Hazel's Manifesto

Hello there! Welcome to this thing

This manifesto is a series of lessons, short stories, and thoughts of mine that relfect who I am as a person, and who I strive to be. It is not meant to be a guide on how to act, but rather I hope people curious enough to find and read this are able to find something they can take away and use in their own life. Read between the lines, see something I didn't intend, and come up with your own interpritations. I will never clarify anything on behalf of you. Only for myself. Whatever the case, I at least hope you'll enjoy what I have written

This manifesto will likely be updated with additions over time. Previously written parts will not be deleted, as to act as a landmark for who I was at a period in time. Addendums or comments may be added.

To begin, here's my favourite music thing at this moment in time. The second song, Puke, always gets me. (no, we're not the same person)

Spirituality

24 September 2024

I am not a religious person. I've never really believed in any established gods or churhces or whatever. I do however, have my own system of belief. A series of coicidences and happenstance that feel far too poignant and poetic to not be real. Part of this belief system includes the idea of Luck. I believe that life is merely a series of rolls of the die. Sometimes you get to choose the die, other times it's chosen for you. You can affect the roll in an number of ways given the situation, but in the end it's chance that plays it's hand in every scenario. Job application? Luck. Getting followers online? Luck. Making friends? Luck. You can never predict the outcome of anything, really. To me, it's given me a great calm in life to believe this about everything. I do my best to push in my favour but in the end, it all comes down to luck.

Another thing that's come into the picture recently is flowers. For the longest time, when I would go out tagging, I would use flowers in my pieces. I liked to add life and fun into the world in these little gardens. Some bright whimsey. I've never been gifted flowers before, that was, until my would-be partner for a time, not so long after we had even met, brought me flowers and soup when I was sick. It was the sweetest thing anyone had ever done for me, and it was then as the flowers were brightest, did I fall in love with someone so prematurely. As time went on and our relationship bloomed, so did the flowers. I would do my best to keep them alive, and they did their best to always look as bright as the day they were given to me. And then one day I walked into the kitchen, these flowers, in the plastic tupperware vase it had be originally placed in, started to dull. It wasn't all the flowers, just one at the time I noticed. I replaced the water, added some sugar. I felt a slight distance form between us, she wasn't feeling well, but it was stil good between us. A week later, more petals had dulled. She was growing sick, I felt really bad for her. More time, the duller the petals. When the majority were dull, she stopped being so affectionate over text, and it was difficult to find time to meet up. I was feeling uneasy, and then we planned to meet for some lunch, we hadn't seen eachother in a bit. Before I headed out for the day, I checked in on the flowers. There was one solitary flower, it's petals bright as the day they were bought, surrounded in a sea of black, dead flowers. Later that day, she said it'd be best if we didn't see eachother anymore. I was feeling much the same, the passion we had started the relationship with had faded as our own lives and stresses caught up to us, and we needed to be alone. I didn't want it to end, of course, I wish it could have always been like it was when we first started dating, but I knew in that moment that this was the right thing for both of us. I vowed to still support her, regardless. Love her like I love my friends. When I got home, there were no bright petals. I cannot bring myself to believe this wasn't a mere conicidence. I now hold flowers in a much higher metaphorical sense than I ever did. Don't buy me flowers, I hate watching them die.

The Chains That Bind Us

24 September 2024

I assume that many would describe my fashion style as "alternitive", and I'd agree with them there. There are a few key parts that I bring with me between every outfit, and I'm slowly adding more over time as they become relevant. The two most obvious are my handcuffs, and my collar. Let's start with the collar, it's what I got first after all.

Some of you may know of the youtube channel Leadhead. They're one of my favourite creators on the platform, and played a major part in building my confidence to finally transition into the woman I am today. Not only that, they're the reason I'm a puppygirl. roughly 3~ months ago from the writing of this segment of the manifesto, Penny (Leadhead) dropped this video: The Puppygirl Psychoanalysis, and it awoken something in me. I went ahead and right away bought a dog collar online, a nice black leather one. A few days later, she arrived, along with my first bra. Trying both on... I was forever changed as a person. I looked sexy, and cute at the same time. It was the confidence boost I never knew I needed. I started to describe myself as a "Puppygirl" from then on, openly to the right people, and subtly to those who aren't familiar with the concept. I learnt how to bark, and my more affectionate sides of my personality came through much stronger, just as a consiquence of wearing this collar. Now, this is different from every other article of clothing in this growing list, but this collar does not come off, unless I'm in the shower. I sleep with this thing, and I work with it. It gives me a sense of comfort and self. I can't exactly describe what this collar does to me when it's on, but when it's off, everything feels wrong. As a puppygirl with a collar, who's the master some may ask? That's a question I picked up on my thoughts not long after I took the puppygirl mantle. and my answer is as such: It's me, I'm my own master. I control my own destiny, I teach myself new tricks, and I decide where I go. I'm not the puppygirl who barks and sleeps on the floor, (or not yet, I guess) but I am the puppygirl who's increadibly loyal to those she loves. She'll latch onto any new person she vibes with, and fiercly protects those in her pack. She's confident, and she's a darn-tootin' cutie too!

The cuffs, handcuffs, like cop cuffs. 'cept these are kink cuffs that look like real handcuffs, because they're easier to relocate around. I usually keep these on my belt, and occationally on my wrist as a gnarly wristband. I've always loved the cuff aesthetic, from games like Death Stranding, Freedom Wars, Astral Chain, feature characters with a pair of prison-like cuffs that bind on their wrist. The thing is though, these cuffs are what gives these characters their powers, not to bind them to a cell. I wear cuffs because I see them as a metaphorical way of saying I am bound in myself, the only thing keeping me locked in is myself, again with the whole "control my own destiny" thing. And they look cool. But I like to see the meaning in these things, they come with me everywhere. They mean something to me, and I think it's okay I haven't gotten the meaning 100% down just yet.

I Think More People Should Be Creating For The Sake Of Creating, or: You Should Start Journaling Too

25 September 2024

Last year, I wanted to start a journal. or diary, or something. Just something I can write my thoughts in and draw little sketches and whatever. A place for my thoughts and my thoughts only. This book wouldn't be shown to anyone, at any time. I planned to keep a collection of filled journals in a box somewhere, and bury it for someone to find at a later date. The thing is, I don't want to know who finds it, or when, or how, or if ever. These are small stories of a life unknown written in terrible handwriting with drawings that can be barely understood; it's a person's life.

But I couldn't find the size of journal I was after (not without spending too much on some high-end book or whatever) and decided to just make my own. I folded a piece of paper and cut it down to A6 spreads (A7 per page), found some thin cardboard to use as the cover, and stapled it all together. It was a tiny thing, perfect to fit in my back pocket. I wrote it's title on the front; "BOOK". It's not a very impressive-looking thing, but who cares! It's for me to write in. I did so almost every day, and then maybe missed a few days, a week, but then writing in it (making sure to write the date on each new day I write in it) and continuing on like nothing happened. I eventually, almost poeticly for the reasons stated above, lost this book. It pretty much never left my pocket, but one day it vanished, and I forgot about it for months. So much had happened and when I decided to write it down, I couldn't find it. I had nowhere to spill this brain juice onto a page, make it damp with my experiences.

I made another one, titled it "BOOK 2", and included a note in the front mentioning how I lost the first one. So far I haven't missed a day, and I've been finding that I can finally "tell someone" about my deepest, darkest secrets, my deepest darkest problems, and all sorts of thoughts I have no-one close enough to me to share. All I know is that someday, I'm either gonna lose this pocket autobiography or put it somewhere for someone to find, so someone might read it, and maybe they'll understand what I'm going through. Maybe they won't. Maybe they'll throw it away, maybe they can't read it. I don't like to write it like I'm writing for someone else though, it has no target audience. It's mine, I write for me. That may sound contradictory but I don't really care lol.

I've been refering to this journal to all those who ask about it or those who have the misfortune of hearing me gush about it as a personal work of art. I'm creating this with poetry, with drawings, with short stories, with tales, with experiences, and I go into it knowing full well it might never see the eye of another. I want to create more art like that, it makes me feel alive, like a real person. I think you should give it a try someday.

Collective Action Starts With You and a Friend

06 November 2024

First things first, don't ever lose hope.

Have you ever wanted to make change in the world? Start a revolution? Stick it to the fuckin' man? Consider this an informal guide. Or, I guess, more so an idea. A theory. Something I've been slowly putting into practice.

So, you wanna change the world, but you look outside and nobody is listening. Maybe people are, but nothing is changing??? It sucks, it's frustrating, and it's enough to make any self respecting anarchist break down and cry about how the world fucking sucks and everyone in it should die. Don't be such a crybaby. Or do, but now's not the time. Suck it up and listen. Step one is supporting yourself. Get yourself on you feet, best you can. Ask for help, if you need it. Supporting yourself can mean getting support from others, the idea here is you can have a place to think. Step two is getting yourself a friend you can rely on. If you don't have one, try your best to find your community, talk to people, find a friend. Got one? Good. Talk to them. The next step here is to get make some assurances for them. For me, this is stuff like "If you ever need a place to stay, my house is your house. You don't need to pay rent, you don't need to worry about food" or "If you need financial aid, I am willing to provide it" or "If you ever need to be picked up from somewhere, I'll be there as soon as I am physically able". You may have already been thinking these things about your best friend, but you need to assure this one friend, remind them, that you are there to support them. Ask them give you assurances. They don't need to be the same ones, not everyone is able to do everything you can. But this is how we build community, this is how we build collective action. We make promise, we make assurances, and most importantly, we act on those assurances if and when the time comes. And then, when you're tight with your friend, when you've given them your assurances and signed the pact, find another friend. Do it again. When we support our friends like this, we build networks, nodes, communities of people who care for eachother. This is how we change the world.

Now this might all sound like wishful thinking, and it's a lot of effort, but we have to try and make a better world. No movement started with a thousand members. Anarchy doesn't happen because you call yourself an anarchist. Action happens when you realise it. Build that community, and maintain that community. An easy way to maintain community is to check in regularly. Do you have a discord server with your community? @everyone and ask how they're doing every day/week. If it's more scattered, set alarms to check in on everyone. More the artsy type? Create a zine keeping people informed on what you've been up to and what you're doing, and encourage others to do the same. Hell, you might wanna start a newsletter with input from your community.

Keep this in mind; community starts small. A community between you and one other person is still a community. Keep that community strong, keep it connected. Expand it one person at a time. Don't rush. The world won't change overnight, but if you build your community and keep it close, keep it connected, you might be able to influence change in your school. In your club. In your university. In your street. In your neighborhood. In your council. In your country. In your world. Don't rush, take it slow. A better future IS possible. It's gonna take effort, and it's gonna take collective action, and it starts with you, and a friend.

Find Your Stairway

13 November 2024

This year has been about many things for me, discovering my gender, my identity, what I believe in, and becoming so much more curious and attentive than I've ever been.

This curiosity has led me down many paths, both in mind and physically. Travelling down weird alleyways, entering abandoned buildings, when there's no rain I might go check out a storm drain or two. I'd not recommend this hobby to everyone, it is indeed a dangerous thing to do. Done safely however, and with curiosity and discovery in mind over the idea of "notoriety" or whatever, it came be a fulfilling and rewarding hobby. I've learnt more about myself by spending hours walking around a half collapsed nursing home than I have in my many years as a human on this earth. Recently I've been looking around my local area for weird nooks and crannies I can sit and relax in, and there's this one that's become quite a favourite of mine. I've taken to calling it the "lesbian staircase" (or 'Leswell', a portmanteau of "lesbian" and "stairwell", that one of my friends came up with), and I've been spending a lot of time there recently. I'm writing this very section of this manifesto on this staircase. It's on the roof of a carpark, and leads to a locked door. Now I call it the lesbian staircase because there's a lot of graff and writing on the walls and door about girls kissing girls and I think that's super cool cuz like, I'm a girl, I kiss girls, this is my kinda place.

Recently I've been coming here in the afternoons and night to relax, listen to loud music, and reflect upon my life and days and whatnot. I've written a few things here, a dnd session, meaningful messages, I've thought thoughts about my life and my purpose, and I've discovered a lot about myself here. It feels like a safe place I can return to again and again. I've added my own writings to the walls here, of course, but I won't tell you about them here, because this is my place. The other souls who call this staircase home can read it, it's for me, it's for us.

I might not call this place my main solo hangout spot forever, but for now, this is my place to relax away from the world. It's my place to think, to ponder, to exist. Yeah I'd recommend it. Go out, keep an eye out. Find a spot where you feel safe and comfortable. Go there to think. Too many distractions at home for me, if I try and write about life the universe and everything in my room, I'll inevitably open steam and forget about these things. At my staircase, it's me, my music, and my thoughts. It wasn't built to be, but it's my space.