Inbox Joy

I got an email from Dennis Cooper today and I nearly hugged my computer. I went through an obsessive read-everything I could phase (his books regularly turn up in discount bookshops on Charing Cross Road for under £3), even though he is the only author that has made me feel physically sick almost to the point of vomiting. He manages to capture the morbid fascination of staring at a corpse, picking scabs or the first illicit thrill of watching pornography. It feels so wrong and dirty and yet still I'll keep a not so lazy eye out when trawling second hand book racks...