Gianni’s last e-mail to his grandmother, Mimi

To his grandma, Mimi

——– Original message ——–

From: Gianni Manganelli Date:03/24/2014 6:48 PM (GMT-08:00) To: Madeleine Mulkern Subject: Hello From Your Grandson

Hello Mimi!

Dad said you were still trying to figure out how to send me emails but you are able to read my emails, so that’s good 🙂 Don’t worry too much about sending me emails. Please send me one when you can 😀 but don’t stress too much over it. It’s alright, I know you love me!!

I miss you very much. I miss California especially. Things are cold and dreary here in Washington, D.C. The people are not so nice sometimes. They seem to prefer to take advantage of a person than to first become friends with that person. I have to be constantly on my toes here or I sink and drown. I’m feeling emotionally vulnerable.

I’m not really sure what I want to do with my life at all. The world seems so cold, dark, and scary. There’s danger around every corner. Sometimes I can’t see god any where, but I know God’s always there. It’s not always easy to carry faith, though. Especially when the world keeps on kicking a person down every day.

I don’t know what kind of a job I’d like to do after I graduate. I really don’t know. The only thing I know that I love to do is practice the electric bass guitar. Maybe if I work really, really hard at it, someday I can make a living from practicing bass guitar. I wouldn’t count on it, though. That’s why I’m motivated to get my math degree, so I can fall back on it if I need to.

Right now, I’m just happy I can have access to food, dry shelter, and a comfortable bed. I’m also happy I have family like you–people who care about me deeply. More than just trying to make me into someone I’m not, I’ve always felt that you’ve let me find out who I am inside.

Thank you for being a wonderful, amazing grandmother. I love you very deeply and I thank God for you. I hope you are doing well. With much love,

Your Grandson

Gianni

To his grandma, Mimi

To his grandma, Mimi

 

“Raining” August 25, 2008

It’s raining. I adore the rain. I cherish the clean, pristine doughnuts of elixir that slip through the air and splash on my cheek. When the rains roll by, my entire body is revitalized. Rarely do I like the sun. Perhaps by living in Southern California for nigh 18 years, I’ve gotten my fill of it. For all we know, the sun could be cackling maniacally as he sets fire to our forests… Much like a serial-killer-in-the-making deriving joy from burning ants to a crisp via magnifying glass. Sure, the rain can be quite wrathful sometimes, but I think I hold a soft spot in her heart. She’s always good to me. She’ll wash my burdens away while the sun etches them into my skin, branding me with a henna tattoo of sorts. It might leave a mark when my skin peels off… Or, like a bad smear job you get at Venice Beach, it might not. In either case, the sun has condescended me into an hypocritical onion; my eyes might water when I peel. I feel quite dehumanized, as if I were at a crowded rail station, and somebody had lowed a rumbling “Mooooooo!” Or if I was up at the top of a tall tower, watching humans scuttle by below. Too bad I forgot my magnifying glass… But I digress. I’ve set my iTunes to play some new-agey music. I like to listen to that sort of music when it rains. I like it because the two, in combination, remind me of a particular dream I had…

South American drums pound relentlessly. I open my eyes. I’m lying down. I’m naked. I’m in a leather tent. The world’s hazy, green. The beats reverberate in my lungs. The very air is edgy, as the sound waves from the drums rip through it. It’s a strong, driving beat that taps, taps, taps into the core of your soul. The beat is accented with the furious patter of the rain. I get up. I’m woozy. The drums thud. The rain smashes. The wind oscillates. My heart is beating as steady and as rapid as the drums. Suddenly, my world comes into clear focus. I stagger out of the tent. I’m in the rainforest. The environment sways under the stress of the wind and rain. Strangler trees choke the ground around me. Small rivulets of water stream down leaves and trees. The strong smell of rain and dirt wage war upon my nostrils. I’m sopping wet already, and the drums still pound. My hair starts to stand on its end. First, the ones on the back of my neck. Then, like a zipper, it spreads down my spine. Finally, in a surging embrace, the needle-like sensation rips across my body. My pupils dilate. Adrenaline pumps through my life-water. I suddenly have a sense of purpose, a sense of urgency. My eyes narrow upon my one singular goal, a point somewhere beyond the trees. My muscles coil, wind up, and I crouch. Then, blam, I start to sprint. I run across the choking legs of the strangler trees. The pounding drums give me energy. My lungs expand and contract like a pair of bellows. The wind whistles around my ears, and the rain stings me in the face. Then the world becomes dark. Like a vignetting, the black slowly creeps from my peripheral vision until it encompasses my vision entirely. the pounding drums recede slowly. The smattering of the rain now trickles. All is calm. I slowly wake up. The sun, filtering through the tree leaves and my bamboo blinds, tickles my eyes. Hello sun… I missed you, old pal.

Gio’s Sayings – Culled from his Facebook

All this time I thought the true issue was about disclosure of extraterrestrial life. It never was about that. It was always about the oil.

Buy gold! Just a gram a month will do it’s only $56 a gram!

Rubber bung fell into one of the jars and I had to spend all morning trying to fish it out with a coat hanger -_-; ‘dem kids giving me a hard time.

1. Any girl who wants to be my girlfriend must have an ambition to do Kung Fu with me. That is dead certain.

Keep your eyes to the skies.

Someday, far in the future, people will remember the struggles of deaf people fighting a world of ignorance and equate them to the likes of the great battles for civil rights, and against slavery.

Stay happy

If I had my guitar I’d play me some blues.