How's your life in the middle of this silence?
"Different every day. It's like being at the control tower of the airport: deadly dull at certain moments, terrifying at others. Sometimes the ship is filled with fishes, sometimes you look for your wedding ring at the bottom of the ocean, sometimes the wind blows so strong that it almost rips apart the skin of your face, sometimes you sip your lemonade at the edge of the swimming pool. Sometimes you party, some other times there's famine: in the middle nothing. Sometimes, as we Americans say, it rains dogs and cats, sometimes even bulls, cows and mice. And some other times my life floats on a petal of lily."

(Tom Waits, interview with La Repubblica. Reversed translation by italyisfalling.com)

Of the bastards, the brawlers and the bawlers, none is the perfect or more accomplished one: they all are bizarre creatures, ignorant of the world of which they grasp the sole part life has assigned to them. That's why all their voices are small as little stones, colored in the inside and smart enough to travel their way like bullet rounds scattered in the widest yard. Or something like that.