Karma Police have pulled me over it seems. I’m hoping I don’t get arrested by these guys because I don’t know how much more of this shit I can take to be honest. The universe seems to be against me or maybe I am just against success. Do I owe this life to mediocrity? I stand in my own way. I do. I do. I really fucking do. There is a sick part of my heart that jumps all over any impulsive idea that springs into my mind and I’m seemingly too stubborn to stop it. How many times have I relied on the goodness of strangers to get my ass out of a sling? So many it boggles the mind. Blessed and cursed was I…good looks and charm….I rely on both of them way too much. This rut I’m in just keeps digging itself deeper and deeper.
When does the digging stop and the burying begin?
Scared to find that out to be honest. The enormity of the task that lies in front of me should I desire to continue battling just seems overwhelming. All systems are failing lets not mince words. Is my core still intact or is it rotten and poisoned? I can’t tell anymore.
Cerebral thinker, polluted well, the water smells off, have I been living in hell?
Surrounded by demons or are they just ghosts? Calling to me. Beckoning me closer…Closer to what?
That’s the scary part. Half of me already knows the answer to that and it spells only darkness and a reunion I’m not anxious to have. I don’t want to be a name on the list of People Who Died, as much as I love them, I don’t want to see them anytime soon.
Yet…even now I hear faded whispers, see smiles in the dark, hear chuckles and scraping, the moon is so full tonight, translucent light from an unnatural source the sickly green phosphorent beakers of decadence.
Calling to me from the ancient past, promising details to questions and mysteries I didn’t ask and had no idea remained unsolved.
Regicide, the killing of a king, regicides, the killings of kings…
Who slipped him the poison with a smile on his face and teeth in his heart? Who whispered my name to the wolves that run the action wherever I journey?
What kind of insect bit Charle’s killer, infected him with madness, forced him to pull the trigger? You see that’s where it all started for me I believe. The slow whirlpool spinning me around and around, unable to climb out unable to drown just spinning and spinning….faster and faster. It all started with Charles McEldowney, Bo Kai Di, Chuck,
Vietnamese….American….Devil….Angel….dead. For sure he is dead.
It’s been 5 years and 9 months since Chuck was shot by a young and angry Vietnamese kid. 5 y 9 m since the kid knocked on Charlie’s door. It was in August of 2005. Charles lived real close to Dodger’s Stadium. I wonder if the Dodgers were home that evening? Or was the stadium as empty as the soul of the kid who put the gun up to Chuckie’s chest when he opened the door. Pulled the trigger. Walked away. Somebody took Charles to the Emergency Room. I don’t know what hospital he died at. I don’t even know how to properly spell his American name or Vietnamese name. I just know that my life hasn’t been the same since I got the call on the third floor of the Stellar Bar in Melboune, Australia from Heather Batchelder.
Charles drowned on his own blood. That’s what I’ve been told. I’m going to let you see this letter that I wrote to the world when I could find time to console myself back then. From what I understand a printout of this letter was included with Charles when they put him in the oven that incinerated his flesh. A copy of this letter is intermingled with his ashes and spread everywhere and nowhere. Charles drowned in his own blood.
Who was there to see him off? This was an unplanned journey to eternity. When did his thoughts shift from whatever nonsensical things he was doing 5 minutes before the doorbell rang to “oh my god I am dead god please jesus please oh my god I can’t breathe help me “. His eyes must have been frantic. Or maybe he was just that badass that he accepted it and floated away.
Come to think of it…a lot of things would be easier if I knew what happened to Charles. I would like to see everything from 5 minutes to door bell ringing to where he is now. If anywhere. I’d like to know if he can still have thoughts in his mind. Where did he end up? Or is he just gone, not even rotting because of the cremation but just gone as if he never existed?
For at least 6 months after he died, somebody paid his mobile phone bill so his answering machine was still working. I used to call that number from Australia all the time just to hear his voice. It would rip me apart but I did it so many times. I wonder who else used to call and leave messages for Charlie. Did he ever get them?
I wrote this back in 05 when I was part owner of a bar in Melbourne, Australia. Got some bad news from Heather Batchelder and Mike Barnes about my very good friend Charles.
—————– Original Message —————–
From: HOt sex and Greed
Date: Aug 11, 2005 1:14 PM
Aug 9, 2005 12:29 AM
Subject: The Legend of Bo Di Kai——–I am Fucking Shattered
Body: Honestly in all my life experiences I have never been as distraught, emotionally wrecked, torn to pieces, sad, angry, and overall just a mess as I was and AM STILL over the stupid senseless killing of my friend and companion and kindred brother Charles McEldowney on the Second of August, 2005 in LA.
Some fucking jackass who obviously can’t handle their drug intake of ice tripped the fuck out of his head and had some delusion of Charlie doing something threatening somehow someway and actually killed my friend Charles.
I have suffered through many fucked up things in my wonderful life to date. None has affected me quite as much as this. I live in Australia now and I can’t fucking even go home to the funeral. It’s so fucked.
If you never met Charles your life is not as fulfilled as it should be let me just tell you that. He was a great personality and the most funny, generous, twisted and delightfully evil man I have ever had the pleasure of knowing. I know that I will never meet another like him.
If you only knew how many nights in the last twelve years that Charles and I have seen the sunrise together, talking shit, philosophizing, tinkering, drawing, partying, driving, planning, laughing, eating and just being brothers it would boggle the mind.
Fuck yah we were on drugs. Hooray for that. After Charles moved from OC to LA, I got a job at Ticketmaster in LA and was working down on Wilshire Blvd right there in Chinatown. And he lived there off of 8th Street and Grammercy. Literally 5 minutes walk from my work. I used to go over there at lunch and Charles would rescue me from the hellish hangover I would be enduring, with some hits of that dirty pretty ice pipe and we would have the best times. I don’t give a fuck if you think its lame. Drugs or any of it to tell you the truth. It was real and it was never the same and the adventures in LA with Chuck were legendary.
When I moved to downtown LBC with my Australian chick Ella, me and her used to go to Charles mobile house about three nights a week and pick up shit like maybe a half gram or something. It would always be like at 4 in the morning seriously and I would be covered in paint from whatever masterpiece I was working at the time and it was just so NOT THE SAME as the millions and billions of sheep living in California.
Charles sold drugs. Yah for Charles. I trusted him more than I have ever trusted anyone in my life. Implicitly. You know what that word means? Implicitly. Well I don’t know the exact dictionary meaning either but it’s a word that comes to mind when I think of Charles and trust. Like as in, it goes without saying. The dude had my back, any time any place. When I had money I gave him money. When I had none, he took none. It would not be an exagerration to say that Charles has actually given me my stash for the night AND GAS MONEY TO get back home AND A LITTLE MINI STASH for my chick and some sort of tool or gadget, a porno, and some food at least 100 times when I was living in Long Beach.
I would always be broke, being a degenerate gambler, yes its true. But Charles never gave a fuck about that. Literally didn’t give a fuck. Always made the time for me. Always. I tell you what. Straight up. The man meant more to me than almost anyone in this world. I love Charles. I thought he was the coolest person ever and he is my hero. Seriously my life will never be the same and the prospect of visiting California again isn’t even half as appetizing now that he is dead. I am that crushed.
I just found this shit out yesterday and I can’t stop welling up with tears about every 5 minutes. Is there anyone in your life that every time you see this person you feel this swell of affection in your heart and a smile just comes to your lips? Like you guys are so genuinely stoked to be in each others company whenever you get the chance in your busy lives? And once you start talking, all the other people in the room can’t even follow what you guys are talking about because they are just not on that wavelength. That is what we had man. Not in a gay way either for fucks sake. But in a non gay way Charles was a soulmate of mine and I really miss him so terribly much as I am typing this right now on a cold and rainy Melbourne Tuesday, the ninth of August, 2005. I miss you Charlie and I am fucking not very happy about any of this let me tell you.
As always with me and Charles he is paving the way. Charles was the stuff that legends are made of. Let the storytelling start now. I would say Rest in Peace but Charles liked staying up. Not resting. I do too. So all I can say is I love you brother and I miss you and not a cliche here: I will think about you every day for the rest of my life and thank you so much for every little thing you have ever done for me. You fucking rule. Bye Chuck.