"Street Mag" is a gritty look at lives of at-risk youth in San Jose compiled from interviews in the street and workshops in homeless shelters.

Drug Rampage
(Written in Elmwood on the way to prison)
by Ron Milan

I am a prisoner of war. I've been battling drugs for quite some time, now I must admit that they have been kicking my ass. At the age of 15 I was introduced to Meth and at first, it was my best friend. But over the years we didnÕt quite get along and I fought to stay clean,though it was extremely difficult. I continued to try treatment programs only to fail a dozen times. I've been losing this war which I've created for myself! Finally through all the insanity I've been chained down, a prisoner of my pointless war. My own inner struggles and insecurities and my life is a complete mess. If I could start all over, I would do it all differently. Now I lay in jail, on my way to the State Penitentiary. A place I'd rather not be. I know I'm in here for a reason. Here I have plenty of time to think about my mistakes and about my life. When I get released to the world once again, its all up to me to start all this over and do it all differently. Do it better. I've hurt my family, my friends, and many others in my drug rampage. And this is the time to make it right.

Real TalkHip-Hop
By Chato

When it comes to hip-hop, the song gotta have knock to it and of course be as REAL as possible. No bull shit like "bling bling" and "what you got is where your at." Life means more than a 80 dollar chain from Eastridge. I love the real shit. About what it took for you to get where your at, telling the story of the obstacles the make it so hard to succeed in this day and age. Hip-hop isn't shit w/o a thumping ass beats running over lyrics like "I leave emcee's bloody like some ripped up meat, couldn't stop hitting you like I'm beatin my meat, destroying your confidence like I chopped up your lady and left her stacked up on your porch real neat". You need beats just to get you hooked so you actually have a chance to hear some real talkin' ass lyrics. With out a (sick-ass) beat most people just skip da whole track. Put some thought in to having deep message behind tight lyrics and that is Hip-Hop.

Graffiti Rundown
By Underground Larry

I think graffiti is a nice and illegal hobby to get into. But its not for every body. You need a lot of common sense, quick reflexes and zero hesitation. You have so many choices. You got the buses, train yards, billboards, and hall of fame for the piecers. It's nice when you have a crew to go mobbing with, smash on fools. Writers have their own flavor. I love getting high and finding places to put my name up. Mobbing at 3am with a down ass bitch to look out. You have to be careful everytime you do a bomb or a tag. The cops have chased me, beat me, followed me. I've ditched helicopters. I've had people blast on me for tagging. I've been in county jail for 6 months for me rockin my name. I've been in so much trouble getting my name up. I like racking spray paint (stealing). I love piecing, bombing, scribing and of course tagging. All my peoples I 've met through graffiti are like my brothers. And I can't think of any thing else that gives me the fulfillment that reckless destruction (graffiti) does.

Piecing; Spending more time doing more artistic multicolored letters. Bombs; Real quick, bold outlines of letters. Quantity over quality.
Scribes; Etching or carving bus windows.
Racking; Stealing massive amounts of spray paint.
Rocking; Destroying every thing in sight.

The Flow
By Silky Shawn aka B.A.R.K.hard

I'm 18, I'm black and from the bay to be more specific I'm from Eastside San Jose. I went to Shields, Leyva, and James Lick. I moved so many times it 'll make you sick, like Langston Hughes. I'd leave ya black and blue and feeling abused. IÕm the only black kid in the class, but still that's no reason for me not to pass. I know things were a lot more different way back then, but if it happened once it could happen again. I don't even know what's true for me. I feel like everybody real never made it to TV/ I live my life like one big session, some parts may even be viewers' descretion. Sometimes it's hard to say what I feel. Sometimes I wish the world would just stand still. Or it can be going way to fast seems like IÕm always coming up last. I love to write, play ball, golf, and bust a rap. Run your mouth and you might get slapped. I'm bumpin Hip-Hop, Rock and Rap. I know this thing that I'm writing for is hard to understand. But if I could help it you'd be on your feet when you land. I know this page came out of me. But its not just for my eyes to see. Maybe its just me but this is all isn't all I want to see. I know it's hard to read but this is all that I see. Just give it a second and try to believe. What up my name is Shawn and IÕm from Cali

Going on one
By Louie the Satanist

Going insane
Playing with monsters in the rain
Dressed for death every day
Sleep in darkness in a grave
Triple six all in faith
IÕll drink your blood anyway
Feels like when IÕm dying
Smells like when youÕre crying
Give in to your demon
Sin in what you believe in
Tell me your sickness
Show me your painless
Feed me your hatred

Disgusted
By Louie the Satanist

DonÕt give me emptiness
Poison my head with ignorance
Feeding a fire inside of me
Allowing my demons to break free
Sick of hearing what you think of me
All you fear what you canÕt be
Disgusted with it
Could kill with it
Just to know I ended it

Better Choices
by; JaE cEE
Not knowing why I'm still around. Just living this life hell-bound. All my childhood homie's are either dead or committing crimes. All the homies been found and I'm stayin under ground. Ain't afraid of nothin but that siren sound. Running through a land that used to be free. Picture a fuck up and you'll see me. In my head Im going back to a time when I used to be pure. Before my name became a slur. Before the war I had a wife and son. With out them my life seems like it can never be won. She took my baby 400 miles to show me he'll grow up without me. When my Scarlet woman left me I tried to pretend to be cool. Broken down by life, knowing I'm a fool. But the old me is dead. Methodically gunned down. Lying in a strange bed, no soul to be found. Waiting for the fire burning up to cleanse my soul. When I think about death I can hear the church bells. At night I'm dreaming evil dreams. Never left alone by midnight screams. I wish I had lived a better life, showed my girl I loved her more than hyped up love letters. When my last homie died did I even know and if so where did his spirit go. His soul ripped from his body. One more life lost in Down Town San Jo. When I walk alone I still know my boys got my back watching from shadows. Before life got ill we were content. Always having excuses for needing to vent. Life got serious and my mind won't let go of all its regrets. How should I feel when my own mother sent me up the river. At 20 years old my piss is brown from a worn out liver. Fools not respecting is gonna make me a killer. I tried to get my point across but I donÕt know how to be any realer.