Synopsis and Free Preview Of THE CITY BREAKS ITS PROMISE

THE CITY BREAKS ITS PROMISE

 

Welcome to Hunts Point, New York City. They called it the Point, a small neighborhood in the South Bronx. Known for its red lights district, violence and poverty, Hunt’s Point is a tough place to survive. Spiro Tobick and his sister Sephrina were born during the crack epidemic to two homeless addicts. Eventually addiction took its toll on them and after their parents disappeared Spiro was forced to take responsibility before he was even thirteen. The streets were no match for Spiro’s desire and ambitions to allow his sister to be as comfortable as possible. He sold candy on the subway, stole from stores and sold weed during the day and then cleaned up chop shops, ran errands for prostitutes and worked in trap houses at night. Spiro did all he could to protect his sister, but eventually they were caught and sent through Foster Care. After years of being tortured by their Foster Father and ravaged by the system their cries are heard and their Uncle adopts them. Ten years later, tension reaches its peak in the relationship between Spiro and Sephrina and she departs on a Heroin binge. Worried sick, Spiro accepts a deadly task from his Uncle who is the boss of Hunts Point’s major crime syndicate. Spiro realizes this would advance his request to get a job in Manhattan away from Hunts Point. Spiro tries aimlessly to get away but the past wouldn’t let him go. With a heart simmering with guilt and memories of a painful past, Spiro searches for answers and his sister, finding so much more in the process. With so much to lose, will Spiro balance his life without losing himself? Will he fall to deep in the process? Or will Sephrina become yet another victim of the promises of the city?

 

“Can I help you sir?” asked a short black man in scrubs who had a trash bag in his hands. “I’m…well I’m looking for Kevin Goodrich, do you know where I can find him?” I asked. The man nodded and pointed towards another long hallway. “Second to last door on the right, he is in bed, are you his son?” asked the man smiling. I took a deep swallow and thought what to say. “I am his…he was my foster father,” I said quietly. “Ah, you are lucky he is a great guy,” said the man tying up the trash bag and grabbing a mop. “I haven’t seen you around, his health is deteriorating quickly so he might not remember you but in his heart he will.” I knew he had the best intentions in what he said but that had to be one of the sickest moments in my life, thinking about how he know me in his heart. It hurt to hear how he misled everyone. I followed the man’s direction bewildered and hurt. I looked into a TV room where the wheelchair bound were watching a movie with what looked like Fred Astaire. Then an old man came over to me and grabbed my arm. “Where is my mother?” “I don’t know,” I said with a nervous smile. The man had to be at least eighty years old, he wore an musky brown sweater and had a surprising full head of gray hair. “Oscar come over here,” said a black nurse walking over to grab his hand. She had on medical gloves and came from what looked like another patients room, His pants fell off as she helped him and everyone started to laugh. It seemed as though the poor fool had completely lost his mind. It was the dementia ward so everyone must have been senile. There were multiple large areas where the seniors were packed in but it felt condensed and it was humid. I was surprised by the amount of heat, but then again I knew that the old patients must have always got cold. My grandmother Helga who I barely knew, always was cold and would wear multiple sweaters. So I walked up the room that the aid had described to me. As I slowly entered I heard a machine beeping. He was lying with his mouth open on a hospital bed. He seemed to be about fifty pounds lighter than the last time I saw him. He needed a shave and a haircut, his hands were wrinkly and his fingernails long. He had hairs growing from his nose. In dismay I moved closer towards him. A tear dropped down my cheek as I stood at his bedside. I felt the sudden urge to speak to him even though he couldn’t hear me and hopefully was in a drugged up sleep. So I pulled up a chair and took a seat, I pressed my hands together enraged. He looked so innocent but he wasn’t, he was filth and garbage. I wanted to tell him that, so I decided to start speaking. “You are not an innocent man Kevin, you may have the rest of these people fooled but judgment will come, you will be punished for all you have done. Maybe all of this is your punishment, you deserve worse but maybe you are in a lot of pain. I sure hope so. I wish I could open your mouth, put my Glock between your lips and blow your fucking head off clean right now.” Another few tears rushed down my cheek as I leaned against his bed. Just looking at his face caused pain to shoot through my lower body and I was becoming sick. I thought about what Jack said to me about forgiveness and it floated around my head as I gathered my thoughts. Most of them were bad, as I thought about spitting on him or doing something cruel. “You know what Kevin, you destroyed my sister, you destroyed Jack and you destroyed me. Jack got back up from being knocked down, I haven’t been able to do that and neither has my sister. I hate you; I wish I could tear you apart. I want all these people, these professionals to see and feel what we felt. We didn’t even know what sex was you sick fucking…” I hissed squeezing my fists together as I began to sob. I kicked the bed and then grabbed the handle to it. I worried about people coming in so I stopped being so dramatic but the pain in the emotions hurt so bad.

Take a Minute (The Poem)

 

The solemn aggression and pain of lonely nights, the darkness and disputes shine upon city lights

 

I sway in the wind as the feeling of doom creeps in despite all the advantages of a perpetuating preconceived desires and barren roads that seem to never end

 

They say I’m kidding but it’s a fact, it’s a stereotype of the prejudice that’s built to react

 

My past influences the way I act

 

The messages from society shield wondrous dreams, and I’m beginning to waste away it seems, and if you don’t help me now ill fade away in the misery Day in Day out

 

 

 

Misery finds a home it always does, a problem evolves from me to us, and if looks could kill I’d bury your trust

 

I’d always had my heart in hand, I always said if the tide rose I’d stand, maybe I’m just not god’s man

 

As times passes so quick, in motion my life makes me sick, and you remind me of all the things that were ever said by knowing me when my face was plastered red

 

Controlling each impulse and feeling with empty meds, and the tribulation of being hungry and having yet to be fed no, because sometimes I feel like I’m going to just drop dead

 

It’s the nights I loathe and the daylight I dread, I’m wasting away in bed, the feeling is beginning to spread and I’m fading, I’m fading Day In, Day Out, Day In, Day Out

 

 

 

Smash the window resulting in bloody knees, disgusting fiends waiting for the itch to cease

 

The moments of day when I struggle to breath, delaying celebrations because I’m trying to prove to myself that I still even believe

 

And, I remember so clearly the days I slit my wrist, I remember so clearly all the risks I took to exist

 

To abort an idea and watch it wheeze, set fire to the world, hopes and bars

 

My mind is becoming an exhibition that transcends dimensions for tradition, just so I can have faster cars, sometimes I think there is a moon man and I’m living on mars

 

And no I’m not gonna shot for the stars again, fall from the sky and die breathing in air I used to rely in

 

Day in, Day Out, the reality never speaks it shouts, Day in, Day Out, Day In Out, but I don’t want to fade away, I don’t want to leave this world today

 

There is a memory so stand still, Take a Minute prior to pulling the trigger because now I’ve got a view to a kill

 

I was promised good things that end, and I always knew they would

 

I tried to conquer this world, and even as I falter I know I still could

 

So many perfect shapes, how do I compete? Truth is what you perceive but depending on how much you believe will raise the limits on all that you receive.

 

I’m looking at the quiet sky again, and I’m looking at a close up of the past on New Year’s Eve, the silence holds aggression that builds belief, like blasphemy and grace creating a new me yeah

 

Day creeps and night tends, I’ve got the devil inside yet I ascend, and I blend animosity like it’s a trend, nutrition for a theory fueling hypocrisy, with hate so far the eye can’t see

 

And it’s the times of the night that remind, that if it wasn’t for the hate I couldn’t be me, the evil entity

 

 

 

Have you been able to pontificate about dark days and bright nights that we’ve got, making magic out of the illusions of the people in which we are not

 

I can’t think straight, the pain must stop, because if I stay to off balance I’ll drop These are the days when a father is needed by his son

 

I need someone to pick up the pieces instead of turning around to run, I need a clearer vision of the sun, because some days I feel like a big mistake, and then others like the chosen one, these are the days when I’m reminded how I was born by the knife and will live by a gun

 

This teenage minacity is less innocent then a stroll on the city, or the brutality of the town without pity, revenge and repent, tragedy of the years of doves and mud, and the present terror of the past blood

 

Stuck in my mind, its Day in Day out, stuck in design, the fear, the terror I can’t speak much clearer

 

Because the chills become sincerer, its Day in Day Out, the place more lights to shine on my drought

 

I don’t want to drown or burn away, I want to rise above and howl what I’ve got to say, without delay I want all of hell to pay before I fade away. It’s the glimpse of hope, misery of gleams, Day In Day Out its not what it seems 

For More from Anthony Day Grandin:

Twitter: @AnthonyDayGrand 

OFFICIAL WEBSITE: http://www.anthonygrandin.com
nformation on the New Book!!!——)))))http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wrgv3RUOtk8

If i Could Love you Once

 

If I could love you once before I die
The grim reaper could appear and I’d stand as the end was nigh

I’d feel as strong as a thousand lovers loving from within

You are so beautiful
You are just so pure

I believe I’d crumble if you left me alone
For my pursuit there is no cure

I feel like I might burst

Or Give in

Living life multiplying your divisions

I’m pleading to my lord and savior to let me live

But just don’t look at me wrong…

….As I cry for her love to give

Excerpt from THE CITY BREAKS ITS PROMISE

Hey Everyone! I am a 20 year old author from New Haven! My first book just came out and i am excited to share the beginning with you. If it seems like something you’d maybe like please head over to The City Breaks its Promise and check it out! 

“She would always leave now and then, but I knew that this time was different. I could tell by the way she left that she wouldn’t be coming back. Without a goodbye and after a fight, my sister had left the house. She left without any clothes or belongings. She was always impulsive like that, but the fact she didn’t even bring a purse made me think this was only temporary. I didn’t want her to leave but there wasn’t anything I could do to stop her. I was scared, I sat up in my bed and looked outside my window hoping I’d see her walking up the street but she never did. I stayed like that for half of the night until I finally conceded that she wasn’t showing up anytime soon. 
I got about three hours sleep that night and woke up bright and early to the sound of my obnoxiously loud alarm clock. After I slapped the piece of shit across the room I bit my lip for a couple of minutes. After I drew blood I walked to the bathroom feeling the hangover of the rough night taking its toll on me emotionally and physically. My sister and I had argued all that night, for hours and hours about redundant bullshit. My stomach felt contaminated as I looked at myself in the mirror, my wavy hair matted and unruly. I was overreacting as usual to my sister’s rebellion, she was a grown woman and had her own life, but I had reason for my fear. 
My baby sister was my life growing up. I took care of her when nobody took care of me. I felt like I was her guardian and that I was meant to protect her through life. I had a bond with her that nobody else could have. Throughout trauma and the violence, we stuck together. We held hands, but after a while our grasp became much lighter. Sephrina and I were dealt a bad hand when it came to life. We grew up in Hunts Point South Bronx in a crack den. Essentially we were raised on the streets by the streets. I knew every scam, every scheme, every hoodlum, every trick and the one after that. All the games people played I had to take seriously in order to survive. I became so good that I made it my living; I joined up with my uncle in his South Bronx crime ring. I was teaching the old timers tricks, like how to make five dollars into three meals for the day. 
I was able to take us out of the chaos, but it was a little late for Sephrina. She had already been hurt, torn apart so many times when I wasn’t there. She didn’t blame me, her gentle heart never could but I blamed myself because I was supposed to protect her. I was furious all the time, and the only place I was able to take it out was on the job. I was in reconstruction; I was a mid-level thug with job security and the best type of life insurance the streets could buy. Working with my uncle had a lot of positives. He basically allowed me to run wild. The violence I surrounded myself with was all an analogical way of fighting the frustration I had in my life. It was clear that when I swung my fist I was fighting more than just the person in front of me. I was fighting the past, the present, the future and reality all at once. 
I came to realize I could only fight but so much, and it hit me the hardest the day my sister left. I had hoped she would have tamed her habits. I had thought for some time that maybe the world would show us mercy, but then I got my final wake up call. I had fought plenty of abusive boyfriends and made my share of threats but all of that kept me in denial. I believed that I had enough power to somehow influence her and everyone around her. I didn’t and god must have been busy because he never showed himself around these parts.
Hunts Point scared me when I was younger. Once I grew up I adjusted to it. Sephrina and I were basically abandoned so young we had to take on adult tasks before we were teenagers or else we wouldn’t have survived. We wouldn’t eat if we didn’t make the money. We dodged the government and survived in the cold hard world of facts. 
We hung out around the red light district at night to help guide tricks, assist the whores and make extra money. During the day we would go and sell candy bars on the subway, help at the chop shops, sell some weed and often we’d assist the drug dealers by guiding customers in abundance.
We had a little apartment where we’d hear some girl getting beaten half to death almost every night by her pimp and I’d hold my sister as she cried. There were about seven kids and some crack heads, drifters and bums crashing there all the time. On my sister’s birthday I was able to scrap together enough money to get her a cake and a few presents. The little party was going well. It wasn’t until about ten at night when we heard a gunshot. The woman killed her pimp and the first thought in my head was that the police were going to find us and put us into foster care. 
We packed up our stuff but it was too late, as the police came and started asking us where our parents were. I lied a few times and then tried to run away. It was a futile effort and the saddest day of my life. They didn’t split up my sister and I, instead the stuck us both in a brutal residential full of fucking nuts, kids who were already rapist, schizophrenics and raging mental cases. After about a year of that we got sent to foster care. 
It was a bleak life to live, and when I say I took us out I meant we moved farther away from the Point. The problem was still it wasn’t far enough from the chaos. I don’t know if I could have ever gotten far enough away especially on days when I was so alone. Then on the other hand, I began to feed off the violence surrounding me. My world was a time ticking bomb. 
When we grew up South Bronx was in bad shape. There were still apartments that were a sickness, terrifying and unadulterated. Crack heads with families piled into the apartments like the rent was free; somehow they found a way to pay up. The land lords never fucked around, we almost got kicked out for missing one month. My mother was a whore and my father was a failed pimp, both were crack heads. Together it took them three hours to put in a light bulb. 
So I had to find ways to pay the rent. In the beginning I tried to help my mother by rationing money and trying to help her kick her addiction, but over time my blood became cold and I lost all hope for her. I adopted the gun at that point, and after that it was a free for all. If she tried to take the money I made that day, she would face my gun. And if you didn’t stop there, I’d beat my own mother in order to save enough for my sister and me. She never had our best interest in mind. The kids of crack town didn’t play games. We’d all talk about how we were going to grow up into responsible adults who would live functional lives. Part of us all knew that was a joke. 
We would pickpocket in the City, sometimes we’d beg or sometimes steal street performer’s cash. Sometimes we’d even steal cars that were parked and drive them to the back of chop shop. One of the legal things we would do would be to wash cars and walk dogs for the old folks in the town. Those same old people would be trading their pain meds for Viagra, money and weed. 
We’d always do everything to try to find an angle to make a little bit of profit each time. That was the objective, profit no matter how small. We’d get together at night and have meal time in one of our barren apartments and fix dinner for each other. Each night that I had my sister in my sights was a good night. This was before she knew any better, it was after all the abuse but she didn’t know what was happening to her delicate body. I didn’t know what happened to mine either. 
My name was Tobick because apparently my mom’s family wouldn’t allow her baby to ever take someone else’s surname. They must have been glad that rule was in place because when my mom got pregnant at fifteen the father was some older crack head named John Manikos, my father. My mom became an outcast from her orthodox German Family after they found out she tried to have arrange an abortion. 
My Uncle Karol was my mother’s brother. He was one of the craziest bastards I’ve ever met in my life. I personally didn’t think I was anything like him. Somehow his family was very strict and incredibly orthodox, but he became a teenage Hit-Man for an German Crime outfit. Now he was the boss of Hunt’s Point, and a very valuable ally to have. I worked for him, as his trusted employee who watched over everyone else. It was mind blowing sometimes, the shit that happened around me. What I grew up around seemed like nothing to what I saw working with Uncle Karol. It was training in a lot of ways. 
I had to watch over the people and the rackets. I had to watch over everything from the drugs, the gambling, the prostitution, the sales of firearms and even real estate. He was rich, and he tried to make as much legit money as possible. He owned a construction company, a few liquor stores, two car dealerships as well as a bunch of bars and clubs. My official “job” was in construction even though I had only worked a few hours in my life.
The day after Sephrina left, I was supposed to be overseeing a drug deal but instead I called out. I had to figure things out as soon as possible because I was in frenzy. I left the house early even though I spent at least an hour staring at the wall. But once I snapped out of my trance, I was able to get out of the house. I decided my first stop would be to see an old friend who knew everything that went down in Hunt’s Point. 
Cardinal, was a drug addict and a loyal customer and was also the unofficial overseer of the city. If he didn’t know something, he knew someone who did. It was amazing, especially since he spent so much time in his room shooting up. I remembered when he was clean and a decent member of society. The one thing that attracted my friendship to Cardinal was he always respected my sister and he showed respect to me. 
When we first became friends I was a shaky sickly boy of fifteen years. We met the day after my Uncle picked us up from Foster Care. My uncle started me young dealing drugs and my first deal was to Cardinal, who was my age. He mostly just smoked weed and did some coke at that time. So I got to know him through all the deliveries I made for him. He lived in a posh apartment in Manhattan so it wasn’t to long of a long voyage. He would tip me a couple hundred dollars and sometimes I’d even smoke with him. 
Cardinal got his name due to his fiery red hair. He was the classic redhead with very pale skin and freckles. He was skinny and tall since I knew him years ago, and he grew to tower over me. His family was very religious and Cardinal was sacrilegious so it wasn’t working out. They beat him for swearing and he had to study the bible for four hours a night after homework. He couldn’t take it anymore and I didn’t blame him, so he escaped their grasp during high school and we moved into an apartment together. As I said before, Cardinal and I had a long history. 
Even years later he only lived a few blocks away from my house, and it took me about ten minutes to trek down there. The apartment building was a little run down, but the rent was cheap. For the most part I paid the rent and every other expense Cardinal had, the landlord could care less where the money came from as long as he got it. It was that guilt thing again that got me, plus if I didn’t pay the rent Cardinal would be on the street. 
I didn’t do him many favors. Basically all I did was feed his habit. I was a conflicted enabler. I knew that I wasn’t in to deep at that point, but that I had to rescue myself I got caught or killed. 
The cold air hit me hard that morning when I left my apartment. I put my hood over my head to prepare for the walk. I decided to check my waistband holster, which held my stainless Remington R1. After I fixed my shirt to hide the gun I noticed a group of bums across the street walking. It was Harris, Morten and Tommy. They probably just left the homeless shelter and were on their way toward the liquor store. I saw Melissa pushing her baby carriage across the street. They were both bundled up. I waved to her but she didn’t see me. She lived on the second floor of the house I lived in. 
I had purchased my house four years ago with all the legitimate money that I had. It only cost a couple hundred thousand and I paid the mortgage just like any other normal person. It was a three family home and I lived on the first floor. I collected rent, installed central air and made sure that everything was taken care of. I had become friends with everyone that lived in the house with me. They always heard my brutal arguments with my sister, they heard the time I pushed her onto the ground and when I destroyed our glass coffee table. They heard all of my regret. 
I thought about my sister more as I walked through the streets. I felt so tired because I hadn’t gotten any sleep, I felt sick because of the combination of everything. I had a headache and a few cars passed blasting music which didn’t exactly help. There were a group of bums with big padded coats walking across the street. A few kids were riding bikes and in the corner by a garbage can a fiend was shooting up. 
I laughed as I walked up into the apartment building. I skipped up stairs as quickly as I could towards his third floor apartment. Once I was on the third floor I cut in and went to the first door on the right. I banged on it loudly to make sure he could hear it. Knowing Cardinal he was probably sitting there with his eyes red after an all-nighter. 
“Cardinal its Spiro, let me in,” I said as I heard a door unlock and open. A woman was leaning out of her apartment, she glared at me viciously. 
“Why are you hitting the door so god damn loud!” she snapped. 
“Fuck off,” I growled. I matched her glare, I outdid it actually. She looked at me and then closed the door. The message must have registered with her. Then I turned my attention back to Cardinal who was in the doorway laughing. He was only wearing some tight briefs which offered a pale view. “Why don’t you put some god damn clothes on kid?” 
“This is my house, don’t nobody tell me what’s good in here. You know that my dude,” said Cardinal as we shook hands. He led me into his apartment. He stopped for a second and turned around to look at me with his hands in his underwear. “Why you here so early, dude. Yo I got to tell you dude I had a crazy night. First I fucked this crack whore on the couch so I was like, and I thought wow, like this is gonna be a great night.” 
“What does this have to do with me?” I asked. 
“She gets me off and all I can remember is her undoing the belt on my arm right? But then I woke up a little later and I find that all my gear was gone. She took everything, all the pills too. I couldn’t believe it, I’m sorry but that was out of my hands ya know,” said Cardinal pinching his nose and sniffling. His body was covered in sweat and it smelled straight like body odor. 
People like Cardinal often irritated me, they wanted to be part of the drug culture so bad but when they get to deep they’d retreat and expect someone else to come and rescue them. It bothered me, but I tried not to allow it to affect unhealthy friendship we had. 
“Listen, go and take a shower man. Please you smell awful,” I said with my head down examining the disgusting apartment. Cardinal nodded his head and walked over to a mound of clothes. He grabbed a towel, a pair of underwear, a shirt and pants. I could tell he had been going crazy that night, most likely smoking coolies. That story of his was bullshit, the reason he made it up was because three days ago I had given him some Ecstasy pills to hold on to. Sephrina was around and I had to find a place to hide it so she wouldn’t sell them for dope. Cardinal had a tendency to fuck up and I basically ruled out those pills anyway. My hunches were usually right with him, and this one was that he had freebased a lot of cocaine and then decided to take a few of the pills after he sold the rest to his friend Ike. I sat there thinking about it and decided to look around for stuff. It didn’t take my long into my search to find a watch, so I took it and pocketed it. 
His apartment was very small for one thing, and there was trash almost everywhere. He had a small kitchen area in the front, while there was a miniature table on one side which had Chinese food containers, pizza boxes, needles, condoms and a knife on it. On the opposite side of the narrow kitchen space was the counters and the stove, which had all other types of miscellaneous shit all over. Following the horrid kitchen was the Bedroom and living room area that had a glass coffee table and a bed. That was it for the apartment, beside a small bathroom
I heard the door open and Cardinal came out the bathroom rapping “Started from the Bottom” obnoxiously while drying off.
“You want a line?” asked Cardinal basically naked beside the little towel. 
“No I don’t want a line, listen to me…Listen to me god damn it! Put the fuckin mirror down and listen to me!” I hissed. He put everything down and looked up at me with concerned eyes. “My sister left again last night and this time I know something bad is going to happen if it hasn’t already happened by now. It’s been a almost a day man.” 
“I’m sorry I didn’t know,” said Cardinal shaking his head while sliding on his cargo pants and a black t-shirt. Few moments later he came over to give me a hug and I laughed as we embraced. It was a short hug because I kind of pushed away eventually as hugs weren’t something that I enjoyed. He walked back over to his couch and put on socks before grabbing a pair of yellow Nike Hyperdunks. 
“Yeah, so I came over here to see what you’ve heard,” I said with my arms on my hips and a grim expression on my face. He looked at me with a weird expression and I knew what he was thinking. “Don’t insult me like that man, you know I came over here to give you your shit. So don’t insult me by looking that way holding out on me. Do you understand me?” 
“You know I would tell you everything I knew, I just wanted to ask if you could help me get through?” he pled. 
“You know I will, don’t I always man. Here take everything I’ve got,” I said throwing him a package which was in my sweatshirt pocket. It had about five grams of Cocaine, some oxycodone, ecstasy and a balloon of mud tucked inside. 
Cardinal was a dumpster fiend, a cabbage head or a trash can addict. He didn’t care what he was getting high off of, he just wanted to get high no matter if it was glue, Ether and in his worst of times snorting Lunesta. Most of the stuff I’d give him, I wouldn’t give him Ether or glue, but the other stuff I’d supply. As I said before I felt guilty, but I didn’t want him robbing old woman because he would. Plus I gave myself reassurance on a business level by keeping in mind that he gave me a lot of information on the streets, so I justified everything by saying I was paying him. He was my friend, he used to be my best friend but I worried that I was losing more than just my mind.” 

IF YOU’D LIKE TO READ MORE PLEASE HEAD OVER TO http://www.amazon.com/The-City-Breaks-Its-Promise/dp/1490724095/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1390674109&sr=8-1&keywords=the+city+breaks+its+promise

Purchase the Book here!

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Welcome to Hunts Point, New York City. They called it the Point, a small neighborhood in the South Bronx. Known for its red lights district, violence and poverty, Hunt’s Point is a tough place to survive. 
Spiro Tobick and his sister Sephrina were born during the crack epidemic to two homeless addicts. Eventually addiction took its toll on them and after their parents disappeared Spiro was forced to take responsibility before he was even thirteen.
The streets were no match for Spiro’s desire and ambitions to allow his sister to be as comfortable as possible. He sold candy on the subway, stole from stores and sold weed during the day and then cleaned up chop shops, ran errands for prostitutes and worked in trap houses at night. 
Spiro did all he could to protect his sister, but eventually they were caught and sent through Foster Care. After years of being tortured by their Foster Father and ravaged by the system their cries are heard and their Uncle adopts them. 
Ten years later, tension reaches its peak in the relationship between Spiro and Sephrina and she departs on a Heroin binge. Worried sick, Spiro accepts a deadly task from his Uncle who is the boss of Hunts Point’s major crime syndicate. Spiro realizes this would advance his request to get a job in Manhattan away from Hunts Point. Spiro tries aimlessly to get away but the past wouldn’t let him go. 
With a heart simmering with guilt and memories of a painful past, Spiro searches for answers and his sister, finding so much more in the process. With so much to lose, will Spiro balance his life without losing himself? Will he fall to deep in the process? Or will Sephrina become yet another victim of the promises of the city?Image

You Should be Afraid

You should be afraid, of all the pain and the fear that is there to see for the sane 
All the games and raves, when you lay on the pavement 
Because all the lies and end of the lives
All the broken ties and long loud cries
Nights in my mind crumble 
Chaos inside turns into the slightest little rumble

You should be afraid, you should look farther then the horizon
Worry about the lightning 
Think about the thunder, you’d better pray there is a god 
You should read the scriptures if you speak his name 
You should be a player if you want to be in the game 
I’m rhyming i’m bumping the grime and, 
Bring me the horizon, give me some make up and some devilish lines
No keep it to the natural medicines, they said three jumped me but there could have been ten of them 
My mind, is so dangerous it towers high like a tenements
Dirty crevices and dark little denizens 
Truthful glares perpendicular to the gleaming benz 
Wash away my love and burn me for my sins 
And you shouldn’t be afraid 

The City Breaks Its Promise (Purchase Page)

The City Breaks Its Promise (Purchase Page)

My First Book is finally available for sale! 
Here is the book trailer, be sure to check it out before deciding on the book! http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wrgv3RUOtk8

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GRAND

I preached unforgiving winters, wrote hot summers, plunged the shit down the pipes with conservative effort like Joe the Plumber. With an enlightened rage, i divided my page, multiplied the masses to the sum of all fears. Extracted every last tear, i bled out from my eyes, with the elegance of a oligarch and a nerd, simplifying the smarts to create a vocabulary thats never been heard. Im not supreme but i aim when i spit, my critics really arent shit, with their insults i hydrate my wit.

Im the prodigal son with cardiac detention, content with evolution as i smoke your dreams in mid air suspension. I may not have as much as you, but I breath, reconstruct and swerve with an audacity and ill die with my Strawberry Grandin Crew. My critics can half step, but they are an improper fraction, and i observe your rhetoric on a table of decimals, because you arent whole. Enjoy your lifeless cornish hen, antics are rotten, i mutilated your life with my four hundred dollar pen.

Grand is a conglomerate, compared to lost souls, ill pen a revolution to destroy motherfuckers with seperate goals. Searching for Gold, fiery with mean heat with intent to turn my self doubt into mincemeat. You are alive when you do something dangerous, I wrapped my aunts scarf around my hand, synthesized the sun with ink when i took the name of Grandin. I wrote this poem, and i felt so much pride. Lets unleash our fury and break stuff. I know when times had gotten rough, the loudest bird had a time when he wasnt tough enough. You are half as raw, drenched in fake grit, count my cuts and then my jewellery before i smash your jaw. Gold bracelet, we’re the new nation, you need to face it. We will cook, brew and bake delicious dishes with an aroma that smells so strong of success that i taste it. We didnt get here from slacking, Laura, Chris and I didnt live a perfect life, we created art from the dark nights full of tears and fears. This is Grand, on the count of three we stand, and run a marathon on the road to success. So ill go with good to great, Look me in the eyes, the field is dialated, so do you think you could knock me down and seal my fate?

WordSmith

Writers block is an affliction, i voyaged downstream to conflict my addiction. I dropped it like a bad habit, i blended animation with reality like Roger Rabbit, then threw in animosity to be emphatic. The writers block kept me in a straightjacket, humming a tune. He’d feed me once in a blue moon.

So i sat in the corner, creating a masterpiece in my head. The block struck my idea dead, and i cried for hours, i heard the ringing of the aecidic showers. The depressed apologist in the shadow of a high tower. I saw no flowers, or any beauty, my brain fought back but the block forced mutiny. I observed the waves of social regimes, i watched as the upper echelon prowled. I handled my heart by my spirit growled. It was time to write, Die or Fight. Take these clouds to an ominous sight. and build narrative around pure spite. Sprinkle the future with seeds, i wanted to watch something grow while my spirit fed upon the poetic dictator. A caniving self induced player hater.

So i built and i planned, the drive of fire never left my hand. The chains hurt my gaunt leg, that night was the worse because i was forced to plead and beg. Who the fuck said life was easy, the difficulty level continued to rise enough to make any punk queasy. I was born a wordsmith, assassinating every obstacle with my whimsical gift. This was my honor, my pain, and glory. I weave hate and love into a beautiful story, with a cruel end. As the world crumbles, ill leave my live to send.

It was sunrise and i opened my tired eyes. The sun shined a light on my fears, on the tears of a lost and dying soul. But my grandma taught not to listen to bullshit, so i tore off my ear. I was covered in blood, warmed my motivation of a savage improvisation. Its mud before the trophy above, the war came before the flock of doves. I pulled my leg from the chain, gradually leaving behind a past that was so bleak. Im Grandin, minutes, hours, days passed by i stand by my crash landing.

I was gone, the prison walls were burnt with my prototype heart. I had my armor and my pen, motherfucker Im ready to start. I wrote a symphony, comprised of jubilant lyrics and a falsetto heretic. I created an entity, my name is Grand in nature, so just call me the Brotha man. I had an epiphany, I love you, you love me, this world evolves, everyday there is more to see. I visited guilt’s grave while keeping every sweet memory I could save. Writers Block had an upper hand, Yo, im ambidextrous. This is a Statement