Growing up in the Hudson River Valley seeing Sail Boats were a common occurrence. I remember at one point in my life there was even the possibility of taking sailing classes and learning how to Sail. This piece is written in dedication to those who have left me origami sail boats or have been one in their very presence. 

What I plan on writing will be written in the fashion of addressing the audience I presume to have. I will no longer allow my technology fool me. I am sure one day I will see you all, but as of right now you must be silent admirers. The reasoning behind this escapes me, but I would like to take a moment and say thank you. 

Again, I have no idea why you can't address me directly, but I have been able to discern that there is some risk taken in letting me know that you support me. To this I say I have the greatest supporters there are. Perhaps, without even recognizing I have taken on the burden of my alienation and exposure with humor and resolve because of these nuanced moments of love. I hope one day I get to see you all. Not for some odd sense of validation (though all artists long for it), but to embrace you. To see the type of effect that my work has on people. For as of right now I know I am creating ripples I just do not know which kind. 

Additionally, I'd like to address some aspects of the novel that got leaked. Aspects that are seemingly offensive. I'd like to say a few things. First and foremost, you should not read work that has not been deemed complete by it's creator. The reasons you may be upset with the piece may be the exact reason the creator has deemed it incomplete. 

The creative process is an imperfect one. One in which you must exact every possibility and avenue. Why we go some directions and not others is difficult to say. More often than not it is circumstantial to the moment in which a piece is being written. Especially, when reading a first draft of a project. A project that has had no other readers to provide feedback. A creative choice could have been boiled down to the temperature of my coffee, whether it were raining or not, and/or the porno that I watched on that day. Over psychoanalyzing the author as a response to this does nothing but confirm a certain immaturity in readership. You enter the threshold of being a true reader (someone who harnesses intellectuality not as a commodity but as a virtue) and someone who enjoys a book when you have the capacity to read books or engage with ideas you disagree with. With that being said I am interested in a truth telling art form. Now as you consider the circumstances I am currently living under I would like to tell you something I have deemed to be true. Now nobody is the sole owner of truth, but I think this sentiment is so incredibly consistent in my life that I can trust the notion to be constant as I proceed forward. 

Humanity is an ugly species. And as I pursue truth in my work I also write for myself. My time as a busker might have created a false narrative that I am writer attempting to appease the people. I would like to take an opportunity to debunk this notion. I write because I cannot stop writing. Because when I stop my life falls apart. So, what you need to understand is that when I write I write for myself and myself alone. And the one constant that I find in my lived experience is that humanity is ugly. So I write to explore these nuances of ugly in search of a justification for love and hope. Love and hope being what I so desperately need. 

On many occasions my writing is chewing on rocks in hope that one of the pebbles will be candy. To those immature children who have read my work without my consent; those of whom who have reacted on my person without allowing me the dignity to engage in dialogue or the grace to give them my creations on my own terms, I am compelled to tell you to grow up. To revisit my work in a few years once you have learned how to change your own diapers. But I will not tell you that. What I will tell you is that I am sincerely sorry. 

I have pieces of writing that are racist, homophobic, sexist, misogynistic, classist, and down right offensive. In no way am I attempting to use my platform to perpetuate hate. Rather, like a good Buddhist, I am outwardly a lover of the absurd. Nothing brings me joy like a good contradiction. For as a real radical individual told me recently, "None of us are God, but we are all God.". 

To those of you who have deemed me a colonizer and/or a preacher man. I am merely in the pursuit of abstraction and intellectual dialogue. How can I convert you to my ideals if you don't know what they are? I am in the pursuit of creative and analytical objectivism. A faulty pursuit, no doubt, but the standard of quality I have put up on myself. Let me ask you if an individual's constant is that humanity is ugly and in need of love and hope, then what would be an objective message of expression?

See I am not interested in convincing people of anything. I am only interested in making people doubt that in which they are certain. For certainty is the greatest liar there is. The greatest way to do this is to be a mirror. If you find something original that you like in my writing then question that. What does that mean to yourself not what does that mean about the writer? I implore you to do the same if you find something you don't like. 

To those of you who spend five minutes with me I am sure it is clear the stark contradiction in my creative messages in contrast to the integrity and principles of my character. It should be abundantly clear my disdain for authority, my distrust in leaders, my phobia of power, and my love for the marginalized. For it has been my experience with authority, leaders, and power in which I have discerned the perilous nature of human folly. Similarly, it is amidst the marginalized that I have found the constant desire for love and hope. Most likely as a response to the feeling of not being heard. Now for all intents and purposes I have lived an outwardly privileged life. So, I tried to allow my platform, outside of the realm of creative writing, to be a megaphone for others. I have seemingly missed the mark and for that I apologize as well. 

I'd like to tell you guys something. Black is beautiful. White is beautiful. Brown is beautiful. All the shades in between are beautiful. All religions are truth as long as they require faith and kindness. All art is good art except for bad art. Unless the bad art is bad in a way that is good. 

There I am done preaching. 

I have to admit in the pursuit of proving that I am an ally to various social groups I have almost lost myself. What you all have in common besides being wielders of beauty, is the need for love and hope. As I result of this need for love and hope, I have deconstructed it into this inherent need for help. Yet when I offer my hand and attempt to learn all I ever hear are the ways in which I am not enough. Or that the help that I am offering isn't as good as what can be taken from me. So very respectfully, I no longer care. I no longer care because amidst the suffering of my current circumstances I have learned something tremendous. 

Let me correct myself. I no longer care for your approval. I will offer my help how I can help and if it isn't wanted then I am not going to fight to prove that I care. By the way me helping has been stepping into classrooms. You guys may assume to not know my history, but entertain the idea that I am allowing you to tell me it from your mouth. The greatest way I know how to help is being present and listening. 

So very respectfully, I no longer care. I no longer care because amidst the suffering of my current circumstances I have learned something tremendous. 

Not only is humanity ugly, but it is beautiful. Not beautiful by posh Hollywood standards. But beautiful in resolve. Beautiful in belief. For as I sought love and hope in the exploration of the ugly it blossomed in the eyes of a readership I did not know I had. It has been easy to get hung up on the ways in which people hurl their judgments and insults at me, while behind closed doors my life has crumbled apart. There have been many breaths of fresh air I have received in subtly. People who have allowed me to find rays of sunlight in myself by looking at their eyes. I continue to write for myself, for the writer gives to the world what they prescribe for themselves. But for others I continue forward. 

To my students. I hope you remember the video of the Maya Angelou interview I showed you. She said something akin to, "You must live what you teach.". As I continue to climb to the top and get to the bottom of who stole my work, I want you all to know I think of you constantly. Always, wondering what kind of example I am to those who sat in my classroom. I have not gone to the authorities because I still believe you all have a bright future ahead of you. I want you to know I am extremely disappointed and that you have until the end of the week to return what is not yours. 

To those who are running around wearing my clothes and my poetry as if my identity is a Halloween costume, if it isn't clear I am turning up the heat. Return what is mine. 

To those of you who have hacked my computer and read my work prematurely and now demand a new project. Fuck you. 

I am going to edit the one you have stolen. I am going to put it out on my own terms. This might be pointless to most, but I know the toll of having written such a piece and I respect myself too much to give up on it. Not before seeing it come to it's full fruition. 

To the politicians in Chattanooga. I don't want your jobs. I don't even own a TV. But what I do know is for some reason you feel very threaten by my presence. I can assure you I do not think about you as much as you think about me. I want to write my books and be paid what they are worth. I am also under the impression that I have received awards and/or recognition of some type for the work that I have done. That's really uncool, man. I'd like to know how this world values me. Because financially, intimately, and socially I could not be worse off. 

I find that the people in this city are so pressed to keep me here that they are going to lengths to trap me. Bruh. Like you are aware that is where the desire to leave comes from. 

Can I paint a picture of a fantasy? I teach at a local college. On my days off I hike or write in a quaint city away from the limelight. On my summers off I tour or backpack or travel. It is the fear of what you believe I might do with my autonomy that is radicalizing me. 

This place is great, but it isn't the whole world. I promise you I am actually a pleasant person when I am not being wronged regularly. I have to imagine that those who have found unique ways to show their support for me have come to understand. 

This has been the worst year of my life. I have loved every second of it. 

Happy New Year Yall. May this next year be an equally wonderful and chaotic adventure. 

 

 

 

Copyright 2024 D.Hernandez All Rights reserved.

This piece of writing belongs to D. Hernandez and D.Hernandez alone. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.