Mourning after post mortum depression or maybe post traumatic stress disorder has failed me again…oh the dreaded labels of mental instability and their insufficient funds on the taxing of my brain chemical balancing act. These AlphaNuMericano fusions of parabolic thought process are all that keep me sane these days. I know it must be so boring to hear me wring out my latest rag-doll of its sweat, blood and tears. You, my subject, my reader, my listener, my muse of the moment, how you always catch me in the latest moment of introspection. Can we all reflect on this moment? Can we all get something valuable out of this diary. It might be considered effeminate to record my every waking thought, and I must look like an attention whore publishing all my waning, scrubbing bubbles across your screen. Now that I’ve come clean with everything emotionally, can you get that this poetry is not all that illogical? Does this droning existence seem to transcend literary function? Is this av-ante gaurd style defending my whole point of this well enough? Give me a break, I’m not just letting go of my problems here, I’m rebuilding fences, and I’m gaining momentum, and learning from myself, so when I hear the opposition attempt to make me feel feeble, I wonder if they’re really listening at all? I wonder why they find my asymmetric dichotomy to be so contradictory. I’m aware of the problems at hand, I am working everyday to stop the insanity from continuing, and usually I find the difference between my allies and my adversaries. So much I feel I have to repeat because there is not enough being done to get the job finished. The work is clear cut, we have so much to do, and this picture above me is just a observation of a grave mistake I made with fear. I put this cacti in the wrong soil, I fed it too much high alkaline water, and I didn’t nurture its need for space and air. I was too caring, and overbearing and the plant broke at its root, it rotted out and a fungus grew out. Oh how this parable will keep my thoughts about nature in tune, and how I cannot mock her nor, keep her in a room. Mother nature, this lesson will not be forgot, and I will not let you down next time, no, I will not. I felt the simple abstract of this postulation fill out the parable in a short paragraph, we found how the perverse mind of parabolic thought is always in tune with ethics, if only we could realize not to use algebra when learning from arithmetic and sacred mathematics.