Negative Creep

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Whenever I feel like shit, I usually resort to two things which automatically make me feel better: Music and books.

However, I’ve recently come to realize that both of these can also cause a shitty feeling when they’re associated with such a heavy load of negativity, it hurts my head.

The books I read are all by Stephen King. The guy writes horror like too much of a pro, and his descriptions are brutal. So when he describes the death of a child, or the death of a dog, or the death of a major character, it makes me feel horrible, because he makes it seem all too real.

Then, there’s music. I absolutely LOVE the music I listen to. But sometimes the songs take on a darker tone when I think of the respective artist or band.

  • Kurt Cobain is dead, with the shadow of drug abuse and suicide looming above him
  • Janis Joplin is dead, also with the shadow of drug addiction and overdose
  • Jim Morrison is dead, with the shadow of a lifetime of substance abuse
  • Jimi Hendrix is dead, same drug-shadow looms again
  • Chuck Schuldiner is dead, with the enormous shadow of cancer looming high and mighty
  • Tristessa of Astarte is dead, same gigantic shadow of cancer
  • Mia Zapata is dead, with the even more monstrous shadow of brutal rape and murder above her grave
  • Decapitated’s drummer is dead and their lead vocalist is a vegetable
  • Michael Jackson is also dead, and seems like even after his death, the grim shadow of his alleged child-molestation charges still sticks to him like a leech
  • All punk and riot grrrl bands I listen to have broken up, so did Black Sabbath, and so did Arafel
  • Arch Enemy sold out
  • Phil Anselmo is a white supremacist
  • Rammstein are (allegedly) Nazis
  • Marilyn Manson’s lost his fucking mind…

Why do my favorite means of escape have to be tainted with so much bullshit? Still, I love all of these artists and their music, and still I love Stephen King’s books. And if I didn’t have that, I might as well go coffin-shopping, because seriously, life without music and books is a fate worse than suffering.

I need to go see Disturbed’s performance in July to hold on to the belief that there are bands out there who have not died, or got sick, or OD’ed, or sold out, or became hateful bastards, or broke up.

And I need to get a new Stephen King book because, well, just because. As if I need a reason to get another King book. His fiction owns my reality, and that’s a fact.

Peace, love and death metal for life

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Headbanger’s Bag

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Taking time off from zinestering gave me the chance to focus on other projects.

For the past two days, I’ve been working on sewing patches on my new bag. At first, I wanted my mom to sew them for me with her sewing machine because my fingers may refuse to function. But it didn’t work out. And as my activity of the previous two days proved my finger-disfunction assumption to be almost right, I still managed to prove to myself that I can sew. Even if my fingers got all red, and the patches came out a little crooked, it worked out pretty well. I also added some cool pins on the part of the bag that is under the top flap. That part that is too small for patches ut perfect for pins.

I love the hell out of it and it looks totally DIY and totally badass.

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A bag worthy of a metalhead!

Peace, love and off to put my fingers in ice

Almost There, Dudes

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I’m writing this post via my phone because my internet connection at home is busted. So I’ll make this short.

I didn’t finish my zine yet but I don’t have much left. I managed to number the pages on Friday (the final number is 56 pages of wholesome metal badassery). All I have left to do is the Table of Contents which I hope to do today, and send it off to the printer tomorrow!!

Any requests for trades may commence now. I’d love to see how your zines turned out too!

I also hope to write my ZineWriMo recap post at some point tomorrow when our internet will be up and running again. I fucking hate writing on my phone.

Peace, love and happy sufgies

Zine Rites

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Twigz 3Every zinester has their own little ritual while preparing for zine-production. Some light candles for inspiration, some set up a few snacks at arm’s reach to avoid interruptions by an empty stomach, while others, like me, build a playlist and crank up the volume of the speakers to overpower the tap-snap-ding sounds of the typewriter.

On days I work the evening shift, I get the mornings off so my ritual is set to start at 8:30 a.m. but I always remember yet another thing I need to do before I get down to zinestering (i.e. put in a load of laundry, cook something to have it ready for lunch or dinner, do the dishes, check my email…). So it actually starts around 9:15 or so.

I take out all of my zine ammo – the typewriter from the computer room, the stack of papers and construction paper from the desk drawer, the scissors and glue from the pencil holder on the front desk, my pen and zine pages from my backpack – and set it all on the dining room table.

Then, I get a glass of water or tea, depending on my mood.

I turn on the heater because fucking winter sucks, and take off one of my top layers because typing on an oldass manual typewriter definitely burns calories.

Then I plug my phone to the sound system in the living room, and set my playlist to shuffle.

I work to the sounds of death metal, black metal, folk metal, viking metal, gore metal, industrial metal, and the occasional softer sounds of punk, riot grrrl, grunge, old school pop, rock, blues, folk, and Israeli tunes.

I’m well into my zine groove when the clock strikes 11 a.m. and I cringe.

“No, not yet, I’m not ready!” I whine.

But alas, the office awaits. So I reluctantly pick my ass up along with all the pieces of paper spread out on the table like confetti. I lift the typewriter with a grunt and place it back into its case.

Once in the office, I take my zine papers right back out and keep right on working on my zine, only this time without my typewriter or my music, and with occasional interruptions from the clients.

I swear, today, I had to start counting my zine pages again like five times, due to the constant interruptions at the office, before I made it all the way through.

I hate working the evening shift, so my zine ritual morning is absolutely necessary on such days. It has to be perfect in order to maximize pleasure and minimize bullshit. When all items are in place and paper clippings are all over the place, it’s like the stars align and everything is right in my zinester universe.

Entering the Zone, inflaming temperament, and raising spirits, including my own. It wouldn’t surprise me for a second if one day, Rabbis write a bracha especially for making art. I mean, Jim Morrisson already wrote something similar: “Oh great Creator of being, grant us one more hour to perform our art and perfect our lives.” This is what I say when the clock strikes 11. Just one more hour. Please!

Peace, love and I should wear a headscarf for this.

ZineWriMo: Index and Pinky

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I can smell the end of the work in progress zine. A more than full-length beauty, all about my death metal life and my love of this deliciously brutal genre of music.

After I finish typing up the last piece, I am estimating a 60-page zine, size A6 (1/4 page), very text-heavy, but containing a lot of badass stories, photos, backgrounds, and a cute little segment of Twigz.

A couple of spoilers:

  1. I called the zine “Raise Your Horns”. So now, every time I come across the cover, Amon Amarth’s song gets stuck in my head for the rest of the day. I find myself silently growling “we will drink to glory tonight” even while in the office, and I wonder if the clients think I’m about to vomit. Ha!
  2. Here’s a sneak peak of the headlines to be found in the zine:20181126_153642_1

There’s a few more, but that’s all you’re getting for now.

After the final piece, I will put the pages together and off to the printer it goes. I hope to do that on Thursday morning.

FUCK. YES.

Peace, love and Channukah doughnuts!

ZineWriMo: Work in Prog Metal

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Since I’ve been neglecting all other ZineWriMo prompts for the past few days and working solely on my work-in-progress zine, I’ve been hauling ass. I currently have 44 pages ready to be laid out for the zine, and it shows by my worsening posture and the bruises on my fingers, or what I like to call my zinester wounds.

I have yet to type out one more piece, design my comics section as well as the cover, and see if I’m up for adding a drawing or two (which I don’t think I’m up for – remember, I suck at drawing). So I could very well end up with a 52 or a 56-page zine. Or maybe more, who knows?

I should have known that it would be gigantic. It is about metal, after all. And I seriously can’t say enough about it. I don’t think I even added everything I wrote in my brainstorming list. But what I do have is more than enough, don’t you think?

Here is one thing I didn’t write in the zine: My ringtone is the intro to Deceiver of the Gods, and my daughter, being the cutest little metalhead ever, says “Amonamak” every time it rings! I really should buy her a pint-size Amon Amarth t-shirt. It’s her birthday today. She deserves it.

Peace, love and death metal for life