Moths are best, but not for my brain.

Recently there has been a red hot debate raging between me and some of my friends, one that has festered under the surface of our respective associations and threatens to tear apart the foundations of many close friendships. You might wonder what possible conflict would cause such problems and because you might be wondering that, and because I have a blog to fill, I am going to tell you with a gusto that has alienated many a disbeliever. Moths are better than Butterflies. It is a fact. Many people are seduced by the pretty colours that butterflies display but the cold, hard truth is that moths outclass them on most fronts.

1. Moths have antenna which look like real ears that mean something. Butterflies have piddly little antenna which probably don't do anything really.
2. Colours are something that are traditionally accepted as being dominated by butterflies but I feel that this is completely misguided. Butterflies are borderline tacky with their choice of combinations and off-bright primaries. Who wants to see orange and black? Unless you support Hull City (and no one does) then there is no place for this butterfly in your eyes. Moths have this understated yet glorious and dramatic quality that sets them apart, commanding notice without demanding it.
3. We all know about caterpillars and their remarkable transformation. This is something that is shared by both butterflies and moths and is incredibly impressive by itself. But butterflies do this in some strange leafy plastic contraption that might as well be a Tesco value picnic cup with a piece of paper over the top. That is how cheap it seems. Moths make silk, they sit in its soft, expensive cocoon until they become the glorious specimens we see traversing the night sky. 
4. Moths are really hairy, and for a race of beings (us) that generally don't like insects and their horrible spindly bodies that is nothing but a good thing. A butterflies body and face is like a angle-y exo-skeletal mess whilst moths are like little mammals with oversized wings.
5. Butterflies come out in the day time whilst moths brave the barely moonlight evenings. In short, butterflies are feeble, nervous pussies. 

I think that should just about be enough to convince you of mothly superiority, further questions can be sent to me or put on here and I will provide further proof if needed, but there is a niggling problem with the whole argument that makes the disagreeing fools out there seem less, well, foolish.
This problem is that, were I to wake up one day to find that I was one of these creatures, I would rather be a butterfly. The reasons are by no means countless, but the two that stand out are very key. The first is the nocturnal thing. If I am granted this priceless opportunity to be able to soar above the landscape and view things from a perspective never before afforded to a human then I would like to be able to do this in the day time, where the rolling green hills, forests and whatever else is out there would be much better to view from above and explore with my tiny body in the day. My second reason is that although I am sure there are plenty of night time extravagances to be seen from up high, that will be interrupted by a moth's inclination to follow the moon, leading them to bump into lights constantly. I don't know why there is a combination of my mind and the insect's inside this strange creation but that is the way my fantasy is playing out upstairs (in my imagination). All in all, I wouldn't really mind being either, simply for the fact that hiding under leaves in the rain would be like hiding in a tent in the rain but so much better because of the realisation that you could get killed by that rain. Imagine that feeling... its nice.
Here is another impressive specimen to demonstrated moth brilliance.

Fading Handprints.

Tristan Pork was an artist and a professor. Everywhere he looked he found inspiration, setting his eyes on the heavens he bathed in light and colour. With his paint brush he splashed such things on canvas and with his words he tried to invade the minds of his students with the beauty that stood so bold in front of him. Unfortunately, recent years had brought with them harsh times and even harsher judgement of his work. Paintings were no longer being sold with the fervour of old, and now his teaching was at risk. Who wanted to employ a art professor who wasn't any good at art?

Gripping the podium of the lecture theatre on that first fateful day, Tristan tried desperately to put nagging, insecure feelings to one side and get through to his students. He could just about remember the days when there was not an empty seat, his fame enticing hundreds to enrol in the course, with many other students turning up just to hear his inspiring words and see his new work. Now, however, it was the absences that were most obvious. Row after row of abandoned seat stretched out in front of him, making those students dozing off in the early morning sessions so clear. Finishing early because of soul crushing disinterest, Tristan sighed his now routine exasperated sigh and walked out the door. Looking out across the sky those flashes of inspiration still poured into his mind, but instead of exciting him with promises of glorious creation, he let the images fester in the basement of his mind, until no inspiration could be garnered from them. 'It used to be so easy' he thought, placing his hands on the cool glass, creating a stark image against the orangey-red glow that radiated from outside. Picking up his lessons and examples from the cold metal floor Tristan decided that it was time to stop focusing on the aspects of his life dictated by a couple of cynical critics and to begin to move forward on the areas he abandoned for the sake of art.

Tristan did not realise that he was not going to have that chance. His footsteps along the corridor of the space station were leading towards complete and utter chaos. Beyond his fading hand prints on the transparent chamber you could see a storm crossing the surface of Jupiter and on the planet's horizon, a strange vessel emerged, heralding wonder, beauty, destruction and death.