Showing posts with label antarctica. Show all posts
Showing posts with label antarctica. Show all posts

Tuesday, November 26, 2024

Is Creativity Dead - in Antarctica?

Comment to "Is creativity dead?" 

to nyt article:  "https://www.nytimes.com/2024/11/26/opinion/social-media-algorithm-creativity.html"  

Look, !'m 201 years old and spent a lot of time growing up in Antarctica. If you want to see sameness, you can't beat 19th century Antarctica. 

 Listen to me, because I can barely remember it.

A six month night means you get to know the stars really well. The aurora australis bathed us in beauty while katabatic winds basically freeze dried everything. Even more than the Arctic, reality is stripped to essentials in a barren, continent sized desert. We were isolated from the cultural and political turmoil that took place in the 19th century. Narratives and structures like "religions" and "politics" were unimaginable in the dry frozen dark. We developed language that mimiced the sounds of the fulmars, whales, penguins, and seals that we were barely distinguished from. That meant a lot of our communication was singing.  We were humbled to be part of the animal kingdom. 

In my 40s, our world ended when some sailors blew in from Ushaia and kidnapped us. We had no idea of the world beyond the  Southern Ocean. I can't believe how often the sun rises and sets! We had never seen clothes that were not made of skins, land plants, and especially, wood.  Wood is a miracle. 

You youngsters are so easily distracted. You'll find it different after flood, fires and droughts reshape your culture to something closer to how I used to live. 

Sunday, February 13, 2005

Acit Cràt Na

Antarctica's Monologue

My back is curved, the days and nights flicker on my covering of ice.
the winds blast across my dry skin down to the sea.
Are there others like me?
As I sleep, I feel the rhythm on my covers move with my breathing.
Life at my scale is grander than the lives of my parasites, but yet I wonder.
Are there others like me?
The ice calves, the winds circulate.
I have been bent by my ice coat, the glaciers flood down my spine.
Can I recall a time when I was not broken, not burdened?
White, and cold because of it.
Auroras wash and tickle my center.
At my edges, many trails bend the rocks and curve them.
How do I call from the bottom of the earth?
And who will hear?

Is the ice causing my life or deadening it?
So much subtlety is missing - so essential is my life - I can do without food,
I can do without air.
Yet, there is the spinning of the globe, the precession of the axes.
My day and night - so very extreme - causing my breath, but am I breathed?
Separation.
I was separated.
I tore off the other continents and floated south.
the river on my back became a sea; the whiter I got, the whiter I became,
and as I hug the bottom of the earth, whiter shall I become.
- - - - - - -
This is related to the Acit Cràt Na project.