Jungle-Fever Euphoria

Ding-ding-beat, beating drums, humming, humming a useless song. Listen and repeat. Hoping for epiphanies while we watch the sun cast glitter upon Autumn leaves. Maybe the truth resides within a song, or a voice, a bed made up or a room made neat, or the groove between our toes, where the sand beneath our feet collects to make its way to the street, from the ocean that represents freedom; how come? Is it really so grand that we itch to fight for it? Ah that itch! Damn the restlessness! But here we are going deep into norms, zombies chasing green lights and leaving cookies for Santa. A dream world where ghosts could be whatever we haven't yet thought. We don’t understand what we need, how our choices, guided by an urge to breed are mostly made without us... We're the aliens, puppets suspended into space. Merry, merry, merry Christmas. I believe in drug-induced euphoria, I've seen the god that wasn't. A smell so familiar. The essence of things ever filtered, adulterated by senses meant just to survive. We wash ourselves in a fountain of beautiful reasons to be, bubbling up from nowhere in our jungle beneath the stars. Happy New Year, wild Summer, sweet dreams.