Fell out of a red MG on my way to San Francisco in 1969 and got 16 stitches and a 70s bush. Landed at a blurry discotheque with Leda Leda Leda and her fat swan. Grabbed at her titties while she shook her black hair. Suddenly there were no titties because her hair was blonde. Obvi I am a soft heart in a jar of gefilte fish. Do you ever get the feeling that Jesus had six eyes? Stevie Nicks reclines under a black statue of Jesus and plots to win him back. I am rooting for her!
Mama Cass climbs a red rope liquorice into the arms of St Teresa who dreamt it all on a bus to Des Moines.
I am trapped under a god-size hair dryer with every woman ever wondering how to love each other.
I ate a candy necklace dipped in brill cream off the neck of an emo buddhist and he blessed me.
I talked about making out with readers in the L magazine.
I am playing spin the bottle with 3 failed memes and a feminine archetype.
The perfect storm of synapses is invite-only.
I talked to JA Tyler about abyssness, moreness and not-enoughness.
I will follow friday into a forest of twizzlers.
MEAT HEART IS AVAIL FOR PREORDER
AND
TODAY IS SEVEN YEARS
(some of you know
what that means)
AND
THE EGO IS A DESERT
AND
IT DRIES AND DRIES
BUT
SOME THINGS NEVER DRY
LIKE
_ _ _’S LOVE
AND
I AM SO GRATEFUL
What up yo?
Oh, me. Not much. Just blogging when I’m supposed to be writing poetry. Like, all the feckin’ time. When I die, my literary estate is going to consist of blog posts.
Here’s are some recent greatest hits from the succubus:
Letters To a Young Poet. From a publicist. new!
Open letter to the significant other of an author with a first book coming out from an indie press.
The groupie’s guide to the galaxy.
How (not) to run a reading series. *poached from this blog…now with more content!
Vice DOs and DON’Ts: dead poets edition.
What not to include in your lit mag submission letter.
I consider it a luxury to work in an office with a door that closes. A brief look into the history of my employment may reveal why.
My first job out of college was as a canvasser for CALPIRG. I was the one with the the clipboard and the “rap” about old growth forest. You shut the door on me. Nader’s little sweatshop kept me fed for four months; if people asked what I did, I told them I was an Activist.
None of my early 20′s jobs–pizza delivery girl, Peachy Puff, waitress at “horror” theme restaurant Jekyll and Hyde (they still owe me $200 from a shift serving Mummy Burgers to 50 Down Syndrome children on Christmas)–could ever compare to my second job after college.
When I was 22, I spent a year working as a Secretary for a Tantric sexuality non-profit (yes) in Marin County, California (where else?) called Celebrations of Love. Please. See for yourself. This woman was my boss.
On a recent trip to SF, I did a scavenger hunt to see how many of the people/places/things I could find from my poem (in Mother) Falling Off the Richter Scale. Below are the poem and the results of the hunt.
What up yo?
Oh me? Not much. Fresh off the boat from AWP, alone in an LA hotel room (Cali freaks–come to these readings) making sweet love to a box of Vitamuffins at midnight. You know.
*
New poems up at Miracle Monacle, Five Dials and poems from the book at Swink.
*
I’m being a joiner and blogging for a blog. Another blog. A group blog called We Who Are About To Die.
These are my posts thus far:
What not to include in your literary submissions letter.
Vice DOs and DON’Ts: dead poets edition.
*
Talked about a few of my favorite things: poetry, Belle and Sebastian and Gossip Girl on TV.
*
And Tao Lin turned me and my pet guinea pigs into a hamster.
Okay. After much hemming and hawing I’ve decided to go to AWP. Z-Man (love of my life) in his ascot from Beyond the Valley of the Dolls won’t be there, nor will Strawberry Alarm Clock be a featured presenter, but that’s okay.
For those of you NYC stragglers who aren’t going to AWP, there will be a special AWP East party at Polestar guest-hosted by the talented Mr. Riippi:
Sunday April 11th
4 PM
CakeShop
152 Ludlow Street
NYC
Readings by Joanna Fuhrman, Michael Leong, Laura Hinton, Adam Gallari and Joel Allegretti
After AWP, it’s off to California for me. Cali freaks–come say hi at these two events:
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
7-9 PM
The Bar
w/ Dava Krause
5851 West Sunset
LOS ANGELES
Saturday, April 17, 2010
6-9 PM
Elbo Room
w/ Dava Krause + D.W. Lichtenberg + Del Ray Cross
647 Valencia Street
SAN FRANCISCO
Sometimes I feel jealous of Arda Collins.
Then I watch Micky-Mick struttin’ and remember: Arda can’t do this.
I love this Devendra vid for Seahorse. It makes me want to move to Topanga Canyon, surround myself in faux bois (and real bois) and grow facial hair. That would be beatific.
"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
Buy from SPD
Personalized by me
Or Amazon
“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
