This article is based on this Dutch article of Martinus Benders:
https://martijnbenders.substack.com/p/het-maanmottenmonasterium
The Moon Moth Monastery
Apart from causing the collapse of the Wilhelmina Tower, the Blood Moon also brought about the birth of three moon moths. This is Droek, enjoying sunlight for the first time.
The reason the moth doesn’t fly away from the finger is that if moths knew you as a caterpillar, they consider you family. You can clearly see that such a moth recognizes you when they emerge from the cocoon.
Our dream is to start a moon moth sanctuary somewhere in Italy because we discovered that the droppings of the caterpillars produce a healing tea.
Yesterday, someone on Facebook asked me why we actually breed moths and what we plan to do with them. The answer is: nothing. Yes, maybe one day we’ll sell the tea, or maybe we’ll drink it all ourselves. It is an honor to host these magnificent beings with their magical frequencies—that alone is a purpose in itself.
I have also noticed that the disturbed relationship with the hoverfly, which seemed absent, has been restored. They have become much smaller, which is why you hardly see them anymore.
Let me therefore renounce the horrible word ‘breeding facility’. We are going to build a **Moon Moth Monastery** in Italy, where the energy of this creature can crystallize undisturbed, without any **meddlesome little plans** interfering.
*
Chekhov’s story Butterflies is amusing—he sketches the world of ‘celebrity artists,’ a scene primarily made up of promising talents endlessly praising each other’s greatness. In the future, they will all be great artists—one even more famous and promising than the other—but in the end, it all boils down to a kind of daytime activity for the wealthy, with no eye for the truly great, even when they are married to it. Brilliant.
The story is also oddly relevant today, because after the abolition of student grants, someone now has to go deep into debt to then end up as an ‘artist’ in a market that is openly hostile to them. The inevitable consequence, of course, is that only the children of the rich can afford to study art, bringing us right back to Chekhov’s nineteenth-century Russia.
Thus reads page 203 of *The Piranha*. Now, I don’t particularly believe in the schooling of artists in the first place—but isn’t all this hatred of Russia just a form of self-hatred? We have become quite a feudal bunch ourselves, a place where democracy needs to be scoured out with a magnifying glass—especially given how poorly things are going with the **separation between secret service and state**. It’s hard not to see a political party these days as little more than a testing ground for some intelligence project, and yesterday I clashed on Facebook with some neocon-leftist Boomer who claimed that *fool* was an insult that should no longer be used. Imagine that!
They hate countries, they hate words—nothing fits into their perfect dopamine bubble filled with popping loot boxes and endless pastries. And so, the vocabulary of the nation is gradually reduced to that of a domesticated hamster. Soon, people will only be allowed to wag their tails and coo, while anything that even remotely evokes the tension of thought will be mercilessly excommunicated. The word **fool** disappears, and with it also **rascal**, **slacker**, and eventually even the innocent **dimwit**. Because even **dimwit** is, after all, a microaggression against the cognitively challenged.
Self-hatred? Well, self-hatred would at least suggest some degree of introspection—what they really exhibit is a loud yearning to replace themselves with a more correct, less burdensome being. A neutral human variant, a well-preserved museum specimen that may only exist within the strictly defined parameters of their worldview.
*
My latest project is a collaboration with the Kālo Himal Gumba Monastery. I have an Omnisphere loaded with an entire library full of Tuvan throat singing. So no, this is not A.I.—at least, I perform six tracks myself.
The idea that when you create art you do it entirely *by yourself* is already quite ridiculous. I have always tapped into the universe to write poetry. So, one does not truly do that alone either. That’s why I personally don’t see the difference. As always, it all comes down to **how** you use a particular technique.
With regards,
Martinus Benders