Shine On You Crazy Diamonds, EBB 5

8/7/2019 Shine On You Crazy Diamonds, EBB 5

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SHINE ON

YOU CRAZY

DIAMONDS

a’misa chiu



a’misa chiu



dedicated to our co-conspirators of pleasure

If you liked Jan Svankmajer’s lms,you might also like the stop-motion

documentary Monster Road.



ATTN: IMPORTANT

-make bed-zine end-nd nearby bike cafe-silhouettes & shadows

-housepaint nail polish-disco & freeze tag

-salton sea & salty seeds-thought trains on memory’s back-Derrida’s Ghost & ghosts in general-hypertext & links

-cats eating rainbow-sprinkled donuts-bell peppers & gender

-salvation & thrift store styling-spirals and seashells-busrides abortions & macrame-siamese twins

-exorcism & outliers-glow in the dark bunnies

-duck salad & rubber duckies-90’s lifestyle-homegrown herb-screamo & beano

-woven tophats-catarthic release

-mutes and salami-thank you cards-wipe, ush.-take a bow

-wake up

a’misa chiu



theo ellsworth



theo ellsworth



keenan keller



keenan keller



keenan keller



keenan keller



The Cup is Fullwriting by vicky luu, comic by yumi sakugawa



writing by vicky luu, comic by yumi sakugawa









albane simon



albane simon



Awake.

Janice Lee

Don't pay attention to me, I'm just a whisper in the dark, the sunset bending behind us. Father, when you watch over us during the night, what do you dream about?

So what if the tuna fish wants to make love to the shark? How does this courtship work, inthe absence of cultural expectations, who asks who, whose permission needs to be asked? Mr.Toona, I would like to ask for the hand of your daughter . A response: But you're a shark. How longdoes such a courtship last? And how long before the rigor mortis starts to set in?

Proust once said, "Now that Olympus does not exist, its inhabitants dwell upon the earth." You, me, him, her, the lost gods of a lost era. If I am a god, you are a god. If He is a god, I am one

too.

The octopus stuck in the bottle is smarter than you. His eyeball burps, and one wonders, while gazing into the optical illusion that makes up an optic system, why award such superior vision to inferior species? If He is an intelligent creator, why build something upside downand backwards? It's safer, cleaner . In reality I remember little about myself, only random lineson the road my feet tread upon when I was really looking up at the sky. I'm on the brink of something.

The light forever of the sun that fades away when the ancient ones awake. Dreams are closerto the real than one thinks, the logic of this world skewed, falsely multi-dimensional whenreally there's only one dimension that matters, the one we're only able to access when theghosts peel our eyes closed and remind us of the past events we so viciously try to tuck away.Memories consolidated and reconsolidated so many times, I don't remember the faces of mymother anymore. I can see a face, but the emotional state I'm in, it could really be any face,every face looks like her face. Only dream-glimpses allow me to see her, but even in mydreams there are obstacles. In one dream I saw her, but my brother held me back. It's omma, I

told him. She's not real. She's dead, remember? Don't touch her. That's not her . He grabbed myhand, lead me up a stairway that led nowhere. We were running away from something, anincoming fire perhaps. This city's always on the brink of burning down.

He is a castaway, the ever-arriving present envelops me. This course has become accustomedto my presence, a premonition of a misty window, I see a red tree out there, but that speciesisn't native to this area. I keep hearing certain phrases over and over again, and I don't see thesource, so it must be who's saying it. Ecclesiastes: "There is nothing new under the sun." And what nothing are we talking about? What is the source? Of the sun? What is? The Word flies

at me and I try to catch it.

Replenish this and I will give you that. The entire neighborhood will. Dust to dust. I'mcompelled to remember things over and over again, even if that's not the way they happened,that's what I see. It's come to the point, here on the brink of a mind, the mind ravenous like ashark, it's come to that point where I only trust what I see in my dreams.



janice lee



tina tae



tina tae



tina tae



call me bitter, but there’s no career in art.

it doesn’t make money, it’s not especially essential(not like vitamins or running water)

but it’s sort of not fair that other niche interests canmake a buck out of what they likeand artists are trod onlike they’re a completely useless breed.

take the nyc service industry. i’ve worked the food

and retail fronts, and i guarantee that the highmajorityof the staff are ‘artists paying dues.’

we’re a lovely bunch: bright, sparkling, polite to theninesand we’re serving a room full of idiots.lipstick bitches, sloppy assholes--they’re marriedand expecting a spoiled brat in four months.

how do we engage these people in conversation?oh, we talk about the weather.

they think we’re too dumb to do anything else.and we’re puzzled how they nd their dough with

zero lights on upstairs.

it’s really a mystery.and we create our drawings, paintings, and half-earnest rhymeto *cleanse* the bad-feeling.

but come time, when the same customers comeback and we show them these works, will theyunderstand?

moral of the story: be nice to your struggling artistsbecause they will have their moment ;o)

tina tae



tina tae



tina tae



jared konopitski



jared konopitski



She is black and white

See her clearly in a foggy mist,She sees a world of do’s and don’ts

Values bend from right to wrong

Her mother, like rushing water through her life

Hot than cold

Her father absent, then present

Her heart holds love and hate

Sometimes she sips coffee, sometimes tea

Her children push and pull

her from bear hugs to arms length

Her husband once brittle, now more pliable.

teresa matsushima



In her mind, she accepts and condemns

In conflict, there is contention and restorationShe holds tightly to morals

yet finds herself in compromise

She needs help but asks for none

A dichotomous world

She is tit for tat

She is this or thatShe is fight or flight

She is black and white.

teresa matsushima



a found object



a’misa chiu



randy nelson

The Train Tracks on Normandie Ave

Te railroad tracks on Normandie Ave tell ghost stories.I used to walk along them as a teenager.

One time,I ound a bullet rom a semi automatic gun.I picked it upand threw it down on the rail.It produced a long vibration that shook my knees,and or a split second,I heard Jordan Daily,the old train conductor.

Chain smoking change in a time where menthol cigarettes didn’t exist.

“imes are a changing man.”

Steam was the only thing that made sense.A locomotive push in the wrong direction.“I sympathize with this city,” he said.“Te local hobos need a place o reuge and the train cars are beginningto sound so silent without a blues harp soundtrack.”



randy nelson

“It’s starting to be replaced by cop sirens and automatic guns.I thought God was suppose to protect us.”

I guess aith is a fckle thing.

“I dread the day that my phones ringsand I get a call rom the coroner telling me my son was shot playing marbles by the train station.”

“He was shot by accident, they would say.”“Wrong place, wrong time, right between his eyes”

Every athers nightmare but some athers reality.

“I he dies today,” Mr. Daily said,“I’ll leave this business behind.”

Te times o Huck Finn and om Sawyer are dead.replaced by bullets by the rail road tracks.

“ell me a ghost story,” his son said,“one that would louder than any train whistle or engine.”

“Son, ghost stories are or grown ups,” he said.“Stay being a kid.”“Because these train tracks do tell ghost stories,

I just don’t want you to haunt them.”



alex chiu



alex chiu



alex chiu



alex chiu



[SHINE ON YOU CRAZY DIAMONDS*]**EYEBALL BURP 5, SPRING 2011

a’misa chiu

colorishdreams.com

theo ellsworththoughtcloudfactory.com

keenan kellerdrippybonebooks.com

vicky luuwww.yfarfrom.wordpress.com

yumi sakugawayumisakugawa.com

albane simonalbane.ultra-book.com

janice lee janicel.com

tina taetinatae.blogspot.com

teresa matsushima

jared konopitski

randy nelsonparkinglotwarriors.wordpress.com

alex chiualexdoodles.com

*title by mark matsushima**no part of this publication may be reproduced without personal permissions fromrespective artists, except for review purposes only.



ABOUT

Founded in 2008, by artistsA’misa & Alex Chiu, Eyeball Burp

is a cultural outlet that features

the nooks and crannies of the art

world.

Eyeball Burp began as and stillis a small press publication,

xeroxed and hand distributed

throughout Southern California.

Building alongside fellow artists,musicians, and thinkers, Eyeball

Burp also hosts and organizes a

variety of community events, art

shows, and workshops in the Los

Angeles area.

Finally, Eyeball Burp functions

as an active blog space expos-

ing thoughts, images, and ideas

internationally.

www.eyeballburp.com

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Documents

Shine On You Crazy Diamonds, EBB 5