Chaos breathed in deep the air that was not exhaling life in an illusion of order and substance. His eyes forged vision to unveil the dream exotic; a cosmos without limits sublime in its raw youth. Chaos gazed with imagination, saw the meaning that was not and leaned close to his dreamchild spilling his spirit to become the dream that was not. He left meaning and purpose unformed, so that the dreams' wild children could forge their own visions their own meaning their own purpose to then become whole and one with that which is not.