Wonderful things exist in spite of males, not because of them. The male creates things he believes may be wonderful, only in attempts to assuage the existential madness, the consequence of rebuking the gift of awareness bestowed upon him in order to pursue proliferation. He resents that he must create just enough not to die, and this applies to everything he does. He is not happy in the society he produces, but he can’t not produce it, since it’s all he knows, and is too afraid of being lost to irrelevance to change. Awareness cannot be easily excised from the minds of men, and his misery is his curse, one that can only be relieved so long as he is never permitted to have what he wants.
If your idea of “creation” is a teeming swarm of biomass subsisting on as little as possible in order replicate and degrade themselves even more, then yes, moids are certainly creative. They love creating something that’s not quite death but somehow worse and more terrifying. Do just enough to thrust their genes in a hole unwilling, whatever refuse left after his diabolical idea of a union is fulfilled, that is his creation, his legacy. Only someone who doesn’t know any better would think the pile of discarded shit deserves its own plaque, because all you’ve ever known was a man’s shit. You’re a fool to believe any man proclaiming his own obsessive compulsion to breed at all costs has driven this world towards goodness, let alone pioneered it. The only thing that progresses this world in relation to men is in how many of them you can shove off of it.