Twithers

As seen on Jezebel.

In Sharing is Creepy, Nick Carr asserts that “Twitter shame” arises from revealing the contents of our brains to total strangers (and assuming they care). Okay, yes.

For me, Twitter shame also pertains to the elusive (and oft unspoken) Twitter ratio: trying to cultivate more followers than people you’re following. The Twitter ratio has the ability to transform a perfectly normal person (who happens to be following twice as many people as she has followers) into Martha Dunnstock from Heathers.

This brings us to Twithers. Anyone who manipulates, contemplates, or is at all conscious of their Twitter ratio probably wants to be a Heather. But some of us are not Heathers. Some of us will never be Heathers. Some of us are Veronicas.

I’ve devised a little quiz.

If you identify with “A” in most of the following, you’re a Twitter Heather McNamara (the yellow one) or a Twitter Heather Duke (Shannen Doherty). You might be bulimic.

If you identify with “B” you’re a Twitter Veronica. Try not to accidentally kill anyone.

If you identify with “C” you’re a Twitter Heather Chandler (red scrunchie). Avoid drano at all costs.

A. You choose to “follow” someone. When the person doesn’t follow you back within two hours, you de-follow them.
B. You choose to “follow” someone. When the person doesn’t follow you back within two hours, you de-follow them. You feel shame.
C. You only follow Derek Blasberg. Everyone else follows you.

A. You send probing “replies” to people whom you don’t yet follow to try to get them to follow you first.
B. You send probing “replies” to people whom you don’t yet follow to try to get them to follow you first. You feel shame.
C. You only reply to Derek Blasberg. Everyone else replies to you.

A. You try to lure innocents, not yet on Twitter, into being on Twitter so you’ll have more followers.
B. You try to lure innocents, not yet on Twitter, into being on Twitter so you’ll have more followers. You feel shame.
C. What’s an innocent?

A. You de-follow your sister because she hasn’t tweeted in six months and is “dead weight” on your ratio.
B. You de-follow your sister because she hasn’t tweeted in six months and is “dead weight” on your ratio. You feel shame.
C. Your sister follows you and tweets often. You don’t follow her. Unless she’s Derek Blasberg.

A. You create a second Twitter account, an alter-ego to lure followers. When you get more followers on that one than you’re own, you “come out.”
B. You create a second Twitter account, an alter-ego to lure followers. When you get more followers on that one than you’re own, you “come out.” You feel shame.
C. You’re Derek Blasberg.

EPILOGUE

If you don’t know what Twitter is, you’re Veronica’s Dad.

If you’re on Twitter, and starting to get a sinking feeling you might be Martha Dunnstock, don’t panic. On prom night, you’ll get to “pop some popcorn” with Winona Ryder. I hope this post gives you shower-nozzle masturbation material for weeks.

If you’re not on Twitter, but are a “frequent status updater” on Facebook (“Just saw Mr. Big in Union Square!” “Fair trade coffee and a vegan maple-bacon donut!”) you are Peter Dawson at the “Westerberg Feeds the World” table.

And if you’re not on Twitter purely out of defiance, good for you. You’re J.D. Now go be sexy and get your middle finger shot off.

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Dear Aging Anarchist

A rabble rouser and a baby punk, from the next generation of revolutionaries, come down in the Hair Care aisle at Duane Reade. They bicker between nods, in prefab Che t-shirts, about the proper way to make dreadlocks...

The lovely and talented Frances Angevine did this bitchin’ illustration of Dear Aging Anarchist– a poem from MOTHER.

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Uh Oh

Feeling a bit like Chava in Fiddler on the Roof…right before Tevye disowns her.

I’m reading tomorrow night at The Gryphon in Wayne. The crowd will consist of:

a.  My parents
b. My parents’ friends

Really don’t want to say “gargantuan sudsy banana”  in front of my dad.

Definitely don’t want to say “rubbing against his mushrooming”  in front of my dad.

Would prefer not to say “nothing-tits” in front of my dad.

If at all possible, it’s preferable that I don’t say “what about my urethra?” in front of my dad.

Absolutely do not want to say “bang it in” in front of my dad.

Under no circumstances will I say “bumping the bum meth off his bum” in front of my dad.

Does anyone have some poems they can lend me?

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Signed, Sealed, Delivered

For a signed/personalized copy of the book, go through the ugly paypal button below. Please include the inscription you want + your mailing address.


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How to Start a Reading Series

My book launch party* is 4 pm this Sunday, February 7th at Polestar–a poetry series I curate at the lovely CakeShop. (Yeah, it’s a little weird that I’m reading at my own series. Whatev.)

In honor of Polestar (now in its 18th installment–rock!) I’ve put together a few tips for those of you looking to run a reading series of your own. Here we go.

1. Be sure to choose a venue with an ice machine that sounds like a DeWalt hammer drill. Ice machine should have no off-switch. For optimum effect, ice machine will go into high gear when your most prominent, and/or well-connected poet is reading.

2. Your venue should have a microphone that flickers on and off throughout the reading at random. For added flair, you may want to work with a microphone that gives out entirely.

2b. Never completely figure out the microphone or speaker system.

3. Give your reading series a name that could also connote a strip club.

4. When requesting a poet to give a reading, always copy and paste the email you sent to the prior poet verbatim. This way, you can address Henri Cole as “Dear Ms. Marvin” and Marie Howe as “Please forward to Arda Collins.”

4b. If you happen to address a certain beloved and lauded octogenarian poet by the wrong name in your query email, you’re encouraged to add: P.S. Would you consider blurbing my book?

4c. When you don’t hear back from the beloved and lauded octogenarian poet (we’ll call her The BLOP), ask the most hypersensitive poets in the community if she is still “with us.”

4d. Rest assured that you will soon see The BLOP’s newest collection at St. Marks Books. Consider Tupac Shakur and his many post-humous releases. Then consider that The BLOP is alive and well. She’s just avoiding you because she thinks you are lame.

5. Yes, absolutely include a bloody glove in your initial website design.

6. In preparing the poets’ bios, there’s no need to learn how to correctly pronounce Pleiades or “Nurkse.”

7. Make sure to host the hippest poets on July 4th weekend. This way, when no one shows up, you get to experience their judgemental silence in its pure, undiluted form.

8. Spend time making friends with your shame.

9. Come to terms with the fact that everyone dreads a poetry reading.

9b. Come to terms with the fact that you especially dread a poetry reading.

10. Keep the thing damn thing afloat anyway. After all, that hot dish from your MFA program shows up every time.

10b. If you are following instructions correctly, the dish should move to Berlin very soon.

* Again, can we call it a party if people have to buy their own drinks? Questionable.

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Last Sext

LAST SEXT

So Sad Today

SO SAD TODAY

"What separates Broder from her confessional cohort...is that she doesn’t seem to be out to shock, but to survive."
–Elle

"Broder presents a dizzying array of intimate dispatches and confessions…She has a near-supernatural ability to not only lay bare her darkest secrets, but to festoon those secrets with jokes, subterfuge, deep shame, bravado, and poetic turns of phrase."
–New York Magazine

"A triumph of unsettlingly relatable prose."
–Vanity Fair

"Her writing is deeply personal, sophisticated in its wit, and at the same time, devastating. SO SAD TODAY is a portrait of modern day existence told with provocative, irreverent honesty."
–Nylon

"At once devastating and delightful, this deeply personal collection of essays…is as raw as it is funny."
–Cosmopolitan

"Broder writes about the hot-pink toxins inhaled every day by girls and women...and the seemingly impossible struggle to exhale something pure, maybe even eternal...there's a bleak beauty in the way she articulates her lowest moments."
–Bookforum

"Broder may be talking about things like sexts, Botox, and crushes, but these things are considered alongside contemplations about mortality, identity, and the difficulty of finding substance in a world where sometimes it’s so much easier to exist behind a screen."
–The Fader

"…So Sad Today is uplifting and dispiriting in seemingly equal measure. It’s a book that’s incredibly human in the way it allows for deep self-reflection alongside Broder, which speaks not only to her powerful writing but also the internet’s magical ability to foster connections."
–A.V. Club

"...delightful...Broder embarks on an earnest, sophisticated inquiry into the roots and expressions of her own sadness...deeply confessional writing brings disarming humor and self-scrutiny...Broder's central insight is clear: it is ok to be sad, and our problems can't be reduced to a single diagnosis. "
–Publishers Weekly

"Broder is probably the Internet’s most powerful merchant of feelings…"
–GQ

"Vividly rendered and outspokenly delivered essays…Sordid, compulsively readable entries that lay bare a troubled soul painstakingly on the mend."
–Kirkus Reviews

"If Melissa Broder weren’t so fucking funny I would have wept through this entire book. Love, sex, addiction, mental illness and childhood trauma all join hands and dance in a circle, to the tune of Melissa’s unmatched wit and dementedly perfect take on this terrifying orb we call home."
–Lena Dunham

"So Sad Today is a desperately honest collection of essays, the kind that make you cringe as you eagerly, shamelessly consume them. Melissa Broder lays herself bare but she does so with strength, savvy, and style. Above all, these essays are sad and uncomfortable and their own kind of gorgeous. They reveal so much about what it is to live in this world, right now."
–Roxane Gay

Scarecrone

S C A R E C R O N E

"Broder manages to conjure a psychic realm best described as one part twisted funhouse and two parts Catholic school, heavy on libido and with a dash of magick. This gritty, cherry soda–black book...is bizarrely sexy in its monstrousness."
–Publishers Weekly

"I don’t know what a book is if not a latch to elsewhere, and Scarecrone has pressed its skull against the hidden door. It is neither drunk nor ecstatic to be here—it is a state unto itself."
–VICE

"Lushly dark and infused with references to black magic, Broder's work often feels less like a book and more like a mystical text."
–PAPERMAG

Meat Heart

MEAT HEART

"Out to 'crucify boredom,' her poems show us how any relationship with the divine is no less at risk of engendering grotesque lust...What makes Broder such a pleasure on the page is her insistence that these dramas play out on a workaday stage infused with surreal Pop and imaginative muscle..."
–Publishers Weekly

"With a title recalling Yeats...Broder risks the divine in her second book...shrewd, funny, twisted, sad poems..."
–The Chicago Tribune

"Meat Heart...is unbelievable and overwhelming for its imaginative power alone, but if you listen past the weird you can hear all sorts of things: sadness, seriousness, life, death, and a whole lot of laughter....Broder is a tremendous talent"
–Flavorwire

"...Meat Heart embodies that strain of sustenance, that sort of psychosomatic excitement most valiant art more or less tries to pull off…Her poems don’t bore or bear down. They beam oracle energy. They pump a music of visions for the life-lusty death dance."
–BOMB

Melissa Broder's Book Cover

MOTHER

“This debut from Broder is as funny and hip as it is disturbing… a bright and unusual debut.”
–Publishers Weekly

"…obsessive, energetic and pop-culture-infused poetry…"
–Time Out New York

"Broder’s insight and honesty will make your brain light up and your hair stand on end.”
–The San Francisco Examiner

"Broder’s verse is acrobatic and whip-smart… its own creature."
–Bomb