Life as a Gang Member from Los Angeles

Terrell Wright for Street Gangs
September 1, 2005

Su – Su – Su – wooooop! I greet you with the one and only universal blood call, in which all faithful and dedicated blood members from the city of angels adhere to.

There is no other way for me to open up the door to my world, where being a blood is a hazardous job. All I know is being a blood, and everything about me is bloody in one way or another: In essence, I’m a bloody mess.

Like the passing wind high above the treelines, also are my many friends disappearing in that blink of an eye. But it’s all a part of the guts and glory, and ups and downs of being ghetto fabulous in one of Los Scandalous most notorious ghastly Blood gangs: The N- Hood 20’s.

Opposition lay everywhere; all the borders are intense and war is always imminent. Even within my own psychic, a personal war is being waged. But I’m that 5-star general who has survived the World War I atmosphere of the county jails; I jumped in head first at the first sign of World War II approaching; and I strapped up when the Korean War loomed on the horizon, in the dirty trenches of San Quentin.

I waged guerrilla warfare, like the Vietcongs of Vietnam, whenever faced with overwhelming odds. But the fight is always the same, one of survival. It’s a fight which has been on-going for approximately 30 years. In fact, it’s the longest civil war in America’s entire history. The war between the red team, and the blue team: The Bloods and the Crips.

ORDER MY BOOK, Home of the Body Bags

It’s sort of like Survivor, but on this Island of chaos we’re playing for keeps. The rules are for real here, where there is one for sure winner; and definitely a for sure loser. Tribal council is like the burial of one of your own: outcasted, forever gone.

There is no time to feel pain, so you must hold all your torturous thoughts bottled up on the inside; never letting them get the best of you. But for some it’s a difficult task, keeping all that anger and sorrow underneath their brow.

Some commit acts of suicide, finally releasing their pain in an act only similar to friendly fire: It’s a fucked up way to go out. In the world inwhich I live, paranoia is a survival skill. For me in my line of duty, it’s that part of evolution that’s helped me to survive the many drive-by shootings.

I’m always looking over my shoulder, studying the passing cars, and analyzing the shadowy silhouettes in the cloak of darkness. I have no room for mistakes, as it could be my last.

I’m from the Notorious Rollin 20’s Neighborhood Bloods, Author of “Home of the Body Bags”, where toe tags leave lasting impressions. In the bloody details of my book, you get the chanced opportunity to travel with me, and to see all that I have seen and experienced. I take you through the smoggy air of Los Angeles inside of the pages of my book; past the realm of death, around every real and imaginary corner making you hold your breath, and giving you fear never experienced before.

I’m the Freddy Kruger in the gang atmosphere. I haunt you in your dreams, rob you of your sleep, and stalk you in the echelon of shadows. I’m that nagging, persistent thought you always have, when you see a younghood, who you have reserve thoughts about: You don’t know whether I’ma jack you for your vehicle, or rob you of your cash.

I’m a frontline soldier in the present civil war, and all my energy is centered to that arena of activities. I’m a soldier who shoulder many different roles; roles that may seem contradictory on the surface. To those who love me, and know me as a Father to my two daughters, a son to my mother, a brother to my two sisters and one brother, and a special friend to that special person my life, I’m not that monster who my enemies know and fear.

To them I wear a total different hat. The peel-your-cap-back-hat. To them I’m the worst nightmare who has ever worn a red Texas Ranger hat. The hat of death.

Then there’s my other hats I wear: my education hat, where I study, opening up new realities to myself; and then there’s my author hat, when I’m focused on writing books – in which now, I’m presently on my 3rd book.

But frankly, I prefer to wear my gangsta hat. The infamous T-hat. The one that strikes fear in the hearts of those who despise me. Those who want me dead. They hate me because I bang the “B”. They despise me, because I chose red over blue; and they look down on my because I have 20/20 vision, but can only see things in the shade of red.

I live in the same world as you do; I just occupy a different place in time, within my own dimension: The Rollin 20 Blood gang dimension. I’m that mystical figure who steps from the shadows and assassinates rivals without remorse. I’m that romeo who steals your heart and make you addicted to my world of existence. I make you do things you said you would never do. I’m that person you see tending to the care and well-being of my two beautiful daughters. But I’m also that drug baron who floods your Neighborhood with the vices that keeps the army I belong to equipped and oiled to run smoovely.

I’m the writing on the wall, which says beware in the NHB’s. I’m the intersection of Lasalle and Adams blvd., where if you stop, anything could happen to you. I’m the youngster you see passing by on a bicycle, dressed in all red strapped with precautions. I’m that image that leaves a lasting impression, embedded in your head.

I’m O/G/B Loko1, from that infamous gang – da Neighborhood Rollin Twenty Bloods.
Su – wooooooop!

Terrell Wright is currently incarcerated in Corcoran State Prison in California. You can correspond with him at the address below:

Terrell C Wright, T51529
C6 – 116 – Low
PO Box 5246
Corcoran, CA 93212-5246

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