Qui tangit frangatur.

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A round peg in a world of square holes...

Wednesday, January 28, 2009


Next Day

Between the cycles of wash and rinse, a song
about to be sung, all ears lulled by a radio
while toddlers teeth on disposable pens,
while lovers spill speed across the stones
of a glassed-in vivarium, lepidoptera at rest,
in flight, in dreams, each caught in a storm
of juvenile chatroom cyber smut soaking up
chronic carpal tunnel pixel by pixel, hypnotic
pre-dawn infomercial drone in exchange for
flat TV and digitized sound, our solitudes
wired into subterranean optic lines, decrypted
surge-protected codes cruising anonymous
glass abuzz with neon glow and embryonic
lexia languishing on a music stand, marginal
notes scribbled-out below the staff, below
the institutional clock face masking hours
in that brownout run ariot, your appetite
camouflaged in grunt fatigues dirtied-up
at the knees, a song about to be sung, daisy-
chained anxieties now horse-drawn through
a gas-lit park where the dread of connubial
bliss and miniscule tectonic shifts delivered
a tremor through the family skating rink—


Bodily need unmet where touch surpasses want as one reverberates all day

from the unremembered dream. Monuments wanted for every passing
moment—a pigeon balanced on each bronze wing of an angel overlooking

an anonymous grave. If we die, we died with our eyes on, the romantic said.

That's how palpable all should have been on earth as in the mind. Wordless
conversations that shaped us unannounced. The two of us standing there

with dust in our throats, two freight trains uncoupled at last. As if awaiting

judgment every moment of our lives, we who had lounged in bed with voices
burning like winter sun across the sea on which we sailed. He who sings

no more once sang to me, nurtured slow on lullaby, chords of troubled peace.

Timothy Liu is an Associate Professor in the English Department at William Paterson University in Wayne, New Jersey, and a member of the Core Faculty in Bennington College Graduate Writing Seminars. An author of six books of poetry, including Vox Angelica, Hard Evidence, Of Thee I sing and For Dust Thou Art, he currently resides in Manhattan.

Sunday, January 25, 2009


Chinese New Year?




Now piss off.

P.S.  Hey, Chinese Culture Chauvinists (CCC), how do you like eating crow?


Friday, January 16, 2009

4 legs (tastes) good

One bite and you’ll know why chefs and connoisseurs alike love D’Artagnan’s Japanese Wagyu Beef!

The real deal—100% authentic Wagyu of the highest grade possible, raised in Japan according to the strict standards that have made its Kobe Beef world-famous for its unsurpassed tenderness and flavor.

Our genetically traceable cattle are raised on a diet of soybeans, wheat barley and beer, with no antibiotics, growth hormones or animal by-products ever used. A strictly followed diet rotation and traditional Sake massage are key factors in the development of the Wagyu’s characteristic marbling and taste.

The result is a superbly flavorful meat that is well marbled, extremely tender and mouthwateringly juicy.

100% authentic Wagyu beef

Product of Japan

No antibiotics

No hormones

No animal by-products

Sake-massaged cattle are raised to 30-36

Special order - please allow up to 1 week for delivery

Link (may expire)

It is very likely that Reviewer #1 is flame-baiting  :-D

Wednesday, January 14, 2009


[Private joke.]
You know it's funny.
I find it funny.
Tell me you find it funny.
(Anyone feel funny?)


Friday, January 09, 2009

More than stretching

I used to think that Yoga is easy and non-strenuous. Then, I discovered for myself just how hard it can be — and how much strength it can require.

Getting your ass kicked by your own body weight.


Workout music. Not.

I've stopped blasting Metallica and Iron Maiden for motivation during my weights sessions. The other day, while I was lifting, a couple of kids walked past my window and went, "Oh cool! Old school metal!"

Stupid kids.

Thursday, January 01, 2009

To Never, Never, Land

3:46 AM:  spent the first hours of the new year riding a no-food, no energy gel, century, solo.

It felt good to have power coursing through one's legs:  endless, tireless; megawatts on tap — ever spinning, ever surging forth.

And a song on repeat.

Enjoy the video.

4 minutes 36 seconds of heaven, of history made, of eternity.

My mind is in a state
But all I need to do is change my pace
And I know there's fear to face
But happiness is found in its embrace

Life is a play: it's not its length but its performance that counts.