Having recently come out as someone who hears voices from the fan in my bedroom window, I may as well also admit to nepotism when it comes to the color of noise. White noise is familiar noise, and pink was always there for me when I wanted to express my angst in a dark yet lyrical way. But what's coming out of the fan can only be described as grey, which may account for the accent that adds to the difficulty of deciphering the voices' true intent. It certainly isn't black and white, and though true intent is rarely transparent, I don't see the humor in a fan that doesn't say what it means.
Admitting a noise-color bias is one thing, but I enthusiastically deny having come down with schizophrenia, and it's unlikely I've been newly gifted with the ability to receive radio broadcasts through my hair. That would be insane. Instead, I believe this is a simple case of air in a hurry, which is often mistaken for humanlike speech by those neither fully awake nor altogether asleep. This so-called La La Land—or Grey Area 52, for those whose color perception remains unhampered by technical jargon—has been poked and examined with microscopes and white papers alike, leaving little to the imagination that runs wild wherever dreams are sold.
Pecuniary interest aside, an accumulating wind in the halls of Dreamland is never more than the sum of its parts, or the product of its blades. Though plastic is favored for its malleability, wind-driven voices are clearer and more to the point when a paintable material is used. A noise by any other color is still a noise, but suffering for the questionable taste of others isn't my idea of high fidelity.