When I had to the pleasure to meet the creator of Don Diva Magazine and now senior editor of Hip Hop Weekly, I was intrigued by the mention of his new venture. Here is the intro from Cavario’s personal autobiography titled “Raised By Wolves..”

As a child in the constant presence of gangsters, I overheard a lot. I remember hearing it said that it’s better to be feared than to be loved. I remember gangsters who tried to live on love, and I remember that it almost always ended badly for them.

But then, many of the feared didn’t fair too well either…

I remember an afternoon in a Harlem classroom, long ago. After collecting a writing assignment from me, my first grade teacher, (whose name I no longer recall), said, “You write well Cavario. You could be a writer.” I remember sneering and remarking, “A writer? I’m gon’ be a gangster!”

I remember thinking that I had chosen the game, but I survived long enough to understand that the game had chosen me long before I even knew what choice was. Long before I understood that the choices we make sometimes lead to circumstances that leave no choices at all. Long before I knew the world was filled with infinite possibilities.

Bullshit yourself and the world will play along; we’re taught this long before we can identify our true selves. But even before that men-tal is uploaded into our psyches, we, as children, operate on simplistic interpretation. This is what makes us more likely to do what the adults in our lives do rather than what they say. My people never wanted me to be in the street, but everything in my home and everything in my community dictated otherwise.

And as psychologists will often argue whether nature or nurture is the cause of our behaviors, I’ve come to suspect that it’s a bit of both. If that’s so, then the likelihood of my becoming who and what I became was as sure as the earth on its axis. Although I ended up bringing something uniquely my own into existence, as I was nurtured in a setting replete with criminal inclination, I often too felt the influences of my parents’ innate make-up heavily affecting my actions.

This exposure hardened me and prepped me for what would become my future. Consciously I knew nothing of the interaction between my genes and my world but I held all of my elders in the highest regard. Theirs was a criminal dynasty, cold, mean, and unflinching, and they bared no weaknesses, or at least none that were visible to my young eyes.

Growing up in the seventies gave me the opportunity to witness the end of an era. It is a time that will never be repeated, a time through which I was afforded the knowledge of the unwritten handbook. The pictures on the pages of our invisible manual bore images of fierce flights and frivolous fancies, and I looked forward to growing up and taking my place in this gritty landscape.

Like most children I thought my home was indicative of all homes. I thought that everyone witnessed hundreds of thousands of dollars being counted by their parents on an almost daily basis. I thought everyone found hundred-round spitting, 45-caliber, Thompson sub-machine guns in their mother’s bedroom closet. Thus, by the age of nine, I truly believed that I was genetically engineered for the life of a gangster and at this point I have forgotten more about the ‘game of death’ than most have had the time or opportunity to learn before their time is up and their opportunities are no more.

Who am I?

I am the son of my Harlem born, gangster-to-her-heart mother and the genetic product of my Harlem born, killer-without-a-heart father. I am the result of confusion and anger and the byproduct of deceit and greed

I am 100% Guerilla Hustler.