The human mind,

is not some golden benchmark
glimmering on some
green and distant hill.

No, it is a foul,
pestilent corruption.

(Westworld.S01E09)

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)

"Because the world is so full of death and horror,

I try again and again
 to console my heart 
and pick the flowers 
that grow in the midst of hell.

— Hermann Hesse

Look at your body:

A painted puppet, a poor toy
Of jointed parts ready to collapse,
A diseased and suffering thing
With a head full of false imaginings.

He That Dies

Pays All Debts ~

Art by David Van Gough

 

It is the very mark of the spirit of rebellion

to crave for happiness

in this life.

— Henrik Ibsen, Ghosts

Art by Al Margen

From the stars we came

and to the stars we return,

from now until the end of time.