[Note:  These are unedited versions of writings & finished versions are held by the author strictly.  Please be advised that the materials are copyright © 2013 all rights reserved by Glen Yumang Manese and any use of said items be asked by the author.  E-mail address is listed below.]

glenyumangmanese@yahoo.com

Glen Yumang Manese was born and reared in the Philippine Islands on June 28, 1974.

At the age of six, with the immigration of his parents, Ciceron Feliciano Manese and the late Eusebia Yumang Manese moved to the United States on January 26, 1981, with his siblings; older sister, Maricar and later younger sister, Penafrancia, due to legal paper work, she would arrive a few years later, since her birth was on the same year.  

Also, he has two other sisters and a brother located back in the Philippines and the U. S., their names included:  Malou, Maureen, and Ciceron, Jr., respectively. 

After, graduating New Castle Senior High School in 1993, located in Pennsylvania.  He would join the U. S. Marine Corps in September of the same year and complete basic training at Recruit Depot, Parris Island, South Carolina, serving for four years active and four active reserves, while taking college lessons during his tour of duty.  In doing so had the opportunity to travel the world, while serving with the Marines. 

Currently, working as a Floor Technician with AK Builders Floor & Designs.  His book in the making, "De Novo", was written at the young age of thirteen years old and is nearing completion to finish the book, once and for all. 

In addition, write his unique style with influences in the literature world of his predecessors, without elaborating; the likes of William Shakespeare, Dante Alighieri and a selective number not mentioned.

In the questions regarding music, television and media.  

First, and foremost, let's talk about music.  

If he had to mention all of them? 

He would need a book, but any variety will do, as long as the words give the person a feedback to understanding the meaning of their work.  

Each and every one of us is different, but what is music to my ears maybe noise to another. 

"The hardest attempt to tune is a closed mind."

a quote by Glen Yumang Manese

He rarely watches television and will not waste space by putting movies in another category.  The news only likes to put bad events and propaganda.  The influence is not of his interest and does listen to AM talk radio, instead.  

If he does, the preferred channels are Travel, History, Discovery, and Animal Planet. 

The rest are just not worth the time and effort, but he also clicks the remote to Sports, MTV, and CMT. 

On occasion, curiosity kills the cat and does the quick scan.  Ok, time to press off, now. 

On other matters of books, that's just another long list of headaches.  He would say his hero was the teaching of the late Eusebia Yumang Manese, a mother and teacher, not much is known of his father.

In elaborating on his novel, "De Novo", he would like to make available for viewing the prologue of the story line and the painstaking aspect to bring a form of combining storytelling with a mixture of poetry to give the work of his lifelong goal a touch of brilliance.  Now without further ado:

De Novo

Prologue.

From the water's edge, on the cliffs, and waves crashing on the rocks below overlooking the entire ocean in view of the eyes to see such scenery within the distance horizon of hues sky’s blue arrays.  The lighthouse above, a picture so moving, a time to daydream, and a radiant scene in a full focus to each blink of the eyelids within the corner’s eye to the windmills spinning in unison, but a whirlwind breeze could not for a moment falter in her abundance.  In looking at the gardens of sequence afar and the structures of flowers would give the picture a full scenic understanding of the detail in plain sight with so many ways to express words, emotions, and feelings, but these will create her in every aspect, to beauty, yes, to a longing beauty.  In uncovering the secrets, which lie in this place and be immersed by the sea.  The tower holds the clues, the answers, and truth to the past in bringing back to life and gives the forgotten memories to the world.

There lived a man and a woman also on this very soil.  A marriage remained untouched and unbound by their presence.  They built this eternal place, but a bond would be taken from him and would finish alone with each stone recreating her image for she is the undying figure in the end.  In his hands carving each line, curve, blemish, and down to the very follicle of her hair.  This was about undying love, but a gift of his heart, soul, and mind unrevealed in her immortal memory.  That never some days go by, rain, snow, sleet, or hail would halter his determination in progress.  The coming of storm after storm, he would not give to rest and slowly the artist within was showing through his work, but a masterpiece was unfolding, before him.  The purpose was coming to life and transforming the abilities, which will make his life a work of art in becoming the artist at the end.

In searching the ocean floor to give her brilliance for pearl, coral, seashells and such so she would not to be mistaken by any other woman, but with devotion unmatched by his eyes.  A true monument of years and decades would have passes, but the older his age.  The more relentless he would become knowing that his time is coming, but a belief the heavens would not take him, until the work was complete.  In the determination enhance by the perils of the world, the influence of family, and friends in the collapse of the passion in his heart to finish, until the final breath of his existence.

The precious moments, the memories, and happy life with her would come back, but his mind would wonder at times.  In remembering her grace, the way she would dance, her laughter, and notion she was at ease with content, but her affection, yes, affection would bring tears, joy, and sorrow mixed into one.  The simple memories could ease a simple man, but so complex to do the impossible and at peace with no one to converse, but living in isolation.  The sounds of his domain would give to being truly alone and tire, but the sounds kept him at bay.

That one day, misjudgment took him.  In slipping and falling, but crashing onto the ground.  That he laid there unconscious, but seemingly, he could picture her in the clouds waving him toward her in his mind.  This is the moment of all moments to be together again with no more pain just as life remained, before untouched, unbounded, and no distraction, just the two of them.  In regaining the moment again, looking down the unfinished work, his body laid beside the final testament.  Can this be the awaited aftermath?

The sky turns in quickness to darkness.  A storm begins and reality awakens his bleeding body.  A weakness in him abounds still lying there helpless, but conscious in being delusional, a depression, and feeling of mercifulness, yet has not been taken.  The hearing of her voice, yes, and her voice can bring me back to my feet, but give me a reason to believe a chance once again that I might breathe.  In telling me life has not gone all wrong that looking at you I can still be a whole.  A truth, in you, a truth to go on the distance and a truth life has given me nothing.  A lie is that governs and keeps me. The storm has become the anger and his eyes closed again to nothingness.

The day becomes bright once more and he continues aging still to lonely time.  The stones taking a toll, but his art work become him.  There is no finish line in sight and each detail of her image consumes his life line.  The image of perfection would rise to colossal imagery conveying the means with his hands, but glistering for all the worlds to gaze and marvel through the ages, which would take soon of his life.  A final etching would be written and the end is drawing near, but he would inscribe these words:

Let me not know when love ends with each droplet of tears pour gently on this paper.  A lover gone by faith, but weakens in my heart left in existence.  In my arms lies the beauty of bitters to the sweet of my lady, before the last breath expires from within her last voice, the cherished word love.  The shock endures my mind into chaos.  Shall we meet again in the heavens, but takes my soul, my lord, also without hesitation?  A pleads of conceit by your own creation, but do not hold this against me a sole pain mortally upon my flesh with a thousand or more days of punishment in isolation to a test of my love and manhood?  Only then will this spirit has the will to suffer, until death comes knocking at my door and cast death upon this condemned soul as my words are marked in writing so as not to lie.  A love may have ends by mortals, but the will goes beyond a mortal body and the immortality of love untouched by my inner self, but an eternal flame burns forever.

The clouds above, wherever God may have taken your soul a place no mortal man can penetrate, but the desire within the heart may overcome.  Some rages in madness my limbo mind  does wish to speak, but rage, rage, and rage fills the very soul that weeps and give me the right to eternal sleep!  The thought of loneliness is an immoral act against a creator, but a judgment respectful of a devil!  Take my words in vain, but my God forgives my offensive voice in a moment the anger will cease existence.

That here on earth is your remembrance and slowly, does my mind flashback to our times, before this moody day.  As clear as the light and warmth cast by the sun in the open fields of numerous flowers.  We strolled and laughed hand in hand never in the disturbance of others.  The tranquility of courtship was left to remain with a couple.  Nature is left untouched to grow wild in abundance.  The time in courtship means nothing!  So, this present day never commends memory!  A selfish thief has taken by want, but reckons no need, therefore young to die my dear.  The angel of death comes too early.  The leaves come to birth in spring and wilt to nothing in the autumn breeze, but renew the next season.  In this by God, my lover gone and her life put to cease as life is given only a chance.  A droplet of tears for our love, another for my sorrow, sadness declared in moments and time remembered.

The time as children was decades ago, but only innocence ruled between our friendship to grow into this relationship and life had no problems.  A day gone in the past meant nothing, but how would my heart word such a priceless meaning in the present day?  A piercing pain comes suddenly, but time is unable to be changed by me.  If given God's power to change this mourning of my grief another chance would be paradise, but twice deaths are double the anguish and suffering is an event experienced only once.  What hides in her flesh and blood of my dear, departs, which lies in an eternal sleep?  The flesh shows no trace of illness a waste of her beauty, but a picture of perfection forever through my dreary eyes.

The lock is soon to be sealed and condemned by lost to be concealed, a blind man and relish nothing more precious.  The blood turns red, my veins in a pool too dark.  A depression departs by many, but deep as an abyss in the depths of any sea will serve a just equal.  A third tear turns to ice and rains into pieces upon the earth, but another descend as image of your beauty slowly turning to dust.  A distant trail is a dimension from life to death.  A dimension so far to the living, but the living alone answers and questions for loss existence, but wills must be done for a given purpose.  These burns too close a fire to comprehend, an attraction too dear, a life experienced too short, and a reality too real.  A search into endless space and time will bring no other to spark a gleam of your beauty in this mortal world.  The vault must now be sealed and inscribed, a lover's name, a last touch of feeling, and a kiss farewell.  In this by God, keep her now and curse not my words, but forgive the acts against a creator and wash them from my parting thoughts.  This place must be left without disgrace, but hold such sorrow within the heart.  The air is moist, a sudden change in weather, a drop of fresh rain, another, another, and another, but a sign she is well.