“When poets speak of death, they call it the place without breasts.”
I am drawn to the seedy establishments, poorly lit portals to the underworld, busy inside with silent activity, chess games of intimate squalor.
As obsessed with massage as Malays are, they delegate the business to the Chinese.
The Japanese have come up with a means of catering to women who wish to act out exhibitionist massage fantasies.
The guilty customer, I displayed the sardonic coat of arms on my clothing for all to see.
“Money is just money. But sexual companionship is priceless.”
This pioneering collection of delightfully disturbing tales by one unruly foreigner dredges up comedy blacker than a black hole.
Learn to cross the divide into the gray wonderland where the Yin and Yang come apart.
A Taipei masseuse’s rare combination of expert technique and open-mindedness makes for the most intense of massages.
Hypnotic video of cargo ship passing down the Yangtze River in Wuhan at night.
The jostling voices and fraught sexual ambivalence of Anglo-Americans writing about China.
The two most prominent American composers of our time have more in common than it would seem.
Putting a song on repeat is as logical to the Chinese as decorating the walls of a room with the same wallpaper.
Chinese cities happily gut their historical districts to rebuild them into cheesy simulacra which in turn will soon see the bulldozer.
Debut autobiographical novel will appeal to fans of Hermann Hesse, Philip K. Dick, J. G. Ballard and other novelists of the uncanny.