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eyeball burp
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eyeball burp Publications

table of contents
blue minivan tour 19
my brother 14
no kiss poetry 12
a plaid centerfold 16

queens on screen 6
strange sites 22
wanderer's dinner party 20

belch 3
small press circus 4
snap shots 24

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eyeball burp tres

for those who create

[[editor]]
ann matsushima

BELCH [[publisher]]
eyeball burp publications

[[contributors]]
alex chiu
emily kaneshiro
tom mcdermott
The number one question asked is “What is Eyeball justin nakasone
Burp?” randy nelson
tina tae
Eyeball Burp was and still is a song sung in an ice
cream cone, and it has become a call for change, [[copy edit]]
conversation, inspiration, community and cre-
tina choi
ation.
hyo f. davis
Eyeball Burp has become a home. Its mission has
become my life’s mission. When I wasn’t investing [[technology]]
my life into the arts, my soul yearned for it. Eye- zorana ngai
ball Burp Issue 1 was bled out of a need to creative
freely and to tell our life’s stories. [[blog]]
eyeballburp.blogspot.com
Eyeball Burp is a celebration of those I love and
whose works I hold dear. Because their artistic
[[burpers]]
gifts touch my heart, I hope that they can touch
yours as well. I am learning strength in the strug-
our sincerest graditude
gle from the dandelion, the single parent, the left the chius
out and lonely, the marginalized, the forgotten, and vanessa yee
the silenced. Together, we hope to break down the miss donuts
barriers that separate, and dwell as neighbors and nancy romero
friends, and family. the matsushimas
neighborhood grinds
Eyeball Burp is our collective voice, shouting to wells & brent shimazaki
be heard amongst all the rumble of the city, and
nancy terasaki
knowing full well of our responsibity to our com-
munities to document history from the stories of
david shingo
its people. Thank you to everyone who graciously the saldanas
submitted their work. Keep on creating. It inspires joyce kim
me. the gotos

togetherness--ann misa matsushima

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small press circus
Gloria Toyun Park, La Perruquiere
A colorful story about a female wig maker and performance art-
ist who, raised in her aunt’s Koreatown wig store, grew up to cre-
ate viseral wig sculpture/architecture “Wig Disasters”, or sculp-
tures posing as wigs. Park quotes that “Hair is potent because it
defines our sexuality- though hair has no gender.” Perhaps one
of the most inspiring stories of a Asian American female artist
I’ve ever come across. (elkzine.com)

Purty Plotte, No. 12

The raw, uncensored thoughts & artwork of Julie Doucet is as
refreshing as a springtime rain. Her ability to frankly tell a
tale of living with a selfish, unsympathetic bf, while she tries
to draw, despite copious amounts of beer & bugs, is perhaps
a window into my NYC dream. Good recommendation from
Floating World Comics. (Drawn & Quarterly)

Zine Scene: the do-it-yourself guide to zines

I received this treasure as a birthday present from a fellow zin-
ester, and its amazing! Francesca Lia Block & Hillary Carlip
show the entire process of zine making, using the examples of
many of their personal zine inspirations. Perhaps one of my
biggest hurdles is the fear of expressing myself freely. The Zine
Scene encourages one to “yell at the top of our lungs, do some-
thing, change this shit”. D.I.Y, Don’t wait for someone else to
say it, say it yourself. (Girl Press)

Felipe Martinez, (untitled chapbook, 2009)

Hauntingly lovely with a mysteriousness whose identity search
through the journey of storytelling, history, and the blurring line
of fact and fiction, reminds me of sitting and listening to some-
one talk story. Storytellers change, edit and morph their stories,
but nonetheless the essence remaining true. Martinez probes at
one’s nostagia and bends the facts of history into a reality whose
truths are usually uglier than the lies. I hope to read many more
of Martinez’ stories. (amissingbook.com)

Where Were You When I Needed You

Atlanta’s own La Sonta writes a heartfelt poetic memoir of a wom-
an becoming, a story through all her struggles, joys, and pains.
It is real and honest and challenging, providing a personal much
needed “light in the tunnel”, encouraging people to write their
own memoirs to tell their own stories. Her dedication towards
D.I.Y. publishing approach & love for her children inspires me.
Well-done lady. (BLAK Family Publishing)

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small press circus

ZIPOPUCKER, no. 1
Created from the minds of then high schoolers, this 3-paged
wonder is filled with postcards from penpals, aim conversations,
monster doodles and other forms of nonsense that makes sense.
I wish I created a zine in high school. I eagerly hope for another
one of these to fall into my lap while I sit quietly and eat donuts in
the middle of the night. (Zipopucker Productions)

signaling
It is a book where the words breathes. They also cry, moan, laugh
and whisper. The words stir up emotions and action and thought.
They keep one company before bedtime, and cradle one into slum-
ber on the nights where the body is just too tired to mourn. traci
kato-kiriyama births poetry everyday. Her relentless dedication
towards community building and bring performance and poetry
to the people makes her a mentor towards many who are looking
for the signals that she makes while forging through unknown ter-
ritories. (Theundeniables.org)

Group Poop
Oodles of Doodles in this puppy! Doodler Alex Chiu connects
the greatest of international doodlers with the known and the
unknown doodlers of the States, combining them in the gnar-
liest, grusome, ugliest & fantastical collection of drawings this
side of the planet has ever seen. It’s a must for all the senses.
(Eyeball Burp Publications)

Whatcha Mean What’s a Zine?

Wonderfully informative! This is the one book that you want by
your side when you are hosting a zine making workshop. Ad-
vice from Eric Nakamura to Southern Salazer makes self-pub-
lishing seem like a breeze, though you know it has actually taken
years of hardword & dedication. It encourage writers and artists
to become their own creative publishers.
(Graphia, imprint of Houghton Mifflin Company)

Mister Lonely- Harmony Korine

A Michael Jackson impersonater befriends a Marilyn Monroe
impersonater and they go to live in a community of celebrity
impersonaters. It’s a dark tale of self-identity vs. the personali-
ties impersonated, as well as one’s reality vs. one’s performance.
It gave me hope, and took it away in the same instance. Basi-
cally, Korine fucks me up. Read the screenplay, then watch the
movie. Prepare to be sad, even suicidal. (Nieves)
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Queens On Screen
Essay by Ann Matsushima/ Photos various sources
Perhaps this story begins at the Video Store Named Desire. A small
neon sign buzzes into the night that new releases are only 99c. Anything 99
cents immediately grabs my attention. The first step inside breaks me away from
the reality of the outside world, launching me into a video maniac frenzy, dig-
ging through mounds of dusty VHS and discarded 90’s dramas, flipping through
title after title of movies that I’ve hear of but have never seen. This small store-
front houses a vast collection of cult films keeping us occupied for months.
However, Desire doesn’t always cut it. In this case, you can get into
your car and drive the 998 miles to Portland and pop into The Bad Apple
(6340 SE Foster Road,
Portland, OR 97206,
(971) 212-2164) where
Pooty Tang is on dis-
play and a tricked-out,
green-tasseled, low-
rider bike sits in the
windowsill. The Bad
Apple is a combined
effort of Sparkplug
Books’ Dylan Williams
and co-conspirer Tim
Goodyear. Both are
zany characters, whose
private video collections
fortunately seeps into
the store, so that the lo-
cal community of Port-
land has a constant flow
of the weirdest, strang-
est, and most obscure
everything. Is this why
Portland’s slogan is,
A gem! 99 cent for a 6 day rental! 11631 Santa
Keep Portland Weird? Monica Blvd, L.A, CA 90025 (310) 444-0079
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If you look closely at the “A” in Bad Apple, you’ll see the smiling face of Dylan Williams,
publisher of Sparkplug Books. Visit www.badapplestore.blogspot.com
I didn’t know what I was looking for,
all I knew was that I was fascinated.
Yet despite the two gems of video stores, it was the Torrance Li-
brary where I found and rented Priscilla, Queen of the Desert. Captivated
by the colors, textures, and attitudes that were conjured up amidst the re-
moteness of the Austrailian desert, I watched it over and over and over again,
each time as entralled with it as the first. Though it wasn’t my first introduc-
tion to drag queens (Divine in Pink Flamingos was), Mitzi, Bernadette and
Felicia’s 4-week trek in “Priscilla”, the pink tour bus, was a rough journey
through much homophobic abuse and violence. As they perform for differ-
ing towns in the Austrailian outback, it became apparent that town members
weren’t as accepting of the “performances” of the trio as Sydney had been.
Every week, I would enter Desire and ask for movies starring drag
queens, using terms like
“gender benders”to try to
describe and articulate my
new favorite genre of film.
I didn’t know what I was
looking for, all I knew was
that I was fascinated. Per-
haps by the fashion, per-
haps by the makeup magic,
perhaps by the transforma-
tion of a man into a woman,
and that tightrope that one
walks upon when skirt-
Mitzi, Bernadette, & Felicia as “cocks in frocks on a rock”
ing inbetween the genders.
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The next few movies where introductory drag, good and informative,
but not the best. There was Kinky Boots, an oxford shoe making factory begins
to make silhouette boots, fashioned to support the weight of a man, and support
it did. John Water’s Female Trouble features Divine as a fame-crazed mother,
who becomes a model for her hairdressing company. Her face becomes hide-
lously deformed from a chemical burn but her associates convince her that she
is not ugly, but gorgous. In fact, more beautiful than ever before. Wonderfully
outrageous and deliciously camp. And then there was Party Monster. Pulling
emotional strings that you didn’t even know you had, this monster captured a
lonely darkness amidst hopeless situations, of drugs, loneliness, and death, that
stemmed out of a need for people to be
together and be accepted and loved. I
cried everytime I watched it (3x) and it
challenged me to become more creative
in event planning and hosting parties.
I heard wind of a documen-
tary called Paris is Burning, and that I
needed to see this movie. Mikey at De-
sire said he didn’t know where his copy
was. We later found “Paris” in a dusty
stack of VHS tapes in the cult films sec-
tion. I had hear of “voguing” but I didn’t
know that it was used at the balls in bat-
tles to win best in category. To vogue
meant to dance for respect, a mixture
between getting ready in the morning
and series of atheletic dance gesturing.
Justin Bond in Shortbus, 2006

Divine in John Water’s Female Trouble, 1974

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To Wong Fu, Thanks for Everything Julie Newmar, 1995

It gave a picture of life if you are an African American drag queen living
in NYC in the 80-90s. It wasn’t just showing life as a nightclub drag per-
former, instead revealing life’s darker reality of the families, the violence, and
the competition, admidst the glamour of the wigs, makeup, and couture.
To Wong Fu, Thanks for Everything Julie Newmar, was similar to
Priscilla in the desert except for its all-multi-ethnic-American cast. All that was
missing was the Asian American queen. I began to come across some of the
most vivid and imaginative and artistic films starring Asian drag queens. The
first came upon me from a fellow
collaborator. Where he got it, I will
never know, but Taiyo Matsumoto’s
Funeral Parade of Roses is perhaps
one of the darkness stories ever told.
I had never before seen anthing like
the 70’s intellectual & artists under-
ground of Japan. This movie addresses
life as a transsexual and how the char-
acter conducts her life. Matsumoto
throws light upon the people, and ev-
eryone’s true nature emerges. I loved it.
Then the Cockettes emerged,
granting access into a 60s community
of drag queens and faux queens, all in
it to perform, wearing layers of dress-
es and consuming copious amounts
of LSD. I admired the artistry,
though drugs always fucks things up.
Funeral Parade of Roses, Taiyo Matsumoto,1969
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I found another wonderful
film called Shortbus. James Cameron
Mitchell (Hedwig and the Angry Inch)
address issues in sexuality through the
relationship of straight, gay, and bi-sex-
ual people, through an underground
sex playground, where experimentation
is anything and voyuring is to partici-
pate. One of the main characters can-
not have an orgasm, problematic as she
is a sex therapist teaching people how
to have good healthy sexual relations.
It is interesting that it was this charac-
ter that caught my attention the most.
Was it because she is Asian American
and a woman? Of course it would be
the Asian women that would fear talk- Goldy Glitters in The Cockettes, 2002
ing about their sexuality, because isn’t it Why isn’t it a simple history lesson
she that has had years of sexual exploi- of how the world views Asian wom-
tation, forced sexual slavery, victim to en enough to commend Mitchell for
porn sites worldwide and then told that placing an Asian women in search of
she doesn’t have a voice. To be naturally her sexuality, beautiful? Seeing a sis-
demure, maybe even shy, is something ter explore her identity and find her-
drastically different than being silenced! self amidst the sexually marginalized

The Cockettes in The Cockettes documentary, 2002

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was a reminder to me that we all need to
SAME-SEX COUPLES SHOULD
respect each other. Sometimes it feels like
HAVE THE CONSTITUTIONAL
a battle against hate, but perhaps sexu-
RIGHT TO MARRY.
ality is just something that needs to be
discussed and dialogued about more fre-
quently than it is.
Perhaps I used to gawk and stare
at those who cross-dress and change their
genders before my eyes in the summer-
time, but now I have learned that more
and more we have to be exposed to whats
out there. There are a million different
sub-cultures, based upon music, art, sexu-
ality and gender, class, race, food, games,
sports, etc, and each one acts as an island
unless brought to the action of the mass
public. I encourage you to take pride in
what spikes your interest, no matter how
kooky, zang, obscure or weird you think
you are, because you never know who
you’ll end up having a conversation with.
I believe in our differences, we become
more well-rounded, accepting people. I
urge you to watch these films and have
loving conversation and dialogue.

Ann Matsushima is a LA-based

blogger, artist, and community
events organizer. She loves writ-
ing postcards, the ocean, and
her partner Alex. Visit her site:
www.sistahship.blogspot.com
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The Only Ones You Know

Write them like they’re the
WHEN WE
only ones you know WERE FOUND
They are.
Thousands and thousands WHERE WERE
of words
Moment after moment WE?
Bright moments
Little shiny ones
They are yours Like How Clouds Look Like the Wind
They are everyone’s
There’s a machine
In my head where time is kept
A black box
A gray matter
Of fact Of perspective

All I can see are patterns

I can make them make sense

There’s a measured beat

Bending against the ribs in my chest
A simple song
I can make it make sense

All I got are words

All I can say is,

No kiss
“Where are we?”
And, “When?”

Poetry
I’ve got a map in my mind of time
I can make it make sense

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CHURCH OF ELVIS
PORTLAND OREGON

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hum
by ann matsushima

g hum
the lullin at
, th
of 2 am ling of
r u mb
light
t, none
the n h nce
ig
ile
of the s s your
ze
tha z than
t b u
re
ears mo g, the
in
the bark nd the
, a
engines
f
music o Ave.
m
Kornblu hot
t in g
Its get
e a nd the
outsid
re doing
people a
,
the bbq
c a n smell it
you
ir re-
in the a ou of
y
minding end of
nt
the bur -
a’s cook
grandm icks,
pst
ing cho mpty
te
and tha etchup
o fk
bottle
oor.
on the fl

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plaid tv says so
tom mcdermott
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new york city plaid

tom mcdermott
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mushy
alex chiu
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The Blue
Mini-Van
Tour
3
4

A month on the road, where the

van was our home, and Portland
was a mere 998 miles away.
1. A small-press/zinester’s haven
2. What does a tiger look like?
3. Northern-most CA city: Weed.
4. Lester & Lindsey’s ying-yang.
5. The Eyeball Burp Mobile,

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before it broke down.
6. Kind hosts: Skinner and Kristie
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THE WANDERER’S
DINNER PARTY
writing by ann matsushima
photos by eyeball burp!
The Wandering Dinner Party troupe
is an assortment of vagabonds, sim-
ply interested in dining together in
hopes of conversing with people
from all walks of life. The idea is
to host banquet style dinners with
all the different people of your life,
mixing and mingling them, shuf-
fling them amongst each other.

I stumbled into it, as everyone

else did. It was a foggy night. I
The Patron Saint of Postcards, Leah Stella
http://www.youtube.com/user/stellabelle was lost. It seemed as if every-
thing was different, and it all felt
a tad bit errie. There was a 15-foot golden merman with a triton towering
over me. The ocean mist clinging and lifting from behind. I didn’t remem-
ber campus to ever be this foggy. Our car pulls up next to modest Toyota
sedan, decorated in colorful swirls, mosaiced with plastic toys. Out steps a
woman painted in brillant blues and greens. She dons a blue cape com-
pletely covered in pieces of bread. She exclaims “Ham and cheese sandwich?”
I am carrying a microphone stand and a gallon of pink lemonade. This
is perhaps all there is to drink for the night. One gallon of pink lemonade. We
will serve it in dixie cups.
Her small hand touches my shoulder. A bright smiles meets my face.
I look down and get lost in the layers and layers of fruit. The colors make for
a great pattern. I use my fingers to grab a pineapple slice. It is sweet and cool.
Perfect for a foggy evening. We begin to rearrange the tables to make a great
big banquet sized table.
Alex makes a speech about friendship and that these are the most
influential people in his life right now. I was happy to be sitting there amongst
Alex the Romanian from the Midnight Ralph’s crew and Greg Vontwinkle, the
ultimate collector of details and experiences. As the night progresses, all the
characters begin to emerge through the woodwork.
“Arigato Alex!” sang a throaty Ryoko. She presented him with a small
ceramic vase. Her lips and her maroon top hat reminded me of a cabaret show.
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“No announcement, just performance.”
Fellow wanderers around SD (L-R): Greg VonTwinkle, New Sorrows, & Ryoko Gouguin
Her rhythm was the rhythm of the
universe, catching onto keys and notes
and chords that seemed only imagain-
ary. She screams as she pounds the
keys passionately.
Earlier we folded dumplings.
100 of them. Alex of Romania was ner-
vous that his fingers would not be sup-
ple enough. But soon, he became quite
the folding expert. We could cater we
thought. Huge amounts of dumpling
for huge parties. We could be called
the Handsome Dumpling Company.
But for now, the Dumpling Club.
He sat there, taking ev-
erything in. He sat across from
Mama Chiu, next to the lady in the
Bread Cape. He was glad that he
wore his pink shirt that night. It
added to the color and excitement
in the room. He had seen the art
up in Roma before, and was curious.
A ham and cheese sandwich,
sliced diagonally, resting in a ziplock
bag, was placed in my hand. I was in-
eyeballburp.blogspot.com
structed to hand the sandwich to Mr.
Chiu, over the ornated fruit platter.
I handed the sandwich to Mr. Chiu.
This is for a music video we were told.
I offered everyone some ly-
chee. It was fresh from the market but
everyone thought they were chestnuts.
Once I showed people, they began to
eat them. They did look like chestnuts.
Violin music filled the air.
No announcement, just performance.
Everyone listened. The two street bus-
kers kept on busking, though this time
in a cafe, late on this foggy evening.
Alex’s grandma had a front row seat.
She smiled through the whole night,
listening but unable to communicate.
Everyone kissed each other good bye,
and stumbled off into the night, back
home, back to a place to sleep. All
of them knowing that they partici-
pated in the first annual Wanderer’s
Dinner Party.// (Made possible by
funding of UCSD’s Roma Cafe)
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STRA N G E S I T E S Writing ann Matsushima

photos various sources

I have always heard of the Watts Towers, but never before had I
seen them. I thought of the Watts Towers, like the World Trade Center, as a mas-
sive struction housing ridiculous numbers of people up in its skyscraping heights.
I woke up one day and was tired of not knowing exactly what the Watts Towers
were. I drove east of the 105, exited north on Wilmington. I drove around until I
spotted the 100-foot cement spiraling pillars. I couldn’t believe it. Public art at its
finest, in the middle of Watts. Wandering around, I watched a class of 3rd graders
marvel at it. The neighborhood around the
structures had bright large colorful murals.
The time was post-WW2 and Simon
Rodia was an Italian immigrant, build the
towers for 33yrs (1924-57). Rodia carried
home armloads of discard tile, bottles, dishes,
etc, creating spiraling cement mosaics that
shot straight up in LA’s sky.

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This swirling towers with attached
hut and an oven were Rodia’s re-
lentless journey to put his mark
upon the earth.
Yet it was the open ce-
ment audtorium that the Watt’s
Tower park that inspired me the
most. I could envision men shout-
ing on the top of their soapbox,
their impassioned speeches, while
mothers and children munched on
peanut buter and jelly sandwiches,
and feed the pigeons. I envisioned Las Pozas, Xilitia, San Luis Potosi, Mexico
an outside concert series that en-
courages community involvement and activism. I doubt of Simon Rodia knew
what would spring forth from his special LA towers.
Doing my online research of Simon Rodia, I came across the Surrealist
Garden called Las Pozas (“the Pools”) in Xilitia, San Luis Potosi, built by Sir
Edward William Frank James from England. He acted as sponser and commis-
sioner of work by Salavador Dali, and supported Marguitte as well. Las Pozas
has 36 cement sculptures, ranging from staircases to heaven to houses with a
whale for a roof. The Garden is littered with walkways, ramps, bridges, and steps
that line the valley floor, covered in orchids and other exotic plants.
This has became my secret garden fantasy. The concept of finding a
place that you can have solitude: exploring and discovering. When I saw what
Sir James created, I was inspired to create my own secret succulent surrealist
garden. Though it isn’t as surreal, as it is succulent, it makes me quite happy.
Other strange sites: Pacific Winds Arts Sculpture Gardena of Long Beach, Lost
Gardens of Heligan in the UK, The Hill of Witches near Juodkrantė, Lithuania,
Bridge Troll of Seattle, and visit www.eccentricamerica.com. Happy hunting! ///

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Snap shots
photos by eyeball burp

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tina tae

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emily kaneshiro
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