Oct. 21st, 2016

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Westworld 1.3 revisited:

. . . )
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Oh! Forgot the most important thing I wanted to mention about 1.3:

. . . )
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The poet achieves greatness, the lover is (belatedly) born great, the madman has (his sense of) greatness thrust upon him.

Unless or until the poet dies a thousand deaths (because nothing found stays found), the lover dies once (because what came late goes early), the madman is never born (because once sense is nonsense there's no "him").
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There is a silence of another kind
Than "otherwhere in song" it's found defined:
Not Hood's true sort where none but ivies creep,
Or more consistent quiet of the deep.
Where sounds are not quite yet, that calm I mean,
Where mowing mouths and clacking cleats unseen
Shall be for many years but not for aye.
The doubtful dog on Mars will have his day
To vote no confidence at either moon.
A suit to dive into the sun not soon
Will let us see the daylight from the back,
But thinking on the goal attracts the track.
For silence priming cease of silence seek
The desert of the heart that waits to speak.

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