was being really polite, except for her dropping the F-bomb, which she was surprised she hadn't done before that point, she was acting a bit out of character. Eloquent and Beautiful? What the fuck was she doing playing nice! She wasn't nervous about dropping an F-bomb or talking about the copious amounts of drugs that would soon flow through her bloodstream. But, she really felt no need to. There was no judgment, no reputation to uphold to her professor. It was like he was a complete stranger. Of course, she wasn't about to go talking about her issues with him. But that was just it, she was being unlike herself because she could be someone else with him. She was playing and doing a fucking good job.

She watched his eyebrows rise, he noticed her tone but had the decency not to ask - of course, she never did have a problem responding with 'my mother is a raging bitch.' or 'dumb fuck' something clearly classy and eloquent. There were no words to describe her mother. She had taken away Aurelia's childhood, her sanity for a while and then her best friend. Then life somehow changed for the better - leaving her parents behind was the best decision she had ever made. At least, Aurelia thought so.

Then it came up. Her art work...God, she needed to work, but she had so been lacking muse and inspiration lately. She loved painting pictures inspired by the Hubble telescope. Images with alluring glittering swirls of color against the stark black vast infinite of space. None of those she had ever brought into class because she loved them too much to share and loved them too much for them to be blasted to pieces by her peers, perhaps even him.

"My art...is pathetic. I'm a little muse-less lately. I think it'll change soon." She sighed, taking a sip of her tea and thinking about the small sugar cubes hidden in her dresser, special sugar cubes that took her on the trip of her life. She planned on using them soon, now that the flowers were in bloom but the trees were changing colors. She adored the fall.

"I suppose art doesn't consume your life wholly, but that time spent of art is coming along well then?" She replied with the same question he asked her. He too was an artist and could be having a good or bad period. She couldn't tell exactly what kind of mood he was in because he was always so quiet, serene and passive. It was wonderful and disconcerting all at the same time.

She felt comfortable around him. Like they could actually talk and it felt like they felt each other. She wondered if he smoked up, she couldn't imagine him not with a joint or some kind of piece in his hand. She kind of wanted to ask him if he wanted to join her - what kind of person turned down free weed...But, then again it could make things awkward and uncomfortable for the next of the semester, so she refrained and instead awaiting his responses.

-- LYRICS what I got -- sublime
-- WORDS 887 words
-- STATUS ángel

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[angel]

He forced himself to smile, not enjoying the comment about racist people, but knowing that it wasn't worth mentioning in the overall equation of things. "I speak it simply because it was what I grew up with... English is so bland and boring compared to my native language. It seems almost... Curt and... unfriendly." It was one of those things that he couldn't bring himself to explain, so he didn't bother trying. He figured that she would understand it anyway that she wanted to, and that he could leave it at that and say nothing more about it. And it wasn't that he couldn't speak English, that wasn't the reason for his preference to Spanish--in fact he thought he spoke English better than some of the Americans that he worked with or taught. It just wasn't as nice. He was comfortable with the Spanish, it felt like home. He used it as often as possible, which was whenever he was alone, whenever he didn't want to be understood, or whenever he was with a native speaker or a Spanish student. And, since he was alone more often than not, he got some pretty decent use out of it. He hadn't yet met many Latinos in his classes, and he figured that the time would come.

He sipped a little more at his coffee, wishing it was as good as the stuff from Mexico that he had friends mail him every now and then. That stuff was fifteen times better than what any local store could sell, and that was a fact, not an opinion. That was just how things like that worked. "It's not the art that lacks, simply the artist..." He thought that sounded depressing, so figured he ought to fix it. "The artist loses something valuable to him or her and can't get it back for quite some time. The art is timeless from the moment of it's creation." If she didn't think he was on drugs, she probably thought so at that point. He didn't care. He knew exactly what he was talking about. The wording just might have been a little funny, but he expected no less. Getting a point across, for him, wasn't the easiest thing to do. It made plenty of sense in his mind and his mind alone. We live as we dream... alone.

He gave a slight nod, indicating that at that point in time he was feeling rather inspired. He glanced at the camera bag that he had placed on the table, wondering where else he would go that day that might inspire him to paint some scene with some minor changes and artistic license. At that moment in time he couldn't think of anything that just popped out at him. Perhaps he'd have to find his way to the ocean or the everglades or some mountain or volcano. Perhaps when summer came around. "It's quite decent, thank you... I paint in the mornings... Very early. It seems to help. Perhaps you should try that sometime if you lack inspiration at any other given point in the day." He knew teenagers didn't exactly like getting up at three, but perhaps that was when she went to bed?

Words--537

[aurelia]

Life is to short so love the one you got

[/SIZE]
BECAUSE YOU MIGHT GET RUN OVER OR YOU MIGHT GET SHOT[/CENTER]

She took a sip of her drink, her eyes registering indifferent for a few moments, as if she weren't even talking to anyone. She processed his words, and in a way in thoughts. She couldn't say anything about another language, because English was her only and native language and she knew the curt, unfriendly, magniloquent verse in which most spoke came from her mouth most frequently. No one spoke in Elizabethan English and when she spoke she managed the most vulgar and ignorant in her pallet, unless she were high and then everything sounded esoteric and abstract which in itself sounded beautiful and complex, even if it wasn't.

But as she sipped her drink, her mind flashed to the disgusting, ill prepared drink she was pouring down her throat. She hated coffee from starbucks, in fact, she hated coffee in general. Starbucks was overpriced, their drinks weren't all that good, and they somehow managed to make even the yummiest things taste bad. Who the fuck screws up green tea? But, she did like to people watch from the second story - the window gave the perfect view of south street, right by the condom king and beyond the wall or whatever the poster store was called, and an assortment of jewelry stores and of course, Phileo Yogurt, the best dessert anytime and anywhere in the whole entire world. People fascinated her...but she didn't need to people watch when she had Angel there, he was intriguing enough.

She let a small curt outward laugh as she heard him first speak, "It's not the art that lacks, simply the artist."

Some, many, would have taken it as a insult, but she knew what he meant in way. And as he continued it only confirmed her understanding of what he was actually saying. But, if what he were saying was the reason her art lacked, well, then she was up shit creep without a paddle...She was missing a lot of valuable things in her life and she was never ever getting those back. Of course, she could find people who loved her and she loved as much as her father but...she wasn't ready to trust yet, so maybe that was her biggest fault.

"I understand." She was reluctant to say, her eyes looking down at her cup only glancing up for a moment to look at him as she spoke, maybe because she felt vulnerable or because she was thinking. Whatever it was, it was very unlike her. But the situation in itself was very unlike her.

Aurelia loved painting around four a.m. It was when most inspired. Maybe because she was at home, sitting in her windowsill staring at the beautiful stars. Stars really inspired her. The outdoors with a mix of technology always managed inspire her. She was the type of kid, though, who used their imagination as much as humanly possible, and despite her seemingly jaded persona, Aurelia had a lot of imagination left in her that she used when she was stargazing, looking at the clouds and catching a glimpse of a plane or a space shuttle take off. She didn't have television ever, so imagination helped pass the time.

"I paint very early as well. My sleep schedule is all over the place because of school, work, and my painting." It was a mix of honesty and dishonesty. She could easily have a normal sleeping schedule but she wouldn't the suffering artist that she wanted to be.

Realizing she said very little, she shrugged and shook shook her head, a very odd looking gesture, and said, "Everyone has issues, everyone has lost something and everyone is the same...But it's the things, like art, that make us unique. The creation of music, television, a technological invention that all on your own you build, the hobbies and jobs we have that makes everyone different. As a individual we are all the same - sharing the same molecules and space and having the same issues and typical drama. We are no so different when you look close enough..." She shrugged, looking sure of what she was saying but at the same time almost unsure as it came from her mouth. It was spawned by Angel's words, and her thoughts on the matter.

-- LYRICS what I got -- sublime
-- WORDS 719 words
-- STATUS Angel :]

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