Publisher: Véhicule Press, Paperback $19.95, ISBN: 978-1-55065-231-4, Page count: 200 pp., Released 2008

The best pleasures are not of the flesh, but of the mind, spinning desire that the body longs to feel, even as a weaker imitation of thought. Imagine stealing the perfume of a crush to remind you of denied hungers, or repeatedly stroking the path of a lover’s fingers until the flesh becomes angry and raw. It’s this essence of desire that Hans-Jürgen Greif explores in his novel, Orfeo.

Through Greif’s richly sensual world, we watch unfold the relationships of music critic Wagner, his wife Kirsten, and Orfeo, who was castrated and orphaned after a tragic accident, but who emerges with an unusual and rare vocal gift. Greif’s portrayals of desire are shaped by each character’s imperfections—Orfeo, the boy who is but is not a man; Kirsten, the woman who is beautiful, but lacks depth of emotion and has never loved; Wagner who lives well and expresses emotions openly, but is unaware of his profound loneliness—as well as the power of Orfeo’s voice; no one is unaffected. Wagner, hearing Orfeo sing, realizes that “he thought he knew the music [of Mozart] well, but Orfeo had shown him that he had not truly known the meaning of the aria.” The true meanings of love and desire are as slippery and difficult to grasp; you think you know both, but Greif intriguingly suggests otherwise.

Greif relies heavily on the “celestial” beauty of Orfeo’s voice as a vehicle for change; it’s difficult, however, to emulate the power of music through words. A superb writer should invite you, the reluctant guest, to sink deeply into an overstuffed chair, listen to a subject of which you know nothing, and end up staying well past midnight. I enjoyed the conversation, found it even pleasurable, but left at a polite hour.

Publisher: Lulu.com, Paperback/Free PDF download, ISBN: 978-0-9555786-3-2, Page count: 41 pp., Released Sept. 2008

Breathing is an unthinking reflex, until you draw a breath and find you can’t. Human contact can induce a similar sensation of having thought hijacked by primal reactions that can bring a moment to its clearest point. This is Humphrey Astley’s poetry.

Astley mostly uses women as pivot points for male reflection on types of human interactions in his book, Women As Tender. These “women as tender” help buy or sell, or sometimes simply rattle like loose change in car seats, experiences that help render these connections. Despite this, he rarely uses crass emotional manipulations where someone might say “I love you” as s/he fucks you in all ways. He deals in a finer manipulation. In “Zeugma (Such an Amazing)”, Astley unwinds a lovely afternoon between comfortable lovers; as the woman prepares for the stroll she clears her throat of cocaine. His use of smudging disturbing and juxtaposed imagery is delicate in execution, and wonderfully wrought.

When he does use crasser language (“retard bitch” and “dick”), which is a perfectly fine way to describe such things, it has less impact. This is not because dick or cock or fuck are poorer substitutes or don’t evoke feeling, but it is because Astley can make you feel those words without actually using them. But then he defies that by proving that the delight of (crass) language is relative, “Who are the happy, and what the fuck is their problem?” It is an excellent question to ask with a well placed fuck.

This collection is one to visit again. I would never deface a book by ripping out a page (and those who do: stop it!), but if I were to sin, I’d rip out “Possession” to fold and read for later, occasionally fingering it in my pocket.

To purchase a copy of Women As Tender, or to download a free PDF version of the text, please go to Lulu.com.

Publisher misFit, Price: $16.95 paperback, ISBN: 1550226878, Page count: 60 pp., Released March 2005

I fear poetry. With that said, Alessandro Porco’s The Jill Kelly Poems are hilarious and visceral. They are honest and raw in that “Hey, roomie, will you wash my buttplug collection?” way, rendered and delivered in triptych: cultural “Bad Boys,” pornographic “Jill Kelly,” and the clever self-reference of “Porcoda.”

Porco doesn’t know it yet, but he and I are perfectly paired. He: a culturally adept hip poet seducing with a well-formed and delightfully oddly placed phrase. Me: a virgin (you can question this later). Who can resist such soulful eyes?

Those eyes that miss little in imagining cultural icons keepin’ it real or strutting off the field; icons reduced to fucking and sucking just like you and me, skippy. My virginal knowledge of culture left me battered and confused (Monday Night Football?), but Porco had me back with Chow Yun Fat and Jose Cuervo. And this is his power (lest it sound like a complaint): he is packing one fat stack of cultural knowledge and putting it on display. If you don’t like anal maybe you’ll like oral?

Porco whisks and tosses words like “pussy farts” and “soft ice-cream” together, catching them mid-air with an ink pen tip; not a drop is wasted. His use of ESPN catchphrases to capture a ménage à Bush twins or his pirate banter slyly pokes at our pleasures, hidden or otherwise.

Sensual pleasures that “sip twist-cap strawberry wine from a swirly-straw pool-side” or “twattle my tiddle” are moveable feasts, and like any lover worth his weight in spunk, Porco balances with strokes to the intellect: “corresponding theoretical lingo/Making as much sense to me as barking dingoes.” And, when he asks, “Kink, anyone?” Why, yes, please!

Publisher: Between the Lines, Price: $16 softcover, ISBN: 1859843530, Page count: 144 pp., Released Nov. 2001

Vanessa Baird’s compact and informative guide, The No-Nonsense Guide to Sexual Diversity, which excludes heterosexuality and non-consensual acts like bestiality—so be warned, if not disappointed—delivers nuggets like “Privacy is a luxury,” and “It’s easier to dig a hole than build a pole,” (on sexual reassignment) as gentle reminders to Westerners that they ask (demand, really) much because they can. Denying freedom and equality to everyone is greedy (wicked humanity!), often spawning violence, tyranny and hatred. Baird braces this message with an impressive juggling of homosexuality, gender, sex, intersexuality, bisexuality, cross-dressing, eunuchry across various continents covering history (hidden and revolutionary), homophobia, politics, religion, science and transgenderism all in a book that would just fit a largish trouser pocket.

“Sex is interesting,” she begins, continuing with “what do they mean by that [sexual diversity]?” thus, prodding the mind to wander (and, occasionally, wander off) to other questions. A normal child will naturally ask, “Where did I come from?” inviting (perhaps I am alone here in thinking) “What is normal? What is natural?” Chi-Chi and Bonny, too, might ask these questions as two “pseudo-hermaphrodites” living in the Dominican Republic—then again, perhaps not. Chi-Chi is one of 10 children born to his/her mother, who has three girls, three boys, and four of the “special sort.” In one village, 38 people from 23 extended families spanning four generations are “pseudo-hermaphrodites.”

Normal? Diverse? Unfortunately, there is little room to explore the deeper reasons for these questions, but it reminds us that wondering about the sex of an androgynous person is a natural reaction, perhaps disturbingly too normal, to an ill-defined understanding of sexual diversity. So, be less fascinated by whether less than one inch is an acceptable measurement for removing a penis on an intersexual person, and more compelled to embrace sexual acceptance (except of lovers of animals and other non-consensual pursuits).