Journals of an Intelsexual: Samuel R. Delany

I am currently reading "Hogg" by Samuel R Delany. Nuff said. This novel has gone down in history as one of the most unpublishable works of literature. Repugnant. Grotesque. Violating. It is a slow and detailed tour of the profane. However, what makes this novel disturbing isn't the subject matter, but the readers' response.

Allow me to rephrase:

My response to "Hogg" disturbs me.

Delany sets the course for a smooth yet vile ride through the 31 flavors of disturbing, deviant sexual behavior. All through the eyes of an impressionable orphan. I feel soiled by this journey. I feel confused by this journey. I feel compelled to finish this journey.
Not even halfway completed, I am gripped by the observing character that is myself. How his logic objects as his erection sustains. How his cock and character part ways, confusing himself. As the reader, I am in utter suspense to discover my own boundaries and liberties. Shame. Arousal. Dissonance. A tangled web of values and visceral responses coats my experience reading this story.

Never say never.

I thought I'd never find certain themes sexy; but I did. My erection has betrays my morality... Its firmness suggests a likeness to the monstrous characters... A deep part of me prays that Delany is just a good writer. It is my wish that I'm just a victim of some kind of erotic alchemy, where he spins shit into gold. Hopefully, I can walk away from "Hogg" soiled but unchanged.

This material contains graphic acts of: