Tuesday, March 30, 2010


By: Albert “Infinite” Carrasco

Writing is a passion deep inside of me caged up so anxious to be released, words not spoken can’t feed a thirsty mind waiting to eat, so I have decided to speak to the ones that want to be feed instead of holding these thoughts inside my head. You see my vision of happiness was chasing money, being a drug seller or a gun runner anything to keep my pockets full I did for the capital, at sixteen I was shot twice, took two for the team, but in the emergency room I lay there like damn all this for the cream, I was too blind to see what the pursuit of currency was doing to me. At this time I should have realized I was on the wrong path to the riches, in the ER undergoing surgery and getting stitches, I walk around with a bullet to this day. But to me that cash it’s a small price to pay, even out the hospital doors I’m on the phone trying to make money soar, blinded to what this game had in store. Cars jewelry , stick up kids trying to do me, groupies on line trying to screw me, living life like a movie, no script no actors, real men of my stature didn’t surrender the thought of possessing that legal tender. Celebrity stats fully auto gats cause me to wear Kevlar on my back, thirty two shot clips, stash box in whips, blinding light in rear to disappear when danger was near.

It was a catastrophic curriculum where I’m from in the slums to sell drugs and bust guns cause of the fear of being bums, isolated from the real world we continued the life style that we knew banging and hanging in our housing vestibule living life by our rules advice by others not needed and when it was given it wasn’t heeded, now I got cash but time has taken precious things from me, friends I rolled with and shared my bliss most are dead and so dearly missed, it is what it is I can’t change what was written this game is full of snakes and even the strongest get bitten, bad decisions in search of fame in this game will leave you lifeless, well I was smart and decisive in a game that’s cold as is, fun in this life doesn’t last for some, was like speeding in a car until it ran out of gas to them, my tank was always full and I kept a chauffeur , living the life of La Costra Nostra. Inner city kids in an inner city struggle with no direction just the ghettos reflection of kids needing attention. Time has passed by so fast just like most of the guys I lost in the oppression, I continue to live life with the few that are still alive, for different goals we strive, no more fast life were taking slow strides no more funerals to make moms and wives cry.

All I wanted was not to be poor, not to have my friends sent early knocking on heaven’s door. The choices that are made as a kid sometimes devastate us as adults, so I want the youth to see that the game is really fantasy! So those that looked up to me in the streets, I want them to continue to look up to me but for something positive not because of the life I lived. So I will share my scars, my losses and my bad choices to enlighten a few on what this game will bring. The street history is a story of destruction, corruption, a pattern of misery. At thirty eight I am still feeling the wrath of what has passed life I lived in, waiting anxiously for a few to be released from prison seventeen, twenty, and forty years bids for things we did as kids. The game ended for me and a few, but there are still those to have to see their sentence through. You know how sad it is to see the children of my fallen soldiers grow up without a father. My father died when I was twelve and so did my childhood, so their outlook on life to me is very sadly understood.

Helpless I do not know if good intentions prevail among the elected, among the appointed, leaving me apprehensive that the fate ...