#connotativeexpressions

[gilantic-enamita]

#FlashFiction

I’m a photographer going through old prints. You’re a talent of intimate candids from 2009. He’s a collector; $750 negotiated. You’re an offended claimant with an injunction that prohibits publication. He’s a serious deal. I’m a sentimental and penniless artist.

[3/02/2017]

[gilantic-enamita]

The world undermines the word “normal”. As to one is congestion among bustling roads and polluted skies, while to another is the sway of sodium breeze and waving sails.

[gilantic-enamita]

Brain, rain. Brain, rain. Very disconnected individuals at the first glance.

T. L.  [30/10/2016]

[gilantic-enamita]

[Think Tank Tinkering: 2/09/2016]

Campus air smells like terasi today. Perhaps it carries remains of authenticity from a near by asian stall. Isn’t it strange how such stench could be reminiscing to one and oblivious to another? My mind integrates scents to tickle cuisines. Yet the man, only 40 feet ahead, might mute out all traces of senses and rely solemnly to visuals–scrutinizing potential proof between the death of winter to the swirl of spring.

[gilantic-enamita]

Inevitable Torture

Mind blank in thought, trapped in a monotone tune. Density deserted atmosphere, space abandoned the galaxy. The view is a flatted gray--brighter than a hopeless black, but filthily staining an impure white. The phrases “lost in space” and “following a train of thought” become a fantasy--an idealistic, unachievable luxury.

So with the absence of functioning mentality, the flesh’s senses are drugged with sensitivity. Every ticking minute seeps through the skin, pricking bones at their joints. One can only dream to count down weeks while suffering a ritual turn of the earth. Twenty-four hours a day underestimates the unbearable cycle. The wrinkles age as turning clocks suck the blush from the my cheekbones. I can feel it.

I can feel every pump of icy stings to my limbs. I can feel the hours under my skin--an inescapable sore to the most aware sensory known to mankind. To feel is not the torture, but the stretch of duration is the unavoidable misfortune. 

[gilantic-enamita]

Perhaps Slaves...

Perhaps we are all slaves to love.

We chase the impossible and cling to bitter denial. We take suicidal leaps, knowing the fall is closer to death than hell itself. Yet our loyalty abandons all piercing signs of safety, all help for survival. Fighting is no longer a fight when losing is winning and living is dying.

When will we come to our senses? How did we get to the point of sacrificing freedom for gaining emotional chains?

Perhaps, just perhaps, control was never something of our nature. So perhaps, just perhaps, we found comfort in giving control to the uncontrollable.

[gilantic-enamita]

Bring Love to A Life

Bountiful life one soul can bring.

To another drawn between sorrow and fling.

‘Rest assured’ one long awaits to hear

When burdens meet support, and pain relief.

Gone are the days of empty cries,

With age old grief and tired tries.

Can such occur from just one soul?

A reality of freedom and peace behold?

Questioning may be the challenge,

But disbelief is the concluded sin.

For an empty spirit equals an individual barren,

Like a dead bakery to an empty flour tin.

Love brings hope, and hope resurrects

A life of purpose, novelty, freedom and joy within.

[gilantic-enamita]

Desperation and Depression

To define it as pain and torture is an ultimate understatement.

Desperation skins your flesh when you’re wide awake.

It eats the deepest part of your blackhole like cream--easy, swift and light.

Desperation numbs your senses, to taste life and feel the slightest hint of reality.

It blinds human nature, robbing you in broad daylight.

Numbing as your days may seem, depression awakes your soul--allowing you to feel the death of your senses.

In contrary to the obvious, depression is the realest sensation found.

You realise life of what it truly is, when all the sugar has been licked clean.

As the burn sinks in to your bones like blood in the veins, depression is the best wake up call.

Because it isn’t rock bottom, it’s the jump start to a second chance.

[gilantic-enamita]

Left at a Question Mark.

Do I love you? No.

Do I like you? No.

Do I find you attractive? No.

I don’t love you, but I do care for you. I don’t like you, but you are special to me. I don’t find you attractive, but your mind is an attraction itself.

I don’t know what we are.

The many words left unsaid, only expressed connotatively. Words are jumbled in code and actions in fear. Although we’ve had stated clarifications, but they never outweigh the contradictions.

Putting aside the humor, we take to heart every word exchange--whether we planned to or not. Summing up the double negatives, the uncertain and unclear are now unknown.

So yes, it does drive me crazy. Why can’t we conclude a fact, and put all opposing elements aside?

Why are we incapable to do so?