Statistics
We looked inside some of the posts by lazlolazlo and here's what we found interesting.
Average Info
Notes Per Post
5
Likes Per Post
2
Reblog Per Post
3
Reply Per Post
0
Time Between Posts
5 months
Number of Posts By Type
Text
5
Photo
9
Video
3
Last Seen Tumblr Blogs
Fun Fact
Tumblr has 4 main sources of revenue.
Text
24.11.22
I'm trying not to let history repeat itself or my history, more specifically. It is the eggs and the one basket again. However, I find myself thinking of her often. Most intensely in those few days after we part when I am still moving through her mist, enveloped in the fog of our connection that seems to sit outside of time.
It feels romantic. We are softening to one another. We share food and wine and details that were previously off limits when we were both in open relationships. It is a nice feeling.
I wrote this on the back of a postcard:
Perhaps I'll write all that I think I know of you here, and put it on my wall. Hidden but there. A declaration for the plaster and paint. I certainly won't speak it out loud, that my feelings are becoming romantic. That I find myself thinking of you, that I'm accidentally nurturing a softly furnished space for you. I'm full of words like 'mist' and 'vapours', whatever it is you've got my swimming through. I'm becoming romantic. I'll hide in the swells in songs that played last summer and have since found us while we fuck. I'll hide in plain sight and wonder if you'll meet me there, or find me out.
I wonder though if I will ever be able to have sex in a casual way. It is still early days, I have plenty of life to lead but it is definitely a skill that eludes me. I'm reading around it like I'm taking a course. It kind of feels like I am, I've learning and unlearning to do. The unlearning is the hardest part. Obviously I've read The Ethical Slut but Adrienne Marie Brown's Pleasure Activism held me more.
We are entire systems wired for pleasure, and we can learn how to say yes from the inside out.
For me, from that yes, I am learning to communicate in real time, both what I want and what I don't want. To be with the wisting gut and pounding heart that don't want to speak uncomfortable truths, the burrowing, masking tucked chin of shame, the circular, overthinking busyness of my brain, and with the deep breath and interconnected dignity that allow me to be more honest every day. To be with the tingling spine and warm solar plexus that hint that I am feeling love.
To pull in my energy when I am in a situation where I need better boundaries. And to keep bringing my attention back to center, back to the present moment, to show up where I am.
It turns out, being present is the most important part of every single experience in my life.
It turns out, every other human being is also wired in these ways, entire systems shaped by pain and pleasure. And I can grant others the same autonomy I am learning to wield on my own behalf- -how I spend my life is my decision, based on all kinds of data coming from my body. And I can grant others the same level of complexity and contradiction as I am learning to embody- -we are all multitudes in process. We get to have boundaries. We get to have longings and articulate them. We can begin to imagine a society coordinated around honest, clearly articulated longings.
We are all multitudes in process. Reading this page gave me permission in a way. Brown shifts from 'I' to 'We' so seamlessly that it feels like she is talking to you directly, with you, that you are the same and that everything you are feeling it okay. She articulates something she has learnt as though we are all in a room discovering it live together. So much of this passage sang out to me but I know that it is not yet active in me - it sings to me but not from me, yet.
0 notes
Text
7.11.22
I wrote a whole thing for the first time in ages and it has vanished off the face of the earth, lost in the ether of the internet like it never happened. So I'm going to have to move through that and feel bitter about it for a short while. I go through this process when I get notes on a script. Obviously, it is good to get notes but I have to say goodbye to aspects of a thing that I worked hard on and probably loved a bit. Given time I move through it and oftentimes decide that yes this new version is better and the notes were right and very clever well done note giver.
I think I wrote briefly before about being all at sea with grief of various types, having had my heart broken and my womb taken and hitting two years without dad and all these things lapping up around me all at once.
I was foolish like the flowers.
I've not known betrayal like this before. I keep remembering little snippets of our interactions across the last three months of our relationship where they will have had to lie to my face. Other moments when near strangers tried to tell me something with an unknown code. Someone asked me if I had my suspicions but I didn't, not even a little bit. I trusted them implicitly and was counting down the weeks until I would visit them, spending money I had worked too hard for to make the trip across continents. At the time of writing this I am still struggling to right this financial imbalance. In other words I'm fucking skint and that doesn't feel fair. Not much of this feels fair. They have their reasons, valid, but at my expense.
I don't want to feel that the world or anyone in it owes me anything. When I was younger I would latch onto one friend very intensely and my mum would tell me not to put all my eggs in one basket, but that was my want. I wanted that special person to have them all, to have anything and everything from me. On my knees building a pedestal that they didn't ask for. Part of the reason for this was actually that I was a tiny gay and thought I just wanted to be best friends with these girls. The queer trope of be them/best friend them/ or fuck them. I didn't want to be a lesbian. I wouldn't know that I wasn't one for another decade at least. I gave my all to these friendships and held these people in such high regard that I was always let down one way or another. I created impossible standards for them and couldn't understand why they didn't treat me the way I treated them.
Quick someone tell me about attachment styles.
0 notes
Text
11.7.22
We took the Amtrak out of the city and talked about sharks with strangers. They had superior, phobia-shifting, knowledge to share. Apparently, according to this stranger, more people are killed by vending machines than sharks. I couldn't take my eyes off the Hudson. It was vast in a way that so many things seem to be in America, in a way that is only imagined elsewhere. One of T's classmates finds the Hudson Valley claustrophobic because they are from somewhere big and flat. I was picturing a sprawling desert where the horizon is the curve of the earth with nothing in the way.
Visiting America is like stepping into a film. It feels nostalgic, like I've been here before a long time ago. Soothing and unnerving. The pocket of upstate NY I'm in is very picturesque and a little bougie. There is quite a big art scene to go along with the liberal art college, Bard, where T is studying.
I stepped into a room today and was certain I had dreamt of it long ago. I've been staying with a man called Tim who has a huge old house on the Hudson. Nothing I can say will do the house justice, it was quick magical. Tim reminded T of my dad, maybe that's why I like him. But actually seems to be quite a special person.
The house reminded me of Anna's house in Shackerstone. I spent a lot of time at her house as a kid, playing in her dads workshop/garage or pulling all the mattresses onto the stairs and bouncing down in a sleeping bag. We played characters Moe and Lee (must be said in a vague northern accent) who worked together in the workshop and drove go carts. Moe and Lee had to dash across the garden to the house with a big umbrella to avoid acid rain. I was a boy in every game, obviously. I remember hoping (wishing) that when I hit puberty that I would become a boy, that that was the fork in the road. Her house had a specific earthy, homely smell which felt safe to me.
0 notes
Text
9.7.22 Dive Bar
Sat in a dive bar on Myrtle Avenue, Brooklyn. I’ve already walked into one bar and out again cos it was too much of a dive I guess. It was too quiet and I don’t want to make up any more than 10% of the clientele. Let me sit in anonymity. I went in because it said PROTECT BLACK TRANS WOMEN on the window but I was the most visibly queer person in there. I was aiming for a place called Mood Ring which a cute queer called Elm had told me about at a gallery.
Paul B. Preciado curated an exhibition at the Leslie-Lohman Museum of Art; Every Life Matters: The Work of Lorenza Böttner. ‘Surpassing categories of Abstract Expressionism, figurative painting, and the feminist tradition of performance art, Böttner painted and danced, claiming the right to publicly exist and create in a transgender armless body.’ (Art&Education) It was a wonderful show and apparently not half of her collected works. Her piece Venus de Milo saw Lorenza dressed and posing as the sculpture. ‘Lorenza’s dissident transgender body becomes a living political sculpture, a trans-armless sculptural manifesto.’(Documenta14) She challenges audiences to think about how they view ancient statues that have lost their arms/limbs, how these statues stand in museums and public squares around the world. How are these protected artefacts different from her armless body? How does the audience view her and more generally, physical disability?
In an interview Lorenza spoke about why she wasn’t pursuing gender re-assignment surgery. She sounded a bit tired. She had spent a lot of her childhood in hospitals having surgery and plastic surgery after both of her arms were amputated above the shoulder following an accident. She didn’t want to be in that space any more, to put her body through that again. [trans surgery add more] I have totally normalised the idea of gender affirming surgery for myself, moreover, I have normalised putting my body through that because the outcome is the closest I’ve come to being able to have a positive relationship with my body. But on some physical, sub conscious level I think I still feel the intensity of that experience, despite shrugging it off.
This exhibition was the perfect place to ask for recommendations for the evening to come. I hadn’t managed to make plans to see anyone so I knew I was riding solo in Brooklyn. Between that first bad bar and the second I kept seeing queers heading in the opposite direction . They knew something that I didn’t, they could have been going anywhere. I felt like an extras small fish in NYC, London feels minuscule comparatively. In NYC you walk 15 minutes for what would be 5 in London. I kept walking, past those queers, mostly because I had a plan partly because I had no other option.
I came into the bar that I am now sat at on a whim. I spotted two trans mascs through the swinging door from the street. They were glowing. I took a stool along the bar from them. I can barely look at them.
It took me ages to leave my crap hotel. I often accessorise lightly to subtly queer code my outfit. Some painted nails, a neckerchief, something like that. But that is in London. Here I feel like I’m committing a high pitched ringing noise and I glare at the pavement and pull my cap low to counter it. In the end I painted 4 out of 10 nails and added a neckerchief to an otherwise low-key outfit. But I feel over dressed. I’m swinging wildly from fear driven stealth to desperately trying to signal to my trans siblings. 6.5 years on T almost makes me an elder and I doubt they see me.
0 notes
Text
8.7.22 Manhatten & Munson
I’m sat in a cafe in nyc. I paid $8 for a coffee and poor wifi connection but I just saw a great art show next door that was full of collected objects of femininity. Stuff for girls all tied together. Endless pinks. ‘Today will be awesome.’ Portia Munson. “While the individual objects in Today Will Be Awesome, 2022, were manufactured to sell confidence, positivity, and success to young women, Munson’s accumulation of them exposes their suffocation, violence, and victimization.” (P.P.O.W. GALLERY) Everything I spent my youth avoiding.
I think I thought I was a solitary creature but I keep talking to strangers.
Being here is making me think of last time. When I walked the city alone because my then partner was at work during the day. I don’t remember feeling this self aware but maybe I was just young. I don’t remember if I had come out yet when I was last here, but I think I was binding, I must have been. I must have been moving between spaces some how, oscillating into new selves, buying all these American clothes as though I could be that guy one day. Go Nets!
What I saw was a simpler life and a simpler future for myself. But that wasn’t based on fact, that was based on being an entirely different person. It was based on being cis. So it was a bit of a long shot. I get hit by waves of this simplicity occasionally, it all seems so clear. If I was that guy my life would be so easy, wow I would wake up each morning and put on one of those plain t-shirts and some jeans and just stroll out the house without a bag. Just my wallet in my pocket and my phone in my hand. (I’m too much of a Capricorn for this to ever be my truth.) I go to the same pub to see the lads on Fridays and I work out regularly enough but not too intensely but it doesn’t matter because I’m not insecure and I don’t have hips. I cycle without a helmet.
Does it turn you on when you put a tampon in?
Munson’s work pulled me back to a series of shapes I used to try and fit into. For the most part I moved relatively freely as a little tomboy but once those hormones kicked in for my peers it was a different ball game. I clung to my scrappy tomboy look for as long as I could, I got my period a little later than some of those girls from school and I was adamant that things didn't need to change. Why were we just sat around at lunch time talking? I still wanted to play! I could feel this comfortable space slipping away, change was all around me and I was stubbornly planting my feet. I feel sad for that kid, so fearful of puberty and what it signified. That kid wouldn’t feel comfortable for the next 13 years.
[I do historically have a tendency to fall into the trap of ‘When I have X I will be happy’. X can be any number of things that I’m waiting to happen or waiting to achieve or receive. But X is not happiness.]
0 notes
