The Game Loves No One

By Antonio Blue Sr. and Octavius Miller

For many years, he ran the streets of ghetto America. King Rawzky was the streets. He quickly graduated from petty crime to also learn he was really on his own, and the game was too cold. It loved no one. Escaping death and penitentiary, he vowed to stay away from drugs and liquor. He found his Nigerian roots in Africa and became a royal figure in the whole country and abroad. From street hood to business guru and principal of his own music school, he accomplished feats many could only dream about. When they were out partying, he was getting busy. For the new King of Pop, there was no play. He paid a heavy price to get into his position, and now crowned the voice of Africa, he intends to continue to take music to heights never before seen and unreachable. This page-turner will have you happy, sad, and mad all at once. So open this book and be enthralled by knowledge and brilliance as one African American escapes slavery and saves a whole civilization.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Fulton Books, Inc.
• Release date: Apr 26, 2022
• ISBN: 9781639854691

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

The Revelations of King Rawzky, the New Testament

Portland, Oregon, the City of Roses, surrounded by constant drama. It was a blistery rainy day, typical for Oregon weather; it was cloudy and gray over Emanuel Hospital on the north side of town, May 18, 1983. Being abandoned and betrayed was the first feeling known to Antonio. It was late spring in Oregon’s great northwest where they produced some of the best.

September 13, 1972, in the era of funk and soul music and the beginning of the disco era, my biological father’s son was born. I only had two full siblings, but I shared close to a dozen half brothers and sisters between the two birth parents. My biological father was pursuing his dream to become the next Jimi Hendrix, just as every other guitarist in the world, but as he came in and out, he left collateral damage to his kids. But he also passed all the hard work he’d done and the DNA of music and intelligence, even though my brother Jason Garza Booker was six years older than me. I guess it’s safe to say I was always very creative and charismatic, in which many people admired about me. His life was short-lived, and he never got to experience real life or have a real family dynamic.

The Brady Bunch family life didn’t exist, and I was born between the older half siblings and two younger twins, a boy and a girl. We were immediately deemed a hazard to life, with drugs and alcohol streaming through all of our veins. We all had health issues and separation anxiety. There was a trace of alcohol poisoning in my and Jason’s blood, and the younger twins suffered from drug abuse and mental abuse as infants, and the liquor poisoning was very effective. Later on in life, Jason traumatized me, by calling me one evening. He did not warn me about him having a midlife crisis and anxiety attack. He was about to put a real bullet through his head. He wanted to tell me he loved me and give me some advice. This was very unfair. But unlike myself, Jason was Catholic. They don’t believe they go to hell for killing themselves. I will go more into this later in the story. As an infant, I was immediately adopted by Jim Pettyjohn and Margeret Blue and because of the high demand of social work and fostering, the parents of our parents stepped in to help raise me.

CHAPTER 2

Being Born in Between Siblings

Let me share with you the scene: it’s the late eighties, and the disco era has just slowed down. The hippies have just come to town, in their Volkswagens, hotboxing to the tunes of the Beatles. and Here is a picture of my mother. She is the one in all brown, to the far left. She was a certified preacher and an excellent cook. She was your typical number-one big momma. She could cook all your best Southern meals and desserts. Owee, could my mother cook. When you came to my house you thought you were in a Southern restaurant or diner; the aromas were to kill for. And next to her is Civil Rights activist Margorite Blue, her biological daughter who made the adoption for me, being that I came out a couple of years before the boy and girl siblings. Under Ms. Blue, you see our cousin Cajay; he is the blood cousin of gangsters Piru and Tophat

Sych, who was one of the loyalists and realist men I have ever met. Sych was me and my four homies. OG, he was the one in charge of the Portland blood car. OG Thraxxx inherited it from Pitbull, but Sych had a different program. We basically were all under Sych. We had to get rank through him, and then we even started our own gang called 16th Ave New Breeze Piru, in which I was one of the main founders of that and enforcers. OG Thraxxx was the oldest Blood we had from West Side Piru. That was a whole different set. By the time we met Big Bro, we were all full grown because of being moved around in the penitentiary and leaving society at sixteen. Most of my men went in at or around the same time I did. And we all stayed in there basically our whole youth. Whole youth wasted because I chose to leave the big house and big dream my father had for me.

OG Thraxxx was a real older homie. He was always good to us, trying to look out. But we were a way different breed. We didn’t want no lil homies, and now we all were moving to the next chapter. None of my men was even saying the word Blood anymore unless mad, then it rushed out fast. We all had a special place in our hearts for the turf, but me and the turf grew apart. So we developed the clique called the Outlaws. We were trying to bring cats together, who were left out in the cold and were hated on. We wanted to protect our brothers from the elements of joining a gang, and the other members who didn’t put you on start plotting on you like Nipsey homeboy plotted to kill and succeeded. We wanted to provide more protection to the hood. OG Thraxxx was the oldest, craziest Blood we had. He was so active, we were always worried for his health being that he was between fifty-five and sixty years of age. He was a blessed man who looked forty. He was considered the godfather of the Bloods. Make sure you check out his movie and music. He is creating a documentary based on the dope epidemic in ghetto America, where the New Jack City Nino Brown comes into vivid revisions.

Antonio, for the next thirteen years of my life, was a good kid. My mother, Racheal Glassper, was a God-fearing, law-abiding citizen and certified pastor from the South, and she remarried my dad. Alonzo Glassper, who fought in World War I and came back as a documented and decorated sergeant in the Marines. He was teaching me as fast as I could learn. My parents were older than the adoptive parents, like seventy-five at the time of my birth, teaching me the fundamentals about life, reading and writing, mathematics, and how to balance a checkbook and to write checks to pay bills for them. It was grown-man business, but they were preparing me for the future. He taught me to stand up for myself and others, so I never liked bullies. And we had a few in our neighborhood. They would pick on us until one day I grabbed my dad’s rifle out of the closet and chased the bully down the street. He was pissing on himself and crying, begging me for mercy, but that only made me more angry because all this time you really were a scary-ass dude that talked big shit, but when the shoe was on the other foot he cried like a baby.

He used to take our candy and sandwiches, but on that day he gave us everything back, including his own candy. I must have been literally eight or nine years of age when I lived in the Holman District near my foster brother James and my childhood buddy, Larry Greg, who sometimes guest-hosts my syndicated podcast (rawtv101). They learned to believe in me and had faith in my ability to protect and provide for myself and for others at an early age and stage in life. I was always a great person and good friend. Larry and James came before the street life. We literally grew up together, like from five to twelve years old. That day I chased those bullies with my dad’s rifle. I won even more respect in the neighborhood, and that’s when my childhood friends knew I was the one. I would always be the one standing up for them against the bullies. Once I’d seen the respect I got from the bad guys, the power of persuasion stuck in my mind forever.

One bully who my brother James had issues with in the neighborhood was a big white kid; he was way older. He even would mouth off to all the adults, until one day I had two water guns filled with urine ready to spray away. I remember the laughter on everyone’s face, from the kids to the adults. I remember a grown-ass man saying that he was so pleased that I did that; it was so amazing and great to see the bad guy sprayed with peepee. My brother took off down the road, and I jumped the nearest fence in order to evade being captured and pummeled to death. James was supposed to also shoot his wiz-filled water gun, but the rage that boy had was enough to traumatize everyone and enough incentive for me to spray, squeezing out every molecule of the peepee. I was never bullied again in my life.

CHAPTER 3

The Fairest Upbring Known to Man

I became a military brat. I spent a lot of time moving from state to state. These different places shape your mentality. We finally settled back in Oregon. I was four years old, and they had relatives all over the city. My favorite uncle, Reggie Leduff, who was in the Army and majored in accounting. I realized that throughout he would be one of the few people that I could count on. He would be there for me for conversations, as well as financial advice, since