Zabatious Blog.  Click here to skip side menu and go directly to the main body. fuck the

activist gig

what was it I was doing again?

Recently Read

Nickel and Dimed: On (Not) Getting By in America
The Narrative of Arthur Gordon Pym of Nantucket & Related Tales
Death Masks
Summer Knight
One Salt Sea
Grave Peril
Late Eclipses
All That Lives Must Die
An Artificial Night
Fool Moon
A Local Habitation


on the needles

in my head
stache addict

their lives
ninja journalist
red head press
colleen anne
the cunning james
inky knits
d'wan's brain
high vark
the capacious hold-all
abbie the cat
no impact man
starting from scratch

stitch 'n bitch army
the gogok
knitting knurse
gambling & whoring
can't sit still
miss knit
knits and pieces
magic knitter
sweet little domestic life
transference of addiction

currently stalking
amanda palmer
clarine harp
brenda dayne
franklin habit
stephanie pearl-mcphee
tim ralphs

ikea dreams
1 mandal bed
1 mandal wardrobe
1 ethel rund shower curtain

me like-y!
male contraceptives
another girl @ play
melanie mauer photography
le cadavre exquis
unamerican activities
christmas resistance
all about my vagina
voluntary human extinction movement

Honorary Kiwi

did I do that?
The AntiCraft
nz in 2003
life with nadja
wish list
Zabet Groznaya

btw, I power Blogger

and you are visitor #
Site Meter
since 02.01.01

design © 2002-2007 by
zabet.groznaya at gmail dot com

Subscribe to
Posts [Atom]

.: 2.17.2013 

Valentine's Day

This is a melody
for a song
that is unwritten, it is unwritten.
And if you ever
said I'd sing it for you,
I would have laughed, oh I would have laughed.

How can I say
such words out loud?
Am I insane?
Am I too proud?

Did you ever know
how much you meant?
Did you ever see
how much I wept?

Oh, I wept, I wept, I wept.

So this is the part
where I start composing
lyrics for you, lyrics for you,
and I wish I could stop
all of this pouring,
but it's all I can do, it's all I can do.

Just please stop time,
hit pause; rewind!
There has to be
some love to find!

I broke so much,
ran out of luck.
I broke you, too,
shattered with my touch.

Oh, my touch, my touch, my touch.

I looked at you
early this morning
across the way, across the way,
and I realized
the person I loved
was no longer the same, no longer the same.

I swear that I thought
I'd love you forever
For so many years, so many years
But I guess I couldn't
love you enough
to carry us through all these tears, through all these tears.

With words I seek
solace and peaceful mind;
forgive that I'm weak,
do not think me unkind.

The World's tide is
bearing me along.
Other hopes await,
which obscure but do thee no wrong.

Oh no wrong, no wrong, no wrong.

This is the part
where you express fear
and say, "Oh no, she writes! Oh no, she writes!"
And you confess:
you worry one day
I'll write you out of my life, out of my life.

Well, you're not wrong:
this lonesome song
will always stay
on our last page.

It's not enough,
however much you meant.
I never wanted you to know
how much I wept.

Oh, I wept, I wept, I wept.

[Thanks to Emily Brontë for being too dead to care that I paraphrased from "Remembrance" for the italicized section.]

Labels: , , , , ,

thus proclaimeth the Zabet  8:00 AM  

.: 2.14.2013 

America, Y'all.


thus proclaimeth the Zabet  11:38 AM   0 comment(s)

.: 1.28.2013 

On Why I Am Like A Feral Cat

Steven King sums it up nicely.
"Adults do not forget the horrors and shamings of their childhood, but those feelings tend to lose their immediacy (except perhaps in dreams, where even old men and women find themselves taking tests they have not studied for with no clothes on). The violent actions and emotions portrayed in Rage were drawn directly from the high school life I was living five days a week, nine months of the year. The book told unpleasant truths, and anyone who doesn’t feel a qualm of regret at throwing a blanket over the truth is an asshole with no conscience.

As far as I’m concerned, high school sucked when I went, and probably sucks now. I tend to regard people who remember it as the best four years of their lives with caution and a degree of pity. For most kids, it’s a time of doubt, stress, painful self-consciousness, and unhappiness. They’re actually the lucky ones. For the bullied underclass — the wimps, the shrimps, and the girls who are routinely referred to as scags, bags, or hos — it’s four years of misery and two kinds of hate: the kind you feel for yourself and the kind you feel for the jackwads who bump you in the halls, pull down your shorts in gym class, and pick out some charming nickname like Queerboy or Frogface that sticks to you like glue."
I don't doubt that those who bullied me weren't going through their own special kind of hell, or blindly mimicking the way their parents brokenly interacted with the world. But it doesn't change the damage that was done, the things I still have to work around, at thirty-fucking-six years old. Just be thankful that I'm well-adjusted enough to never have decided what I really needed was a gun.

ETA: Quite coincidentally, an old friend posted this a little while ago, but I didn't see it until today. "Why You Truly Never Leave High School"

Labels: , , ,

thus proclaimeth the Zabet  2:49 PM  

.: 1.08.2013 


I read 60 books in 2012 and there are still so many more I want to read!

Labels: ,

thus proclaimeth the Zabet  3:08 AM   0 comment(s)


Save Yourself

"If you can be clever and have patience, you can become who you were destined to become."

— Cary Tennis


thus proclaimeth the Zabet  3:01 AM   0 comment(s)

.: 1.02.2013 

Hello, 2013

I had a much better time than I expected when I headed over to the Spradlin's for their New Year's Day shindig. I was nervous about meeting new people, and it didn't help that Sarah kept introducing me as brilliant and a hoot -- talk about pressure! (Also, I'm not sure enough I'm quite old enough to be a hoot yet. I think you have to be over 40.) I hunkered down by K.T. and began to knit defensively, which is where you knit so that you know you won't have to talk to people past the "is that knit or crochet?" or "what are you making?" and "is that wool?" I've never been quite comfortable in a room full of women, no matter how nice they all seem.

Thankfully K.T. took me on a tour to see Sarah's studio (and DAYUM if I don't have studio envy!!), which is on the top floor of the garage. The garage is fancy and heated and accordingly called The Taj Garage (which doesn't rhyme if you say it Britishly). As we came down, we realized there was a game of Garage Band going on, which is to say that there were six guitarists on the main floor of the garage, hiding away from the womenfolk, playing mostly classic rock with some blues, rockabilly, Beatles, and southern rock mixed in. It was Cream's "Sunshine of Your Love" when I walked in, and I could't help but join in on the chorus, which got me some approving nods.

I love classic rock, but my voice isn't very suited to it, and I was appalled to realize I didn't really know much of the lyrics, only the choruses. K.T. loaned me her smartphone so I could look up lyrics, and I strained to keep my voice darkened enough to match the music, but did pretty well. I managed to feel fairly comfortable until they tried to get me to take the mic, the mere thought of which made me woozy. Mostly I was pretty hard to hear over the guitars, until "G-L-O-R-I-A" and "Take Another Little Piece of My Heart," when I got a little showy. Occasionally I took the role of percussionist, slapping out a rhythm on the harmonica player's guitar body, because you can't have six guitarists in a room without someone to wrangle them. Three hours later, I was pretty well done for in the voice box, and the harmonica player told me I had a beautiful voice, that my harmonies were spot-on and tight, and that I should get a band. I about melted into a puddle on the spot, and probably would have if I didn't also have a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach at the thought of singing in front of strangers. ("That's no different than what you did tonight," said one of the other guitarists. But it is. It is. Oh, it is.)

All in all, if every day of 2013 is only half as awesome as yesterday, then yes, please. I am all in.

Labels: , , ,

thus proclaimeth the Zabet  12:21 PM   0 comment(s)

.: 12.25.2012 

Thoroughly Unexpected

I awoke to find a pressie in my inbox. *cockroach dance of joy*

^Not dirty, and certainly not a euphemism for pregnancy. Get your minds out the gutters, people, it's a freakin' Christmas Miracle and all!

Labels: , , , , , ,

thus proclaimeth the Zabet  12:57 PM   0 comment(s)

.: 12.24.2012 


So, I have a lot of ill-defined anger and sorrow that gets stoked into a fire around Christmas.

The part I usually rant about—the part where Christmas, even secularized Christmas, is supposed to be so great and ends up being overshadowed by greed and capitalism and selfishness—is only some of what's going on there. I don't exactly know what the rest of it is, but part of it is feeling marginalized and pushed around (even when it's a subtle, gentle push) as a Pagan, and part of it is still mourning the loss of my sense of family when my parents divorced. Who tired, dear Gods bless them, tried so hard to pretend that things would still continue on as usual, and it's not their fault I was naïve enough to believe them, and it's not their fault that it hurt me so badly when I realized it just doesn't work that way.

So... yeah.

I guess what I'm trying to say is that the old saying about not judging other people because you don't know what battles they are fighting is true, and I try really hard to remember it but I don't always manage. Maybe if you'll try really hard with me, even if you don't always manage, we'll all be better off for it.

Happy belated Hannukah, Solstice, and Nonpocalypse Day. Merry Christmas, if that's your flavor. Joyous Kwanzaa. Happy Boxing Day, whatever the fuck that is, because no one really seems to know. Best wishes for 2013, since it looks like we won't be able to avoid it after all. But most of all, I hope we all find peace.

Labels: , , , , , , , , , , ,

thus proclaimeth the Zabet  3:03 PM  

.: 11.09.2012 


Dear Universe,

I love my dad and I miss my dad, but I would like to be done processing it all now please. Just when I think I've turned a corner, it's HA! SHITTONS OF CRYING FOR YOU!

It's getting old. And it's getting in the way of actual life. Please make it stop.

thus proclaimeth the Zabet  12:07 AM  

.: 11.01.2012 

Forget Christmas

Halloween just isn't the same without you, Dad.

I saw my very first horror movie at the tiny theater on Camp Stanley (near Uijongbu, South Korea). My dad took me; my mom never liked horror flicks.  We saw The Gate, and I got in at the kid's rate even though I was 13. Being short and having such a round face, I've always looked a lot younger than I am. I remember being offended that I wasn't recognized as a proper teenager, but dad and I both felt like we were getting away with something big by saving two or three dollars.

The movie was probably terrible, I really don't remember, and after my experience of viewing The Monster Squad as an adult, I'm not terribly keen on going back and seeing how The Gate has held up over the years. But I was hooked. And ever since that night in 1987, horror flicks were our thing.

My dad and I fought a lot. It's because we were so much alike. I didn't really understand that until I was in my late twenties. At one point we stopped speaking to each other for about three years. Then he called me, it must have been my birthday or Christmas or something, and he said, "I don't remember what we were fight about. Truce?" I said, "As long as I don't have to apologise or admit any wrongdoing." He laughed and said, "Ok, but neither do I." And we picked right back up where we left off, two peas in a pod.

After that fight, the one that left us so determined to be the person who ignored the other the hardest for three years, horror flicks and Halloween melded together. I wanted to escape the trick-or-treaters, so I (and usually my husband at the time) would pack off to Dad's house for 12-14 hour horror movie marathons.  One year we watched every single movie in the Halloween franchise in a row.

I love my dad, and I miss him so much. It's getting easier, especially once I got over that one-year mark. But it's never going to be better. It's never going to be the same. And I'm always going to have the nagging worry in the back of my head that maybe he didn't know how much I loved him.

So please go tell your people that you love them. Tell them loudly and often. Tell them even when you're fighting with them; maybe especially when you're fighting with them.

Blessed Samhain, everyone.

thus proclaimeth the Zabet  1:33 PM  

.: 10.15.2012 

Musing from the Unemployment Office

I just spent 90 minutes waiting at the unemployment office to fill out a form that took 90 seconds. Had it been available online, I could have walked in with it already filled out and just turned it in. Hell, had it been available online in any well-programed kind of capacity, I could have filled it out AND submitted it online, along with PDFs of my supporting documentation (i.e. paystubs, which, btw, WERE PDFs TO BEGIN WITH that I had to print out to turn in). I mean, I get having a face-to-face/paper option is necessary because not all these people have computers or employers who have gone paperless, etc, but DAYUM. It is 20-fricking-12!

I am amazed that there aren't more shootings. Seriously and genuinely amazed.

Another thing that amazed me is that with an average wait time of 60 to 90 minutes, none of the people there had brought books or something else to occupy themselves with--not even portable videogame type things. Very few people had fancy phones to keep them occupied--I think I saw two, everyone else had flip phones, like mine. I was extra-careful to not leave the house today without my knitting, and made quite a lot of progress on this kimono-style sleeve for the shrug I'm making.

Best thing overheard while waiting: The single phone-help lady, when a coworker brought her hearing aid over to her, "OH! I had wondered why everything had gotten so quiet!" Same lady, later, on the phone with a client, loud as can be, "OH, ARE YOU A FELON?!?" *eyeroll* Jesus, lady!

Also, I realized on my way home that THIS is exactly the kind of thing college has prepared me for: Navigating the Unemployment Office. Learning that deadlines are deadlines and you NEED TO KNOW when they are, and having to provide documentation, and knowing that I should log everything I do and everyone I talk to for the NEXT time I have to talk to someone.... all of this I learned, some of it the hard way, in securing financial aid year after year in college. Wow.

thus proclaimeth the Zabet  3:30 PM   0 comment(s)

.: 9.17.2012 

Worst. Anniversary. Ever.


thus proclaimeth the Zabet  1:31 PM  

.: 9.15.2012 

What do we even call this?

"Anniversary" sounds too happy.

Besides, I can't handle it anyway. I'm sorry, Dad.

P.S. If I cared more, I'd relink all my images. But I just don't.


thus proclaimeth the Zabet  7:11 AM  

.: 7.12.2012 

Oh, That Reminds Me

Hey, Dad, so have you seen Louise?  Because goodness knows we've looked everywhere else on this side. ;)

Love you,

Labels: ,

thus proclaimeth the Zabet  10:02 PM   0 comment(s)

.: 6.30.2012 

Oh, man.

I just realized that the con I've been invited to next weekend has a "Doctor Who Room."

I can't help but really wish my dad was alive to see that.

Labels: , ,

thus proclaimeth the Zabet  10:34 PM  

.: 6.08.2012 


I know it's trite, but wow.  Talk about "This is the first day of the rest of your life."


thus proclaimeth the Zabet  6:21 PM   0 comment(s)

New Wizard Rock Shirts!
by Zabet