Hidden place.
There is nothing that exists that is chaotic anymore.
Living things only grow out of madness. In it, there are no phone calls or traffic lights. We call each other pet names or by only single letters and smile everytime we do it. I cook dinners for you and you make the desserts. All of the films we watch were made before 1980. We trade shoes and make each other silly jewelry. We draw designs of complicated instruments and impractical clothing and think of what future year they would suit. Imagining what features would be better on humans if every person's skin was red. Green. Silver. There are theatres with audiences of only each other. Avenues are a runway. Each cuddle and kiss is the first time on repeat. We survive an earthquake and then claim our pasts aren't epic enough so we invent new ones and don't even bother explaining what is inflated.
This is of course all madness because it is perfect. Perfection is a monster we do not see though it lives on six and half billion particular plateaus. I grow only from my excess daydreams and trances. That's the only madness I will ever see because they have not happened and they are perfect. War, school shootings, competitions and elections - They were only something turbulent prior to the human race.
Big Bangs, planets and carbon - Oh, you could say it was orchestrated but on this third mass from the closest star I'd say that particular monster was dreaming too.