I happened to notice a hit on the site from a Google search for Dhalgren, so I followed the link to see what might be out there. Among the results I came across this: The Arts of Incident: Fiction and Reality in the Narrative of Delany's Dhalgren, by Joseph B. Keough. It's an interesting scholarly look at an endlessly fascinatng book, but slow going if you aren't fairly well versed in modern literary theory. Since I'm a college dropout, this was a tremendously odd way to start my day. Odd, but interesting. I learned that Delany and I seem to suffer from many of the same psychological eccentricities. This puts me in an interesting position. Should I feel pity for him, dealing with the same unreliable memory as me, or do I take hope that I may end up an endless fascinating author some day?

Or do I just have another cup of coffee and read the funny pages, like a normal person?