Arctic Dawn

orion arctic dawn
Orion Arctic Dawn

Synthetic … in the best sense.

Ray Harryhausen’s Dynamation meets Ilya Repin’s Volga Barge Haulers, Poussin meets Hergé, ancient myth meets Mary Shelley.

Blind Orion drags the 200,000 ton mega rig, Berkut, into the Arctic Dawn.

Orion, earthborn, the most beautiful of the giants … the childhood of mankind. Innocent but insatiable: took whatever he wanted. Was blinded for raping Merope. Forgiven and restored. And still boasted that he could kill all the animals of the earth.
Horrified, Gaia created a giant scorpion on which he trod.
And that was the end of Orion.

Not that you could stretch beautiful or innocent to include Trump, Johnson, Bolsonaro, Putin or their moneyed master giants.

Everything must change … we cannot just go back … we will not just go on, we have relearned what we had forgot … sheesh, how naive can some people be. Don’t worry your little heads, they won’t let you get ideas.
The people who created this disaster by dismantling even our prepared response, who had already dismantled so much, the value of which we are now rediscovering are spying new opportunities, new horizons as we hunker down, reconnect to our communities and fall in love with peace and quiet and clear skies and birdsong … though the boring, sour dough cruelty of lockdown has been denied to so many who had no choice but be our front line.

They knew they would not be forgiven for spending to avert a disaster but know they will never be forgiven for not spending to rescue us from it either — so they spend. The bill will be so much higher in money terms, never mind human, but so will the upsides too. Clear the decks, reset, game over, on to the next level. You cannot argue with a divine dispensation.
But they didn’t just stumble because they were short-sighted short-termists. They are thick and stupid, greedy and selfish but they also do not care at all. If we die, if we get sick, if we go hungry, if we are fired, if we are homeless, if we are afraid, it simply does not register as valid feeling never mind pain. It’s not just that some animals are more equal than others, it’s a nineteenth century dichotomy: we have eternal souls, they do not.
If it means anything at all to them it is a moral lesson to the dead — you, individually and in isolation, failed the rest of us, you failed your family and yourself.
It must be so — black or brown skin, underlying health conditions, poor housing, hard work, low pay — these are lifestyle choices after all. It is right that you paid because everything must be paid for.
Except what isn’t.

Baffled and frightened, angry and … helpless and just so fucking angry.
Is it too drippy a retreat to wander the glades of Mount Latmos or wherever?
I think I love Poussin because I am intrigued and entranced but not intimidated. And like Beethoven with Diabelli’s trite little waltz, you’re somehow liberated.
Eee — you grandiose …
Whatever.

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