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This article was written by Gio Manganelli on 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.

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