So it is...

The coming of Christmas.

I ain't Christian but Buddhist.

Go and check it out how's it like.

Crowd-phobia. Strangers-phobia.

I ain't frigging kidding but am bloody sincere.

Tiresome. Tiresome of pretense. Tiresome of superficiality.

Try to give it another new shot. I don't give it a damn, dude, bro, sis, whateva.

Little food. Little alcohol.

Lots of people. Lots of male.

A modern jungle of noise and smell.

Fever. Fever of what?

Fever of crowding craze.

Swing limbs. Whirl fringe of fabrics.

The intention is dubious. The feeling is out there.

Almost bored. Almost starved. Almost scarred to heat and death.

But still perceptive stimulation stings everywhere. Try to be numb.

Feel. Smell. Hear. Tear. Wander as a loner or walker from the galaxy of nowhere.

Some confession. Some protection.

Much sentiment. Much element.

An ecstatic jungle of gossip and rumor.

What is left? What is done?

What is still out there for me to fond?

What is the thing still left here for me to crown?

Stream of conscious. Not the stream of conscience.

Fluid. Solid. Airy. Pieces of self dissolved, depicted, and destroyed.

Situation. Expectation. Comprehension. Anticipation. Sensation. Hesitation.

Be an observer of environment & serene inner. Don't ask. Don't tell. But wait & watch.

Few followers. Few readers.

Many assumptions. Many interpretations.

A texty jungle of the hidden and the forbidden.

Scarce subscriptions. Scarce comments.

Many clicks. Many visits.

A crappy jungle lacks of communications & interactions!