A room, a room, bedlam and disarray. A workplace for the mad, or at least partially off-center, ideas on a rush or stuck like an old record skipping dis dis dis organization, order, array, disruption; in their mind or in the room. Sounds flying at you, music playing voices talking thoughts buzzing, phone ringing; rupture of rackety rackety rackety racket the ruckus disrupting - riots rising in my head. Ideas, processes, building, breaking, building breaking, creations constructed only to crack, crash, shatter, be reborn, bred, and nurtured, only to bear fragile concepts of their own. Mist in the room from the cross-pollination of self-discovered postulations, sparked by the pandemonium of objects strewn, scattered, sprinkled. The dissonance of the hullabaloo; tumbling, tumbling turmoil in the gallery on the first floor. Swirling maelstrom, madness in the mayhem, mayhem in the mind. Spring of inspiration, spill, spurt, spew, spout scintillating imagination, innovation born from entropy. Sitting here I let it rise the sounds blur in front of my eyes, I hear thoughts buzzing, and phones ringing, music playing, I can't hear what I'm saying. I budge. Commotion amongst the cacophony of sounds, the confusion of clutter: this room, this three-ring circus of chaos.