Chaos Upon Chaos!

Chaos upon chaos. 

Try to make sense of the non-sensical. There are limits to logic, reason, math. Sometimes we need to take chaos in. Let it into our wombs. The males too. Imagine a womb. Imagine it's near your belly. Put the chaos in there. Baby Chaos. Fat Little Baby Chaos. A cheerful, little, floating creature, slowly turning in that amniotic sack. Looks innocent. Weak. But it's not. It's planning crazy shit. Conjuring up schemes. Major disruptions. There is crazy shit a brewing in that soft little, still-forming, totally malleable cranium. Shit we don't want to deal with. Shit we can't imagine. Shit we can't eat. Right? Disgusting. Indigestible. Fat Little Baby Chaos you are a heavy little load. We don't want you. We want to expel you. Deliver you. And put you in some dark orphanage buried deep below the sea. Shoot you into the heart of a raging volcano.  Strap you into a rocket ship. Fire that thing blindly into the night sky. Propel you past the stars, past the dark curtain of black. Oh, Fat Little Baby Chaos, you are a nasty, yucky, little motherfucker.