Third Silent Manifesto
by Nick Piombino

To be someone you have to speak in one language. Having lived a number of lives at once I speak only many languages. As soon as you stop to think you think to stop. But this is not exactly how it is. One day you catch yourself just listening. Not listening for something, but listening. Then years go by and you've heard many things. You've said many things, you've thought a lot, you've visited people and places, you've wondered. You imagine that someone stops by and you try to explain. But what comes out are words that have nothing to do with what you had planned to say. You planned to say that the tropic sky is definitely blue against all that yellow. And the parakeets twitter so beguilingly that the jungle bends itself to surround them in an orange-green veil. And that the veil is then lifted and, after a shatter of lightning and rain, you fall asleep on a cot on the dark, damp porch. Your dreams contain mostly ancient images, great gods made out of stone, a woman dressed in white, an empty plate. But what actually comes out is a long sigh, a few complaints about who had said or done what about something or other, and a couple of slightly more than minor disappointments. That's all. Then you hear someone laughing - and you start to think about dinner.

(Ribot #2 and #3 are available from Sun and Moon/Consortium Book Distribution)