I love Camille Paglia for a lot of reasons but the number one I feel personally in love with her is probably the line she drew between the Marquis de Sade and Emily Dickinson. We think of de Sade as this individual who went around doing this fucked-up shit like some kind of sex supervillain; the fact is that most of what he wrote, he wrote in prison. Very lonely, but not unlike the similarly fucked-up shit Emily wrote in hers. His entire narrative purpose, even more than Emily, was to unmake the world from its basic building blocks; to start from the most taboo shit and work his way out. He was punk, which always means sex.
But if you look at Cavil's actions from the point he got pissed off, I can't think of a more applicable pair of people than de Sade and Dickinson, who tried to unmake the universe through the poetics of their universe, without ever leaving their cages. The difference is that Cavil had actual persons to play with, which is all that separates the poet from the murderer. Either way, Cavil and de Sade wanted to wipe their shit across the moon. The differences are two: number one that Cavil had no sense of metaphor, and number two that he accomplished it. Which is scary in that it misses the point, but not really that different from screeching insensate about intelligent design, because you've lost the ability to discern the layers. Still means sex, specifically the grossest weirdest sex you can come up with. And I submit to you that fucking your mother while wearing her father's skin is pretty much as far as you can go. In a story about the unhealthy bonds between child and parent, servant and master, that's still about as gross and unnecessary as you can get.
Meanwhile, Bill's all grossed out about the damage caused by Felix's mutiny, and once the dust settles he realizes that Galen's the only Chief Chief enough to fix everything. They have a whole moment where Galen calls Adama "Sir" and Bill acts like that's a big deal and reinstates him, noting that his XO is a Cylon so fuck it, and it's very bagpipey. Then over to sickbay, where Kara is all kinds of worried about Sam, whose spine she jiggled and joggled on the way here from lockdown even before his brain started coughing up all kinds of interesting stuff. He assures her it's okay, she replies in the only sentence she's ever said -- "It's about as far from okay as it could possibly be! If you wanna blame someone, blame me!" -- and he interrupts her litany of self-hate precisely long enough to tell her to shut the hell up and stop making this about her, if the Christmas tree of his lit-up face isn't enough: "Listen to me. A wonderful thing has happened. You have to get the others. ["What others?" she literally asks] Um, Galen and Tory and Saul and Ellen?" The last of whom, of course, is dead, so of course we can chill out and let her be confused by that. Most of this episode, in fact, we can excuse by Kara -- Friday the 13th! -- acting like somebody who didn't just lead two great races to their death on an imaginary planet only to find her own dead body there, except Kara's shown remarkable flexibility about impossible things until today. He smiles. "Of course. Of course, I know. There's too many layers... Just get the rest of them. Please tell them I remember everything. Earth. Why we're here. Everything." She stares. "I've seen everything." He is full of joy. 39,556 souls in the Fleet, after the mutiny; he's actually not kidding.