In the infinite expanse, where quietude wears tie-dye, a sage once asked:
"Is silence just loud colors, or is it a mute Picasso with the shyness of a ninja?"
Beyond nebulae, amidst the grape-vine stars, the answer fermented in a black hole:
Noise tried to crash the cosmic party, but was promptly evicted by an echo with a VIP pass named "Gravitational Laughter".
Curating the orchestration of photons and silence's awkward waltz, one laughs, for humor is the tongue in the universe's cheek, glistening yet delightfully unaware.