Examining the media I feel most comfortable in reveals a pattern of confusion. Nothing is fixed or safe, characters plot etc can change drop and merge in a lava lamp process; I am calmed and distracted from the painful urge of others to have sharp lines. I was told that in China if you are terminally ill they will not tell you first, but instead ask the next of kin what they would like to do: tell you or not tell you. Let me know I am sick but allow the chance to float, sit in some chaos. No lines to demark safety and horror, we are in a gradient emanation.
Every bit of order to chaos is only to enlarge it in the same way wearing just a t-shirt makes you more naked than if you were entirely nude. Small lists of things are tidy, huge lists are chaotic, the important thing is to approach infinity but never come too close—skirt an event horizon and let your legs stretch out a bit.