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kinder than man, athea davis

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My bucket list has been updated. It is now my goal to go to every single one of these places.

Places where reality is a bit altered:

• any target • churches in texas • abandoned 7/11’s • your bedroom at 5 am • hospitals at midnight • warehouses that smell like dust • lighthouses with lights that don’t work anymore • empty parking lots • ponds and lakes in suburban neighborhoods • rooftops in the early morning • inside a dark cabinet

• playgrounds at night • rest stops on highways • deep in the mountains

• early in the morning wherever it’s just snowed • trails by the highway just out of earshot of traffic • schools during breaks • those little beaches right next to ferry docks • bowling alleys

• unfamiliar McDonalds’s on long road trips • your friends living room once everybody but you is asleep • laundromats at midnight

• galeries in art museums that are empty except for you • the lighting section of home depot • stairwells • hospital waiting rooms • airports from midnight to 7am • bathrooms in small concert venues

• cemeteries • abandoned penitentiaries • hilltops at night in full moonlight • most of Japan • empty barns • marshes • really anywhere quiet at midnight, the air vibrates • old stones and henge • the ocean when it’s still quiet with fog over it • train tracks that go through the middle of the woods • bridges • ancient places • stands of old growth forest • the Eastern Sierras/high desert

• rabbit paths off hiking tails • trails between the main ski hills • winter twilight • back allies between houses • logging roads • dirt roads on fall evenings with leaves falling off the trees • libraries before closing • anyplace where it’s snowing before sunrise • the woods during a rainstorm

• roads covered with snow with trees on the sideways while snowflakes are falling out of the sky • train stations after 10 PM • outside, right before a massive storm • the woods just after twilight • the beach in winter • the bottom of swimming pools • empty beaches when its snowing

• back part of a library • late night empty streets • highways late at night • windy roads • windy roads at night when you can only see the immediate road • abandoned parking lots (office buildings, homes) • anywhere immediately after a really bad fight • little towns late at night when no ones awake and the only lights on are the street posts

• empty buses before sunrise/after sunset • being the only one outside in the early morning when its almost dark and you feel alone on earth • mountains with a big forest close to it • being alone in a spot in ikea • the lakeside anytime between 2 and 6 am • firework shows when you’re sitting on the grass • staring up at very tall buildings • the tram at a big airport • abandoned house by a lake

• being the only one downstairs on christmas   • stepping outside in the early morning when it has just snowed • when its dark and you see snowflakes falling down in the light of a lamppost on the lonely road • that one clear spot in the forest with trees surrounding it • a parked car in a snow/thunderstorm • corn fields with the wind blowing over them • malls when they’re about to close for the night • woods at twilight/dawn • being on a train after midnight • theme parks at night

• winding back roads with rolling fog • seeing “open” signs when its really foggy and cloudy • being in a train that was crowded when you got in and now its quiet, looking at the seats knowing that there were people sitting there moments ago and now they’re gone • hiking trails that have nobody on them • being alone in an elevator for a few minutes • looking down at the forest when you’re standing somewhere high and seeing the top of the trees with fog lingering over them • the ferry about to take off in the middle of the night • tree houses • empty seats on the late night train • 4-6 am on a winter morning

• the clouds/damp coming out of your mouth when its really cold in the morning • stepping out on an unfamiliar metro/train stop • greenhouses that have been left to grow alone • cemeteries in the middle of fields • biking/walking on the main road when its dark without cars • swamps with fog • hotel corridors in the middle of the night • anywhere where you can hear a train whistle in the distance but you can’t see it or know just how far away it is • foggy mornings in a meadow • that flickering streetlight • working offices at midnight

• abandoned amusement parks • mirrors in an airplane bathroom • being alone in a church • empty hotel lobbies • hearing trains off in the distance especially at night • snow falling down in general • being in a place thats supposed to have a lot of people but it doesn’t • long, dark hallways • the middle of a park when its snowing • playgrounds at night • work/school when you’re snowed in • caves • a field of power lines • being in a forest where there are train tracks not knowing if the train may even ever approach • bonfires

• being in a different room than everyone else at a party • the woods on a night with a full moon • empty stables • empty metro stations that are usually crowded • gas stations on long mountain roads • the old part of a city when you’re the only one in the street • stadiums when a game or concert is over • entering a building with a really high ceiling • moonlight, anywhere

• empty tennis or baseball courts with limited lightning • times when you are transitioning from one phase to another • lodges in the snow • frozen water in the winter • a little lake in the middle of the forest • campus during summer • family gatherings • construction site after works have gone home • leaving a tent at midnight • lonely swings • overgrown fields • from twilight to dusk • farmland thats covered in the morning fog • suburban neighborhoods filled with tension and wind before a large summer thunderstorm • being at an abandoned place knowing that years ago at that exact same moment there were people • the feeling of being chased by someone/something • knowing you’re not alone in a certain place like a forest

this feeling is scary as FUCK it dawns upon you that something is so quiet or abandoned or empty and vacant that its like the universe forgot to make something happen in the one spotlike you found a glitch in real life like everything seems fake and unreal and real and not fake all at one and youre so confused

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…oh, bother.

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a post literally nobody asked for: we’re back

as a wise emma roberts once said while totally rocking a red dress after being resurrected by a stevie nicks witch: “surprise, bitch. i bet you thought you’d seen the last of me.”

in other words we’re back. after a long, dark hiatus during which no original poetry was written and for some reason we thought we’d never write another line again. but i guess it’s not all out of our system. we ain’t quite done. we’re back with a vengeance and better than ever. other stuff.

for real though it’s good to be… actually writing again and trying some new things. i’m kinda excited to see where this will take us. i find it kinda hard to honestly connect with other people through non-poetry things so i’m glad to be back doing what i love. and i know that nobody really reads these stupid pull-back-the-curtain things… or this blog in general so i’ll stop talking about it and probably just go to bed or something, but yeah. poetry.

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He talking about The Jellies show

I’m just glad Tyler said this at Comic-Con…  that’s the audience that needs to hear this message…

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the suffering never ends

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i told ya we’ve canceled discourse n we’ve moved on to homesteading skills

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Okay I need to ask. Why do YOU write?

I grew up surrounded by words, quite literally. By the time I was six months old my parents had taped words to every surface in the house, so the walls said “wall” the window said “window” and so on so forth. I still don’t know how they managed to get the cat involved but some things are meant to be wondered at.

But for the next six years the world was covered in words, as first I learned to read, and then my brother. I dare say if you move some furniture in my parents house to this day you will find a faded piece of paper that says “shelf” or “bookcase” on it. It was a sad day when they were taken down, they were like old friends. But by then the magic had already worked. I was able to look at the world and see words, whether they were printed there or not.

I was four when I sat down to consciously write my first story. I remember it vividly because I had my bright yellow Cadburys Caramel mug, that had the purple flowing font on the side with the bunny rabbit lady on it. It was filled with “baby tea”— mostly hot milk with a splash of tea from the pot to give it color— and I was holding it in both hands, sitting at the little “art” table dad had built for me in the corner so I had a place to sit and scribble that wasn’t the walls. Contemplating my next masterpiece I looked around the room for inspiration. Would it be an exploration of color through pinky finger painting only? Or would it be the greatest macaroni interpretation of a dog we’d ever seen? Sadly we’ll never know how this might have worked out, as at that very moment, mum came in holding a crystal mobile and hung it up on the window sill. This in turn had the effect of creating a living, dancing rainbow in the living room, and something in my brain short fused.

That was the day I learned the word “iridescent”. It was like learning the language of angels.

After that I was always scribbling something. My school books were a mess of words, crammed into margins and on back pages. I was always in trouble for letting my mind “wander into whimsy.” Once I got a report card that said “fantastical leanings towards flights of fancy.” It was meant as criticism, but dad still has it framed in the office.

Then there came the time a few years later when I was reading the Hobbit with dad, and I turned to him quite seriously and asked “where are all the girl hobbits?” and dad hemmed and hawed before eventually telling me “they’re in another book, darling…having their own adventure…” and I accepted this and settled back down to let him finish the chapter. He probably thought I forgot about it until that weekend I marched up to the Librarian and asked for “the girl hobbit book please”, which was met with much confusion and my dad rushing over to tell me they probably wouldn’t have it yet because it was very rare. A few weeks later, dad handed me something. It was sheaves of paper bound together by string. It was, he told me, a very exclusive copy of the girl hobbit book.

I still have it somewhere, back home. Probably on a shelf somewhere that still says “shelf”.

And sweet, naive thing that I was, I believed him. It wasn’t until later on and someone else popped my bubble, that I realized dad, not Tolkien, had written it. And oh I was furious, furious because the story had been so good and because dad had lied about not writing it himself. But that small bubbling anger was nothing compared to the heat inside my brain when my dad confessed he’d tried without much success to find books I might like with girls in them. All the heroes were boys, you see. It made me quite tearful actually, that no one had ever thought that someone like me could go off on an adventure and save the world, when I knew it to be a blatant lie. Old Mrs McDougall across the street had been a land girl and saved a man shot down from his spitfire. Mrs Mitchell had been the emergency coordinator and saved people from burning buildings when the Nazis bombed the shipyards, and her skin was all bubbled and tightly pulled across the left side of her face because of it and her hands didn’t quite work because she’d gripped burning metal to try and free the men inside. Those, were heroes. But we never learned about them at school. We only learned about kings and tyrants and the kind of heavily filtered history that lead you to believe that women were in there somewhere, but only in the same sense that a wall has paint on it.

And now my books, my lovely wonderful books, where you could travel through space and time or climb up volcanoes to throw rings inside and save the world…those wonderful colorful worlds that spoke the language of angels, were just the same.

I was ready to cry and be defeated about it until dad, raising his eyebrows at me and offering me a notebook, said, “well, maybe someone ought to write one.”

And you likely know the rest by now. But in short I write because there are stories to be told. I write because it’s the closest I’ll ever be to how the word iridescent feels. I look at the world and I see words, dancing like rainbows, singing like angels.

There’s words everywhere. I’m just scribbling them down.

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ron was going to be spiders. he just was.

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Some witches once told me The throne was gonna hold me. I’m not the sharpest tool in the shed. They were looking kind of weird They were women but with beards And they said there’d be a crown upon my head.

See a dagger coming and it won’t stop coming Home to my wife and we murder King Duncan Didn’t make sense not to live for the crown Your cred goes up but your mind goes down.

So much to plot, so much to scheme So what’s wrong with taking the king’s seat? You’ll never know if you don’t go You’ll never shine till you kill Banquo.

Hey now, you’re a Scot star, get your kilt on, go slay Hey now, Thane of Cawdor, get the show on, this play And all the witches agree None of women born can harm thee.

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Graphic novelization of a story I’m writing! Casey Williams is Willowdale High’s star runningback, Jean Delacroix is the Fever Dream Circus’s knife-thrower, and unwillingly volunteering to have daggers thrown at your head is a great way to meet your new boyfriend.

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No, no, that’s a rickshaw.

Rick and Morty is an abnormal, sustained spasm of the facial muscles that appears to produce grinning

isn’t rick and morty that thing you get when you die and your body gets all stiff

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“As the father of no daughters because I’m literally in 8th grade, I think sexual harassment is bad.”

These kid are the future.

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Celtic Gods and Goddess

The Celtic world included Ireland, Britain, and a large section of the mainland

Aine: Goddess of love and fertility; encouraged human love; has command over crops and animals; daughter of Eogabail  

Amaethon: God of agriculture 

Anu or Danu/Dana: Mother goddess 

Aonghus: God of love; son of Dagda and Boann

Badb: Irish goddess of battle; could influence the outcome of conflict by inspiring fear or bravery in warriors

Balor: The one-eyed god of death, everyone he looked upon was destroyed

Belenus or Bel: Sun god; appears throughout the Celtic world in different forms; Beltaine celebrates him 

Boann: Water goddess; mother of Aonghus

Brigantia: Chief goddess of Brigantes tribe; associated with water, war and healing

Brigid/Brigit: Goddess of healing and fertility; said to help women during labor; possibly same goddess as Brigantia 

Camulos: God of war mostly worshiped in Belgium areas; said to wield an invincible sword

Ceridwen: Goddess of fertility

Cernunnos: God of wild animals, forest, and plenty; possibly also the god of death; known as the horned one

Cliodhna: Goddess of beauty; her three birds could sing the sick to sleep and heal them 

Dagda: The great god; could restore the dead to life

Dian Cecht: God of healing 

Don: Welsh version of Dana

Donn: God of the dead

Dylan: Sea god

Epona: Horse goddess

The Formorii: Sea gods; violent and misshapen

Goibhniu: Smith god 

Lir: God of sea, healing  and magic 

Lugh: Sun god (Ireland)

Lugus:  Sun god (France and Britain) 

Mac Cecht: God of eloquence

Macha: One of the war goddess

Manannan Mac Lir: Sea god; could stir up or soothe the sea

Manawydan: Welsh sea god, extremely similar to Manannan

Morrigan/Morrigu: Goddess of death on the battlefield 

Nechtan: Water god 

Nemain: Goddess of war

Nemglan: Bird god

Nodens: God of healing; owned magic healing hounds

Ogma: God of eloquence; creating of Ogham, the oldest writing system in Ireland

Taranis: Name means thunderer; Romans equated him to Jupiter; symbol was the wheel

Teutates or Toutatis: Romans equated him to Mars

**Not all inclusive 

All information gathered from “The Illustrated Encyclopedia of World Mythology by Arthur Cotterell and Rachel Storm 

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I will never forget the time I asked a little girl how old she was and she said “6 but I’ve been alive like 30 years”