I wrote about Baudelaire, fucking and murdering at Pen America.

Also, I am riding horses again. I ride every Saturday at dusk in Brooklyn. As a young girl I just wanted to write poetry and ride horses. I am becoming myself.

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FOUR NEW POEMS AT BOMB + ART BY PAUL K TUNIS (aka da man)

ALSO, AN INTERVIEW AT BOMB ABOUT WHEN DRUGS STOP WORKING, GOD, PUDDING, THE USUAL…

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Tell the story of how I decimate the worms in my brain and tell it using pedestrian language.

Ok I am either the luckiest girl in the world or totally fucked.

Starting July 14th this is the year of learning to love the questions.

That is how the worms are slaughtered.

Was Rilke a gay man?

When the gays give me advice about extermination they don’t just let me flail like I am the roach.

The gays have always led me to Jerusalem.

Watch me watch a skinny boy in a Misfits t-shirt eat cheese fries for the rest of my life.

Watch me graffiti a fake rock.

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“I’m super laid-back down to earth very open-minded. Passionate about my life and thrive off of new exciting situations and meeting other like minded individuals. What about you?”

“I’m uptight in outer space and only open-minded b/c I don’t really pay attention to anyone but myself. Lukewarm about my life and thrive off meeting individuals who will never be obsessed with me enough.”

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Last night I dreamt I met my grandfather for the first time and we shared the same fetish.

I would go to unfetishing camp.

I want to connect with real humans and not feel like a missing walltile.

I keep walking up to humans and saying Expose me, lovely.

To the humans I look like just another naked woman with a bouffant.

They visualize me doing splits on a pink bed.

In the visualization I get off quick and easy.

That’s where they lose me.

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Her neck appears in dioxide probationer.

Her nerves appear in double purple.

Her neverland appears in dogma practicality.

Her nightmare appears in daydream process.

Her nipples appear in disappointment proscenium.

Her nirvana appears in dosed pizza.

Her nocturne appears in domestic plagiarism.

Her noise appears in dead portal.

Her note appears in dossier puritan.

Her nothing appears in din prison.

Her nucleus appears in diarist pretension.

Her nude appears in dicky preview.

Her numskull appears in ding-dong privacy.

Her nurture appears in diehard priestess.

Her nylons appear in decadent puke.

Her oasis appears in dimension prism.

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Dennis Cooper put MEAT HEART on his mid-2012 top 10 lists omg

Giancarlo DiTrapano digs my twitter feed (and MEAT HEART I think) at Vice.

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Tomorrow I will be less internet-y.

I’m going to interact with a fleshy hole named TANGIBLE WORLD.

My illness sits on the edge of my bed while I sleep.

In the morning it says I’ve figured some things out. Let me share them with you.

I meditate with a rope around my head.

I ask god to pull the rope lower, lower, lower…

When I hear the word spirituality, I still think painlessness.

When I sit on a patch of grass there become three of me.

This feels like disintegrating.

I should try to speak to all three.

I shut them all up with gum.

Once there were fire ceremonies.

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Prob d0 not give myself enough credit when I say NO ONE WOULD WANT TO SEE MY TITS WITH TEXT JUXTAPOSED ON TOP.

I am praying for a train delay.

The boykittens crawl up my walls and ask how to get jobs.

The walls are made of contemporary condominium fibers.

They are not even in me.

They are not even on me.

Motherfucker.

Who would you rather be?

I forget the nubile tits of others until an elderly boykitten points them out.

I’m a sheep not a discoverer.

This isn’t a persona text.

I guess it is a text that refers to itself.

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Treehead stuff at the Poetry Society of America.

Humility at The Nervous Breakdown.

Courtney Maum channeled Gwyneth Paltrow & reviewed MEAT HEART.

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 Never                                 think           too         hard                             about                         your                   intentions            before
bed                             or            you               will           have                  to             lick        them
and                    say                thanks                   for          all         my          bravery         and           weakness.

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I am going to stop saying titties for bravado. I will stop  strangling sculptures of babies. It is very important that you make fun of the dried roses on my windowsill. I need to feel like something is wrong with me again. Slung over a woman is a girl in pink underpants. Both their heads are wrapped in bandages. I think my sister is innocent. Erryone is.

*

ALSO, this morning i like literally ate up and spit out the entire western literary canon and kenneth rexroth’s 100 poems from the chinese.

1993

1992

1

bye

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Here is a poem in the new Drunken Boat about not going gentle into that dry-ass night (or not going at all).

*

My fave sport is romanticizing ppl romanticizing each other.

*

Feel like this is what all of the Mad Men recappers are missing when they try to ‘analyze’ last night’s episode:

and i eat men like air and i eat men like air and i eat men like air and i eat men like air and i eat men like air and i eat men like air and i eat men like air and i eat men like air and i eat men like air and i eat men like air and i eat men like air and i eat men like air and i eat men like air and i eat men like air and i eat men like air and i eat men like air and i eat men like air and i eat men like air and i eat men like air and i eat men like air and i eat men like air and i eat men like air and i eat men like air and i eat men like air and i eat men like air and i eat men like air and i eat men like air and i eat men like air and i eat men like air and i eat men like air and i eat men like air and i eat men like air and i eat men like air and i eat men like air and i eat men like air and i eat men like air and i eat men like air and i eat men like air and i eat men like air and i eat men like air and i eat men like air and i eat men like air and i eat men like air and i eat men like air and i eat men like air and i eat men like air and i eat men like air and i eat men like air and i eat men like air and i eat men like air and i eat men like air and i eat men like air and i eat men like air and i eat men like air and i eat men like air and i eat men like air and i eat men like air and i eat men like air and i eat men like air and i eat men like air and i eat men like air and i eat men like air and i eat men like air and i eat men like air and i eat men like air and i eat men like air and i eat men like air and i eat men like air and i eat men like air and i eat men like air and i eat men like air and i eat men like air and i eat men like air and i eat men like air and i eat men like air and i eat men like air and i eat men like air and i eat men like air and i eat men like air and i eat men like air

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MEAT HEART is #4 ON SPD BESTSELLER LIST!

Also, Julia Jackson interviewed me at Electric Literature involving the transcendental, escapism and Young Guns II.

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A box arrives from Amazon, full of boys in yellow shirts that say Jesus Saves At K-Mart. The boys are hoarders. They are hoarding themselves inside this box. You can plant the boys in mud and from their eyes a nun with a mole on her hand will grow. You can put the boys in plastic bags and throw them on a snowy highway to make cars honk out the tune of Just Wanna See His Face. Let’s not do that. Let’s visualize a Nike swoosh in a blue sky and call it abstinence. Let’s take no hostages and shop lonely. There is a ceiling to every chandelier, but at least the ceiling is pink. The blue sky is contained under this pink ceiling. Sadly, the ceiling is faceless. Wanna know how I know?

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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!

 

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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