Zine Quotes

kau bukan gula-gula kapas, yang bagiku cuma lembut, kau terlahir sebagai popkon, yang rangup dan manis, yang aku nikmati dalam gelap, menghadap pelbagai genre, dilayar panggung.

I wanted the zine to make people think about how girls are raised to think about our bodies and who gets to decide how we think about them.

...politically charged punk that combined activism and art. Forged out of a meeting of friends who decided they wanted to start a “girl riot,” the women gave rise to bands like Bikini Kill and Sleater-Kinney, addressing rape and violence in their songs, publishing zines, popularizing “girl power"...

You should know that.” Pietr sounded serious. “You guys find a great story like this in some different zine, it gets taken away from you and handed to me. You might get your names as researchers on the bottom. You find this story as a freelancer, what do you think happens?” “We sell it?” Myron asked. “You go to jail,” said Pietr.

Thousands of blue dresses boring the sun

We play heavy metal because our lives are heavy metal.

Republicans are one health crisis away from being Democrats?

A blog is a zine liberated from the annoyances of physical form.

We are a vertically integrated publishing house that equips readers to make positive changes in their lives and in the world around them. Microcosm emphasizes skill-building, showing hidden histories, and fostering creativity through challenging conventional publishing wisdom with books and zines about DIY skills, food, bicycling, gender, self-care, and social justice.

Zines are not a new idea. They have been around under different names (ChapBooks, Pamphlets, Flyers). People with independent ideas have been getting their word out since there were printing presses.

Together they made love among the mimeographed pages of their zine and the ink stained their bodies with letters and strange hieroglyph tattoos which they examined together in the moonlight drifting through the window, laughing.

Anybody who listened to her talk or who read the zine she had begun publishing, Fantastic Fanzine, could easily become hypnotized by her words’ raw force: This world teaches women to hate themselves, but I refuse to listen to its message. I’m not going to let boys come between me and my girlfriends. I’m not going to try and be your idea of sexy if sexy means being thin and helpless, tottering around on high heeled shoes. I’m not going to stay home at night hating my sex because if I go out then I’m asking for trouble.

And until now, I thought it was only your humanity in question but it seems I lacked empathy for myself to accept a flatline and call it love.

Sometimes a place to work, or a place to relax--even if only for an hour--is all you need. That, and good friends. Without those things, the city will break you into a million tiny pieces. But what in the world could be harder to find?

It was a long winter of deep snow, solitude, and madness. The satellite kept feeding me digital news of summer in other places. I had to come down from the White Mountain, down into the valley where flowers bloomed, where trees grew new leaves, and hot pants were on!

The charity and ally models, on the other hand, are so strongly rooted in the ideas of 'I' and 'the other' that they force people to fit into distinct groups with preordained relationships to one another. According to ally politics, the only way to undermine one's own privilege is to give up one's role as an individual political agent, and follow the lead of those more or differently oppressed. White allies, for instance, are taught explicitly to not seek praise for their ally work--especially from people of color--yet there is often a distinctly self-congraulatory air to the work of allyship, as if the act of their humility is exaggerated to receive the praise they can't ask for. Many white allies do their support work in a way that recentralizes themselves as the only individuals willing to come in and do the hard work of fighting racism for people of color. Where ally politics suggest that in shifting your role from actor to ally you can diminish your culpability, a liberator or anarchist approach presumes that each person retains their own agency, insisting that the only way you can be accountable is by acting for your own desires while learning to understand and respond to the desires of other groups. Unraveling our socialized individualization until we can feel how our survival/liberation is infinitely linked to the survival/liberation of others fosters independence, and enables us to take responsibility for our choices, with no boss or guidance counselor to blame for our decisions. Original Zine: Ain't no PC Gonna Fix it, Baby. 2013. Featured in: A Critique of Ally Politics. Taking Sides.

Anarchists and antiauthoritarians clearly differentiate between charity and solidarity--especially thanks to working with indigenous solidarity movements and other international solidarity movements--based on the principles of affinity and mutual aid. Affinity is just what it sounds like: that you can work most easily with people who share your goals, and that your work will be strongest when your relationships are based on trust, friendship, and love. Mutual aid is the idea that we all have a stake in one another's liberation, and that when we can act from that interdependence, we can share with one another as equals. Charity, however, is something that is given not only because it feels like there is an excess to share but also because it is based in a framework that implies that others inherently need the help--that they are unable to take care of themselves and that they would suffer without it. Charity is patronizing and selfish. It establishes some people as those who assist and others as those who need assistance, stabilizing oppressive paradigms by solidifying people's positions in them. Autonomy and self-determination are essential to making this distinction as well. Recognizing the autonomy and self-determination of individuals and groups acknowledges their capability. It's an understanding of that group as having something of worth to be gained through interactions with them, whether that thing is a material good or something less tangible, like perspective, joy, or inspiration. The solidarity model dispels the idea of one inside and one outside, foregrounding how individuals belong to multiple groups and how groups overlap with one another, while simultaneously demanding respect for the identity of self-sufficientcy of each of those groups. Original Zine: Ain't no PC Gonna Fix it, Baby. 2013. Featured in: A Critique of Ally Politics. Taking Sides.

Maybe they’d give her everything she wanted. All it would cost was her secrets. Charlie pasted a smile on her face. Glanced at the old “fear less” tattoo looping across the skin of her inner arm. “Fine,” she said through gritted teeth. “In that case, I’d like to confess.” “Confess?” Vicereine echoed, puzzled. “Do you remember when Brayan Araya had his secrets written with a laser on grains of rice and kept them in a glass jar under his pillow? I snatched that like I was the tooth fairy. Or remember when Eshe Goodwin got that book with all the detailed illustrations and no one could make head or tail of it? The secrets were written in the artwork, so I cut those pages straight out. I’m not sure she’s opened it up to know they’re missing. I took Owain Cadwallader’s eighteenth-century memoir and discovered a whole pile of notes stitched into the interior binding of another book—I forget the title, but it had these cool metal catches on the side—and took those without letting anyone be the wiser. Oh, and I grabbed Jaden Coffey’s whole collection of seventies shadow magic zines. Want me to go on? I’ve been doing this for years.” She felt giddy, like she was sliding down a hill, no way to stop now. All the exultation of finally admitting to something. “You cut out pages from Eshe’s book?” Vicereine sounded pissed. “I’m a bad person.” Charlie reached into the pocket of her jeans, took something out, and threw it to Malik. Startled, he caught it. When he looked at what was in his hands, his brows drew together. “I also grabbed your wallet when I brushed by you. Sorry.” “You are making some very dangerous enemies,” Vicereine told her. “What’s this all about?” Malik was tight-jawed. “What are you doing?” “Punish me,” Charlie said. “I’m loads worse than Adeline.” “You want it tied to you?” Bellamy asked. The idea of someone inside her head, someone she couldn’t hide her worst thoughts from, someone she loved, made her feel a little queasy. “Yes. Reward or punishment, give him to me. I’ll be the Hierophant.

She thought she would feel more at ease once she was outside, but the footsteps pursued her along the street.

Republicans are one health crisis away from being Democrats?

FOR THE THIRD TIME THAT WEEK, Harry Jones had taken my parking spot. So I decided to hide a key of uncut Columbian ya ya in a dead baby and stick it in his trunk under his spare tire.

The machines compel and you move to their rhythm. Remember, you’re a reactionary person.

Urban Dictionary states: An eGolem is a physical creature born or animated from the sum experience of your social persona.

If the pain and destruction wasn’t a kind of creation, too: the violence of birth, that kind of idea.

Perhaps because of the special nature of the TIA, or perhaps because of the limitless human capacity for technical fascination, programmers have continued to hack at and develop original VCS games. There is a thriving hobbyist community that has picked up the Atari VCS, using and refining emulators, writing disassemblers and development tools, and even manufacturing cartridges and selling them, complete with boxes and manuals. This “homebrew” scene could be seen, strictly speaking, as continuing the commercial life of the Atari VCS, but the community is not very corporate. It operates on the scale of zines and unsigned bands, with most recent ROMs offered for free online—even if they are also sold in limited releases of a few hundred copies in cartridge form.

consider a young Tunisian man pushing a wooden handcart loaded with fruits and vegetables down a dusty road to a market in the Tunisian town of Sidi Bouzid. When the man was three, his father died. He supports his family by borrowing money to fill his cart, hoping to earn enough selling the produce to pay off the debt and have a little left over. It’s the same grind every day. But this morning, the police approach the man and say they’re going to take his scales because he has violated some regulation. He knows it’s a lie. They’re shaking him down. But he has no money. A policewoman slaps him and insults his dead father. They take his scales and his cart. The man goes to a town office to complain. He is told the official is busy in a meeting. Humiliated, furious, powerless, the man leaves. He returns with fuel. Outside the town office he douses himself, lights a match, and burns. Only the conclusion of this story is unusual. There are countless poor street vendors in Tunisia and across the Arab world. Police corruption is rife, and humiliations like those inflicted on this man are a daily occurrence. They matter to no one aside from the police and their victims. But this particular humiliation, on December 17, 2010, caused Mohamed Bouazizi, aged twenty-six, to set himself on fire, and Bouazizi’s self-immolation sparked protests. The police responded with typical brutality. The protests spread. Hoping to assuage the public, the dictator of Tunisia, President Zine el-Abidine Ben Ali, visited Bouazizi in the hospital. Bouazizi died on January 4, 2011. The unrest grew. On January 14, Ben Ali fled to a cushy exile in Saudi Arabia, ending his twenty-three-year kleptocracy. The Arab world watched, stunned. Then protests erupted in Egypt, Libya, Syria, Jordan, Kuwait, and Bahrain. After three decades in power, the Egyptian dictator Hosni Mubarak was driven from office. Elsewhere, protests swelled into rebellions, rebellions into civil wars. This was the Arab Spring—and it started with one poor man, no different from countless others, being harassed by police, as so many have been, before and since, with no apparent ripple effects. It is one thing to look backward and sketch a narrative arc, as I did here, connecting Mohamed Bouazizi to all the events that flowed out of his lonely protest. Tom Friedman, like many elite pundits, is skilled at that sort of reconstruction, particularly in the Middle East, which he knows so well, having made his name in journalism as a New York Times correspondent in Lebanon. But could even Tom Friedman, if he had been present that fatal morning, have peered into the future and foreseen the self-immolation, the unrest, the toppling of the Tunisian dictator, and all that followed? Of course not. No one could. Maybe, given how much Friedman knew about the region, he would have mused that poverty and unemployment were high, the number of desperate young people was growing, corruption was rampant, repression was relentless, and therefore Tunisia and other Arab countries were powder kegs waiting to blow. But an observer could have drawn exactly the same conclusion the year before. And the year before that. Indeed, you could have said that about Tunisia, Egypt, and several other countries for decades. They may have been powder kegs but they never blew—until December 17, 2010, when the police pushed that one poor man too far.

You and your friends played a big role in the aesthetic sensibility bred in the anarchist milieu in the early 2000s. While most anarchists and radicals were occupied with identity politics, accountability processes, justice, and ethical living and consumption, you and your friends started projects that had a more nihilist bent. Queer hedonism and negation, ‘doing-being totally out of control’. What inspired this turn, and what were you guys doing? The aesthetic sensibility we bred corresponded with the (re-)emergence of the hipster. While the hipster identity was about separating oneself out into a certain identity, to us it was more about being able to become anything. To welcome the power that comes with being malleable. To turn this weak metropolitan subject against itself. There were university occupations across the country, at the New School, in California, mini-riots across the Midwest and in the South. That also corresponded to the English translation of The Invisible Committee’s The Coming Insurrection, which was an important moment. Notably, that book was the same blue as Obama’s branding, and was a book instead of some zine somewhere. The new interest in insurrectionist aesthetics beyond the anarchist milieu provided a sort of opening. Part of the program behind Institute for Experimental Freedom, why I made all this aesthetic crap, why Politics is Not a Banana was a bright-ass pink book, was to take advantage of this opening.

The most common kind of zine is the personal zine, created by individuals reflecting on their everyday lives-confessional, sometimes mundane, containing even scandalous writings.

It's nuclear winter, Mormo's robe is blood red. With a sack full of weapons and a missile for a sled.

Kush ta fali bukurine Kush ta fali bukurine Qe t'e me trerosh te zine! Kur te pashe per te vluar, Pellumbeshe pende-shkruar, Bubu!plumb ne kraharuar, Plumb qe vret dyke gjemuar! Mbledhur shoqet me nje qoshe, Dic, m'ju flisje,dic m'ju thoshe, Gushe-e-llere-e-gji-bardhoshe. Pa me syckezat e tua, Sy-larme!c'me fole mua. Leshrave t'ju binte hija, Yll i ndezur me shkendija, Ndezur mun ne mes ne balle, Te me vesh ne dhe te gjalle.

My work habits match my natural rhythms,

cyberspace was a word introduced in William Gibson's 1984 novel, Neuromancer, and it wasn't until 1991 that the world wide web came into existence.

I climb to the edge into the speckled warlike wave of tea lights. Alloy railings and spiral stairways angel headed day sleepers bearing wild teeth and forgotten memories.

I saw a lot of friends and acquaintances turn their bands which were previously something that they did out of passion into a shot at a small business,” Steve Albini told the venerable zine Punk Planet. “In the course of doing it, they ended up hating their bands in a way that I used to hate my job, because it became something they had to do: it was an obligation.

Flipside, Maximumrocknroll, and Forced Exposure—but there were literally hundreds of smaller zines that collectively framed the indie aesthetic.

When I expect to achieve nothing, ideas come. Putting two things together that are unrelated gives me an idea. I make lots of little works instead of undertaking a big one. I will never be done with literature.

Another day, a photographer for a Malaysian zine came into the office to shoot me for a feature on badass women of the Malaysian diaspora. My boss literally chased the photographer out the door, then told me I was threatening to “misrepresent the company’s brand.

The goal is to show how extensive the venture can be and how the creator(s) will go about developing the prototype or final product.

Your first in a series of goals should be to design and develop something of value that can be delivered to an intended audience.

Think big, yet narrow your sights. Ideas are your equity, but how you bring them to life is what your focus should be. A big idea is insignificant if you cannot fulfill the promise. Reach high, but start small and manageable. There’s always time to do more later.

The venture must provide value to an audience that is quantifiable and sustainable.

Just don’t think of them as “apps,” but as digital delivery systems that are popular for many types of content and interaction that people enjoy and are supported by the first wave of mobile operating systems.

Presenting to Investors TEAM FIRST • Who are you? • Why are you personally passionate (or uniquely qualified) about creating this business? MARKET/OPPORTUNITY • Who are you serving? • What is their unmet need? • Why is there an opportunity? • How big is that opportunity? IDEA • Why is your idea unique in the market? • Why is it changing how this customer need or problem is already being addressed? RISKS • What are the risks? (And be honest, there are always risks.) • How will you address them (if at all)? THE ASK • How much capital do you need to fund a pilot? The Beta? • In Year 1, what do you believe the costs and revenue will be? What about in Year 5?

Electrons are a lot like hipsters— if there are too many other electrons in the same place as them, they want to go somewhere else.

You're a fancy dinner on the crazy train (eh) Not really that fancy, but once, you made it rain I'm bedazzled as much as a corpse can be Stumbled on the ride without asking the fee We dance in the graveyard where we crashed off track, I still have BIG DREAMS but there's no going back..

I was finally ready to mourn the girl who was excited to show everyone our new zine, the girl who was amped to go on tour and move to DC. She was gone and I was exhausted trying to pretend she wasn't. But now some new person was in her place, and maybe letting her exist would let me feel some of the joy I used to feel.

During the antiglobalization years at the turn of twenty-first century, I frequently found myself in baffling arguments about the use of "violence" in demonstrations with pacifists or others who self-described as adhering to a strict code of nonviolence. Many of the same folks who argued that we shouldn't do anything that could hurt someone else's property consistently yelled at their companions until they felt threatened, and engaged in intensely damaging emotional manipulations and passive-aggressive maneuvers in meetings and during demonstrations. Countless times, I saw "nonviolent" demonstrators physically hurt other protestors by attempting to drag them out of the streets for spray painting a wall or breaking a window. Why do people feel justified in trying to pacify others--often with little context for one another? Such vehement attempts to try to contain other's rage and rebellion leads to an unnecessary escalation of conflict between those of us who should be able to struggle together instead of against one another. (Original Zine: Ain't no PC Gonna Fix it, Baby. 2013. Featured in: A Critique of Ally Politics. Taking Sides.)

***What reasons made you to found the Dragon Rouge? When the idea to found it for the first time in your head appeared?*** It was several reasons, and its a long story so I can’t tell the whole story here, but three reasons were most important: 1) it was a need for a new practical oriented order, 2) it was a need for a new order working with the LHP, Draconian Current and Nightside Tradition, 3) I got the impulse from older draconian magicians both in Sweden and Marocco to found a new magical order based upon a practical oriented version of the LHP, Draconian Current and the Nightside Tradition. ***I`m not sure do I remember well, but somone told this was not your idea, but it was the decision of the secret association derived from Yezidian and Tyfonic traditions? Is it true? Can you say something about that association?*** Yes, you are right. As I said above I got the idea from a secret group of Swedish magicians. I got a lot of magical texts from them and their work was partly based upon the typhonian tradition and there interpretation of yezidism. They claimed that their founder was inititated in a yezidi circle in Kurdistan. Much of their concept reminds me of what you find in the writings of Kenneth Grant and I think they were inspired by him, although they made a lot of new interpretations and inventions. I also recieved small but important magical things on a journey to Marocco in the days when Dragon Rouge was about to be founded, and one of our earliest members was a pupil to a american magician who gave us a lot of unique material about LHP Egyptian magic and dark Egyptian deities. interview - Therion.Metal.Pl and for e-zine Rock4eveR both on 16th of September 2003.

They were twenty-seven already, in no time at all they’d be thirty, terrifying. No one knew what would happen then. Michelle couldn’t imagine anything more than writing zine-ish memoirs and working in bookstores.

Tunisia settled into its modern, secular identity in the 1990s under Bourguiba’s successor, Zine El-Abidine Ben Ali. Appalled by Bourguiba’s decision to execute a group of Islamist rebels, he had ousted the by then senile leader in 1987 in a nonviolent coup. Ben Ali thus kept Tunisia free of bloodshed (the rebels were not in the end executed), something the country had managed to do since independence from France was achieved through negotiations, and therefore bloodlessly as well. He

I had a dream where I was in a place that served steak and mashed potatoes and the soup! The pasta soup was heavenly even better than my mother’s homemade recipe. Every spoonful of the soup reminded me of the sun. The mashed potatoes were so smooth that they could slide down my gullet. The steak was medium-rare, my favorite, and every bite reminded me of the steak my mom made but it was one hundred and one times better.  And there was also iced tea and every sip of it felt refreshing like a cold, winter morning with the sun shining merrily and my mom and I throwing snowballs at each other. I  ate and drank until I could eat no more. I felt as if my stomach was about to combust. But then in came the tiramisu. It was better than anything I had ever tasted. The rich smell of coffee wafted up from it. It reminded me of the coffee shop my mom went to when I was little. Despite the fact that my stomach was about to explode I managed to fit in three more slices of tiramisu before I could eat no more. But then came the Ice cream. It was my favorite flavor, mango. The ice cream was silky and sweet. It was like I was on a sunny June morning, a ray of sunlight shining in my face. The sensation intensified as mango juice dribbled down my chin like sunlight itself. I managed six scoops before I was sure my belly would explode. Every moment of eating the ice cream was sunsational. Finally came the float. It was vanilla ice cream on top of some Fanta even though my mom insisted root beer was one hundred times better. It tasted amazing. It was like the early spring making our ice crack in the pond on which my mother and I go ice skating every winter. It was happy but also sad at the same time as if my old life called back for me.

Some girls started zines; some formed bands; some just dug in their closets and pulled out the little-girl barrettes they'd heard riot grrrls wore, and admired themselves in the mirror with a bright plastic butterflies poised on their temples,

PENELOPINA POLITIKA P! P! P! Odnekud P. se javlja! Odisej osjeti miris svoje P. i glavni jarbol zabludjele lađe u daleki cilj spravlja, izgubljenu P. da nađe! Je li tu P., zaviruje Kiklopici pod suknju, usput pipa nimfe, uključuje sve sirene. Mediteran od nemira bruji. Gde je moja P., raspituje se na Olimpijadi. Duboko tone Neptun od tona njegova krika, ja sam P., šapuće Kirka. Nanjušite mi P., vjerni mornari, falusno mi se srce vrti oko P., jer P. je centar svijeta. Komplicirano je, oh, komplicirano doći do P., ali ona uvijek Odiseja čeka, tkajući čipku-žalosnicu, kloparajući malim rumenim ustima: tu odi! tu sej! tu odi! tu sej! Sve dok iz blizine ne zine cijev Odisej-topa, stidljiva je skritost politikina Penelopa.

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Horror writing is the filter that allows us to see the eclipse

Once there was a time when more girls than boys read comics, a time when comics for girls sold in the millions, outnumbering every other kind of comic book. And it all started with Archie.

...if we as librarians do not give authority, respectability, and support to new ideas and new voices, who will? If we do not provide our patrons with access to revolutionary ideas and methods of communication, who will?