A lighthouse-like popular British fairground feature, and the title of one of The Beatles' raunchiest songs ever, Helter Skelter is a word laced with contradictions. Quite simply, it means a state of profuse noise, where confusion thrives and wilderness reigns. But to compare it to the iconography of a carnival ride, the disorderly haste turns into profound joy and merriment. "The most raucous vocal," as described by songwriter Paul McCartney in the 1968 song, Helter Skelter represented 'a symbol of life'. "One minute you're up, next minute you get knocked down," he once said.

Conical, with a spiralling staircase around it, you tread your way up, catch sight of a world running amok, and to hold onto yourself, you let go.

This week's dispatch unpacks helter-skelter across scales, geographies and meanings. A 'digestible' guide to navigate the

upcoming Venice Architecture Biennale probes 'Intelligens' in architecture that responds to a burning world. An 'equally compelling and disconcerting' group show at the Rabbit Gallery in New South Wales unlayers the psyche of Chinese youth in the digital age. Culture critic Debika Ray puts forth a case of global design weeks, from London to Milan, exposing what lies beneath their precarious glitz. Further, a conversation on curator Megan Tamati-Quennell's project from the Sharjah Biennial 16 discusses curation as an act of sensemaking in a time of collective restlessness.

While disorder and haste continue to mar our lives, what is it about them that leads us to a radical tomorrow? Perhaps, Rumi has rightly said, "If you are irritated by every rub, how will your mirror be polished?"