Quick Update: Our Cancer, Our Cure
Back in the mid-nineties, when I was coming up in the rap game, there were several other Mexican-owned rap labels in Houston. These guys made it more than clear that I was their competition, not the music industry. Other rappers were selling millions of albums, yet they were more concerned with what SPM was doing. The more I accomplished the more the tension grew. Honestly, I can’t think of one other label, of those mentioned, that didn’t have at least a few people hating on Dope House Records. Am I the only person who sees how fucking sad that is?
Aren’t we supposed to be doing this so that our kids can know that anything is possible? It never had to be me at the top. I rooted for everyone, and wished everyone success.
I guess these fools thought if I got hit by a truck, or a bullet, they would be able to take my place. Well, I did get hit by a bullet so to speak, and I’ve been in prison the last fiscal decade. Where are all these dudes at? I get every issue of Billboard and they’re not on the charts. My last two albums were the number 6 and 5 rap albums in America. I’m still the number one selling Mexican American rap artist in the nation, and some of these same dudes are still talking down.
If you hate yourself, you’ll hate your own kind. I got a letter the other day from a homie who said, “Los, my little brother goes around telling people that he’s half black, but he’s a full-blooded Mexican. He’s nineteen years old and hard to talk to. Do you have any advice on what I can tell him?”
I’ve met people like that. For whatever reason, it makes them feel more valuable to say they’re part White, or Black, or Siberian Husky. This is the state some of us are in, and it’s ridiculous because we’re a powerful race.
Our enemy is hate. It’s a cancer. On my “Cages” update I spoke about how Mexican neighborhoods are infested with gangs, and how all those kids inherit enemies. The institution of gangs is a machine that takes kids and destroys their lives. The government knows that we’re killing each other, but they look the other way. For some reason they don’t want us to thrive, to be healthy so they appreciate the fact that we’re eliminating ourselves. The end result is a race with few accomplishments to be proud of.
Our solution is simple, and at the same time, almost impossible. For those who have love, it’s just a matter of using it. For those who don’t, well, how can you make chicken soup with no chicken? Still, the answer is love. Do you have it? The Bible says that it’s easy to love those who love you. Anybody can do that. You get no reward for that. But when you love your enemies, those who curse you and hate you, that’s when you have love.
I know you’ve heard people say, “As long as a person shows me respect, I’ll show him respect. But if he has no respect, he won’t get any from me.”
Well, fuck, it’s easy to respect respectful people. Anyone can do that. That doesn’t mean you have respect. You have real love, real respect, real kindness, when you have those things without condition.
There’s lots of hateful people, but most times it’s not personal. It’s more about who they are, rather than who they’re hating on. If we were never born, they’d be talking shit about someone else, trust me. Just like you drill a hole in hopes to strike oil, people hate in hopes to strike drama. It’s an addiction that doesn’t allow them to be happy with happy.
Some of us won’t join gangs, we won’t be criminals, we aren’t hateful because we don’t want all the worry, the stress, and darkness that comes from those lifestyles. Other of us don’t mind at all because the drama is familiar to us. The feelings we experienced from being raised in chaos are no different than the ones we get from living foolish lives. Even in all the pain, we feel at home.
A while back I was watching Divorce Court, and there was a Mexican American couple on there. The dude had tattoos on his face like the make-up of a clown and it caught my attention. As I listened in, I learned that he was a gang member who wanted to change his life. He and his wife had a baby girl, and he wanted a better future for his daughter. So the judge asked his wife, “Why do you want to divorce him?” She answered, "Because I married a gangster, and that’s what I want.”
Peace and Happiness are treasures to those who know them, but they’re strangers to those who don’t. And people don’t feel comfortable around strangers. This chick didn’t feel satisfied in a sensible environment. She wanted a vato she could be worried about, someone who had dangerous enemies. She wanted to cry and be scared and do all the dumb shit that goes with that lifestyle. It’s not that she’s making herself want these things, they’re natural attractions, and people follow their hearts.
It starts from the very first day you come into this world. In fact, during your first twelve months of life, your brain absorbs more information than any other year you’ll ever live. That’s why the first five years of life are so crucial, because you’re doing more than learning, you’re being made.
There’s been people who have overcome a poisonous upbringing, but it’s not because they were better, they just had better resources. Maybe they were born with stronger minds, could communicate well, learn faster. Maybe they had talents that impacted people. This lifted them from a sad outcome, but they’ll still be troubled according to whatever degree of pain they were raised in. Other people may not have had those talents, same creativity, same creativity, same insight. But people like to be heard and felt, and if they can’t touch others in a positive way, they’ll just get good at hurting people.
The other day I was talking to a guy on the recreation yard and he said, “I hear you, Carlos, but I don’t agree. I hurt a lot of people, and I stayed in trouble, but I wasn’t raised in poison or chaos. I had both my parents and all they did was love me. They gave me all they could. I was a fucked up person because I chose to be.”
I asked him a few more questions, and we both agreed that his parents spoiled him. We can’t forget that spoiling a kid is just as chaotic as anything else. The kid grows up selfish and hurtful, which is a result of being allowed to raise himself. There’s two kinds of people in prison, the ones who weren’t given enough and the ones who were given too much. Let your “no” be “no” and show your kids who the parent is. A three-year-old couldn’t be the boss of a one-man hot dog stand, so why would you let him be the boss of his own life?
I meet people all the time, and it’s hard to have love for them. They’re selfish, hateful manipulative. It helps to remind myself that there’s a reason why people do what they do. We’ll never know exactly why, but we know there is a reason. In heaven we’ll be able to watch films on people and be, like, “No wonder that motherfucker was a piece of shit!” Hold on, I’m sorry. We’ll be, like, “Pore eso el puto le valio` madre!” Just make sure the angel who’s showing the film doesn’t know Spanish.
I’m not saying that you should try to save every unfortunate person that comes your way, but don’t be one of the dumbasses who hates them.
If someone is trying to get their fix of drama by fucking with you, don’t lose the game. Remember, this is about them, not you. All these people ever get is hate in return for their hate, and no one benefits from that. Firefighters don’t pull up to burning houses with flamethrowers. Those houses need water, and those haters need love. If you don’t have the time, just say, “Look. bro, I love you, and I have nothing to say. I’ll just get out of your way.”
Exercise your love, and you do that with work-out equipment called “haters.” The more love you build up, the more powerful you’ll become. Does anybody know what God is, as far as what he’s made of? The Bible says God is love. It doesn’t say he has love, it says he is love. If that doesn’t tell you how powerful love is, I don’t know what will.
It’s not our job to judge people, because that’s an impossible task. How the fuck do we know what people were made with? The more love you have, the more vision you’ll gain. Whether dealing with someone fifteen or fifty remember that those who were poisoned end up needing that poison just to feel complete.
Here, in this prison, a funny thing goes on during football season. You’ve got these hard core Dallas Cowboy fans, then you’ve got what people call “Cowboy Haters.” The “haters” celebrate everytime the Cowboys lose. No matter who Dallas plays, they cheer for the other team. But do you really believe they hate the Cowboys? Did Tony Romo run over their puppy, then back-up and run it over again? Did Miles Austin take their parking spot then get out of his car and do a touchdown dance? Who they’re really hating on is the Cowboy fans. They know they’ll get a reaction which gives them the drama they’re seeking. One guy will yell out “Them Cowgirls got that pussy!” and all hell will break loose.
It reminds me of the love you have for me, and I love you too. But these haters are using your love to get their fix. Do you really think they know me? They damn sure can’t say they know I’m guilty. You need to see what’s going on. Justin Beiber jumps on stage and the crowd goes berserk. A hater jumps on the internet, and the crowd goes berserk. They’ve got nothing to back up what they say because there was no evidence in my case. How could there be? The dumb bitch, Officer Ruiz, told Atlantic Magazine what a guilty person I was, yet she’s the same person who refused to collect, or ever try to collect any evidence. Why? Because she knew there would be none. All she’s doing is covering up for herself because the system knows they fucked me over.
Like I said, most times the hate is nothing personal, but sometimes it could be. Ya never know, a few of these haters could be enemies I made somewhere down the road. Maybe someone who caught me on a bad day, and thought I was rude. Or someone who’s girlfriend ended up in my hotel room. I gave more hoes dick breath than a 1970’s porno star.
Mostly, though, people just enjoy hurting people. Whether it’s politics, the Cowboys, SPM, they’ll do anything to pick a fight. The internet, I’ve learned, is a great place to spit-box all got-damn day. Don’t fall into that world. Next thing ya know, you’re sixty-years-old and didn’t do a fucking thing in life.
I’m not saying you shouldn’t respond to hateful people but do it with love. They can tell if they’ve upset you by the way you respond. If you don’t have the love to deal with them, don’t worry together we’ll grow, and get to where we need to be, Lord willing.
It’s funny because Incandesio has never heard me talk about playerism yet she handles haters so beautifully. Even when they call her names, she never stoops down to their level. She knows that when you hate them, you become them. She told this one guy, “It warms my heart that you would spend some time on my blog.”
How true that is. We only have a certain amount of heartbeats, and after that number is up, our time on earth is up. If someone is spending heartbeats on us, we must be important to them.
There’s an old song that says “There’s a thin line between love and hate.” There’s also a thin line between hate and love. These haters are spending time with us because they want to be a part of what we’re doing. Their part isn’t exactly positive, but they make the game complete. How can you run a touchdown without people trying to tackle you? To be a winner, there has to be a loser, and that’s why haters are so important. The guy who Incandesio responded to, called me a child molester, or a child rapist, or something to that nature. I don’t think it gets any worse than that, but this guy doesn’t know me. He’s basically just saying, “Hey, I’ve got nothing to do, so I’m hoping you guys will let me in the game.”
I have no problem with that, because I’ve been getting hated on all my life. Way before these charges, way before my rap career, Carlos Coy has always been extremely loved by the player race, and extremely hated by the hater race. It’s kept me on my toes, kept my mind at work, and made me who I am today.
When I was free, I would have put that hater’s brain in his lap because my understanding was average, at best. But, not only has prison saved my life, it’s encouraged more personal growth than anything I’ve ever faced. If I had the chance to respond to that guy today, I would say something like this: “I’m sorry you feel that way, little brother, and honestly, I’d probably feel the same way. I used to think that if you’re found guilty in a court of law, it’s because you were guilty. But I learned how untrue that is. I saw, with my own eyes, a courtroom operating like a corrupt, third world country. One day I’ll get a new trial and prove my innocence and I’d love for you to join us. Our movement is nothing complicated, it’s just about helping our youth stay out of gangs, helping those on destructive paths, and jammin to the dopest music on earth. For now, I’m sorry your role is to hate, but it’s all part of the plan. I need you just like I need those who love me. You keep me focused, and although it gets tiresome, it strengthens me more than you know. Just watch as I grow more powerful, and I say that with all respect.”
Well, my people, we’ve come to an end, but I’ll be writing you more, shortly. Let me say that everything I wrote on this letter, I wrote for you and for me. I struggle and slip just like anyone else. On my last “SPM Responds”, I called haters every dick-lickin, nut-nibblin, bitch-born bastard in the book. I’m damn sure not as good as Incandesio, but, like I said, together we’ll grow, and get to where we need to be, Lord willing.
Seven hundred cold days that my pen lay flat
first line slapped the game into a ten-day nap
second line was like feedin unfed stray cats
can't ya see that people tired of this ben gay rap
nigga snatch ya by the throat, twenty neck veins snap
every word that I write, let the death rate stack
Los tie compitition to some wet train tracks
fuck a steppin stone, make'em bloody flesh paved paths
ain't but one fuckin king in this chess game match
I am he, nigga hotta than a jet plane's ass
even laws tryna ask me where my webpage at
go to "S" to da "P" dot Mex SAVE SLASH
let the haters and the so-called best stay mad
just pulled it out the microwave, fresh-made crack
see I died a dark death, bitch, but then came back
next album is The SON, tryda ex-plain that....haha!