Silence screams on a daily basis and we resort to endless combinations of words and sounds to muffle this uncomfortable human condition. Perhaps the oppression of silence is best represented in Munch’s expressionist colors saturated with pain and anxiety. The scream is actually an implosion of red truth which we carry on a daily basis and is continuously oppressed, muffled and discarded in lieu of vacant words or the latest technological contraption. The silence often carries the key to those universal tribulations about love, contempt, justice, regret and any question which often leaves the soul perplexed and alienated. It is the air exchanged amidst elegant couples between the delectable antipasto and profiteroles, the last breath before saying goodbye to our ancestors, the unprecedented prayer outside an emergency room, the countless sleepless nights which follow our waking footsteps with insidious intent. It is the soft bubble permeating its way beyond our consciousness, the hand knocking at our fragile egos and finally culminating in a shriek of desperation. Ah, if only silence could speak.