Monday, April 8, 2019

I read a theory once


that the human intellect
is like peacock feathers.
Just an extravagant display
intended to attract a mate.
All of art, literature, a bit of Mozart,
William Shakespeare, Michelangelo,
and the Empire State Building...
Just an elaborate mating ritual.
Maybe it doesn't matter
that we have accomplished so much
for the basest of reasons.
But, of course, the
peacock can barely fly.
It lives in the dirt, pecking
insects out of the muck,
consoling itself with its great beauty.

(Westworld.S01E07)












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