BOYOE ISN'T DEAD!

 My name is Caleb Wing, but in Los Angeles and other places people call me BOYOE. I’ve had that name since I was about 16 smoking cigarettes and drinking forties in Idaho at the skatepark. I didn’t give myself the name, but when it stuck I changed my handle on every platform to ‘BOYOEISDEAD’. I gave myself the ‘ISDEAD’ at the end of my name to compliment my “lifestyle”, which seemed to attract near death experiences more often than I’d care to admit. I grew up with one goal in mind and that was to be a rockstar, I can honestly say I’ve played the part 110% of the time. 

 Favorite words, “FUCK IT”, and usually the beginning of every great crusade I’ve had from fighting tweakers in Tahoe with a samurai sword, to living and surfing waves with Brazilians in Maui, to clubbing with Russian mobsters in New York. I was known by my friends as the kid that can wear just about any hat in life. My reputation wasn’t built purposefully but I definitely thank my younger self for turning every situation to 10 when everyone else was cruising at a steady 3. I didn’t want to grow into a class lower or middle class system. At a very young age I started dreaming about building my own businesses , clothing companies, restaurants, and influence through writing and making music with my friends. Oh, and I have a 

I’ll just start by saying I don’t know if the doctors ever figured out whether the fuck my heart failure was caused by my over indulgence of Korean bbq or the abundance of adderal my body consumed daily. Either way, last year something caused my heart to stop and made me fall face first on the concrete, resulting in facial reconstructive surgery and a mess of events to follow. I’ll now go into detail as to what lead to me being in the hospital for weeks and having the most sobering moment of my life. 

 It was not a normal day for me in Topanga as I rolled over and woke up from a long night recording, probably hungover and hadn't seen my bed till 7am. I opened my phone and Im fucking eyes wide looking at texts from my Producer, Bill. 

“dude…” 

 “I just crashed my car through my neighbors living room”

“I’m okay, but my car is destroyed”

 Reading this, I panicked and called my friend immediately hoping he was physically alright and at the same time I wanted every detail to his story. 

 He replied and told me he was fine but very shook after having a near death experience. I thought surely this must’ve been caused from drinking and driving or maybe drugs, but no, it was simple the mistake of checking a text or a possible swipe that caused this. 

 I then invited Bill to lunch because I thought he needed some food before I drove him to recover, whatever he had lost inside his car after the crash. I chose a Korean bbq spot in the valley to have lunch. While at lunch we ate copious amounts of Kalbi ribs, braised beef, and steak feeling extremely full and honestly maybe a little too stuffed. We paid our server and set off for the impound yard, little did we know, we would never make it there. Instead we went outside and got into my car, we set our gps for the impound yard and set off. When we started to get close I asked if we could park a block away so I could piss in an alley way near by. We parked my car and Bill waited for me as I stumbled to the alley and took the deadliest piss of my life. I zipped up my pants after peeing, and I didn’t even get 15 feet away before I blacked out hitting the ground and shattered both sides of my lower jaw, broke my nose, and lost multiple teeth from having a heart failure. 

 You could imagine from my friends perspective as he’s sitting in the passenger seat, and looks over, I had just fallen on the ground, and was laying there, knowing me this would’ve easily been mistaken for a joke. Sadly, as he took a second look, he noticed this was very much, not a joke as I was motionless face down in the concrete and blood was creating a pool around my head. I’m speaking from his perspective and from what he has told me because I do not remember what happened from this point, only what I’ve been told.

 Bill got out of the car, and ran to me, when he got to me immediately I awoke after being violently shaken. I was in complete shock and panic as I began spitting pieces of my teeth and chunks of(pooling/leaking) blood all over the street. Instinctually, I knew that I was fucked. I began crawling and trying to run to my vehicle, knowing that it was my only chance to make it to the hospital quickly. I approach the vehicle and got in the driver side door, only about half conscious and covered in blood about to drive my vehicle to the nearest emergency room when Bill grabs me and yells at me to get in the passenger seat. Taking into account the state of emergency I am in, I just crawled over the center console, leaving a blood

trail in my wake as I crashed into the passenger seat. At this point in the story, I am completely aware of how much pain I am in and I start to scream at the top of my lungs for help. Bill describes the screams and gore as being worse than any horror film or something to that effect. My jaw feels like it is completely disconnected from my face and hanging off of me, I wish that I could feel something other than pain because it is starting to make me pass in and out of consciousness.

 Bill is now driving like a maniac, and honestly could’ve probably casted for a new fast and furious movies with the amount of stress he was under. Even writing this now I understand how much in debt I am to him for the rest of my life for saving me, and not going into complete panic himself. 

 We drove to the nearest hospital where they thankfully put me under and gave me lots of  morphine. After having Bill and I sit there for nearly 8 hrs the doctors tell Bill we needed to find a different hospital due to how critical my injury was. I definitely would’ve expected them to transfer me in an ambulance after finding out I just had a heart failure and my jaw was broken to bits, but instead they gave Bill the new hospital name and told us to fuck off. The last thing I remember from being at that first hospital was being cold as shit cussing out the nurses through my bloody broken face as they wheeled me out to Bill who was equally pissed at the situation. 

 I have tons of stories from the two weeks inside the hospital, most of which are blurred by OxyContin and drug induced sleep. One of my better memories was Bills first visit to me where he brought me a bouquet of vapes and dab pens, along with his vintage beat machine that we spent the day playing next to a man who was dying just a curtain over. Another great and very famous memory to me is Tate visiting and taking the iconic Crisis hat picture for the magazine, which at the time I had no idea would have me writing this now. Among the good times in the hospital there were far more painful experiences like my jaw reconstruction and being poked and prodded for weeks. 

 Now, before I go into this short paragraph about the surgery on my jaw I’ll just say I had never broken a bone except my pinky that I was aware of. You’d think the heart failure was the traumatic part of the incident, but having my lower jaw replaced with metal plates and screws, being wired shut, and not being able to eat regularly for months was a nightmare. It took almost a week and a half for the doctors to clear me for the use of anesthesia and give me surgery, during that time I was high as a kite in limbo from the Oxys. When I woke up from surgery I had metal bars screwed into my jaw going around the bottom of my gums with bands to keep my jaw shut, this was a problem, I hated the bands and cut them out of my mouth daily to eat. 

 After many tests, X-rays, and consultations the Doctors were never able to conclude what was wrong with me or if this will ever happen again. I was offered a new experimental device, which I turned down because they didn’t have enough information for me to feel safe. I guess looking back on my life I always used to live like I didn’t care if I would die tomorrow, until I did and got the chance to wake up.  Fuck it. 

 From Boyoe, with love.