Melissa Broder

Reviews

THE NEW YORK REVIEW OF TWEETS – vol 1

Another “journal” dedicated to the criticism (not really) and recognition of excellence in tweeting.

TWEETUS ILLUMINATIO MEA, TWEETAMS EST LITTERAE

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@WarmCigarette by Chimney

Genre: prosopopeian mise en phlegm

Since the late 90s and early 00s, following the demise of smoking in bars, cigarettes have become demodé. The waning of smokers has left four estranged islands in its wake: losers in their 20s who will never try a cigarette, exiles huddled together outside in the cold, those of us who have been addicted to nicorette for ten years (i.e. the editor of this journal) and the iron lung. Chimney’s feed reconnects with more philosophical concerns, embodying both substantialist and metonymous voices of the Marlborbo at various points in the feed. What’s more, Chimney applies solipsism to the act of smoking—to exist is to only know one’s own smoking— and then projects it onto the identities of its followers. Editorial favorites include: “7 steps to happiness: 7) cigarettes” “Aquarius: You know-it-all piece of shit. Your busy cigarette smoking schedule will make you late for everything this week, as per usual.” “Virgo: If everything needs to be perfect how come your life is always in complete disarray? Fuck off and smoke cigarettes.” “Registration plate ideas: BL4CK LUN6”. This is an awesome feed.

@retsoor by Jason Sebastian Russo

Genre: subtweeting at god

Russo’s feed thrives on tension and surreality, all set against a bloody backdrop of either the great mystery of life and/or a hot girl with tattoos and probably bangs. Through mixed metaphors, Russo transports us deeper and deeper into longing with each turn of the tweet. Smell the acidity of a box of white wine or the love lurking deep within the ball pit of a McDonald’s on rt 9, Poughkeepsie. “the typo in my genetic code compelled me to try to email your shih tzu w a microwave” he tweets. “just sat back & let karma ravage your face “ he tweets again. “bathed you in healing enzymes under a kaopectate sky” “made love to you under a giant warm crepe” “the two of us in an inverted arms race of low self esteem” he tweets again and again and a-fucking-gain.

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23 Comments
August 1st, 2012 / 1:44 pm

select comments on “Zen Garden” and other youtube meditation videos

As the title of the post suggests, here are some comments I found on Zen Garden, Simple Meditation and other youtube  videos I enjoy:

i’m a wolf, my criminal background says it all, fuck sheep. i eat them.

When I went to the warm hole there was no left up down right.

no need for ‘great longing’ when we are already the ocean we just need to remember.

what the fuck are you talking about srsly

thinking of turning my back porch into an “asian bath house” now…paper lanters bamboo curtains…candles lit…whos with me? lol :)

So he’s saying eat my body and live forever.

that buddha looks like my wife…

The Pleiadian star system is in fact our core essence, our ancestral home.

Is it wierd if I wack off to this ?

God is _________fill in the blank!!!!!

2012 marks the beginning of a global Golden Age of Peace and Oneness. Please check my channel for more.

so like crouching tiger hidden dragon sword fight to the death or some memoirs of a geisha type shit…

my true self is stillllll innocent…i think i am not and telll others I am anything but innocent but i realise now that i am in fact a child…

Satan is very happy with you

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Excerpts / 7 Comments
July 24th, 2012 / 11:32 am

There is a new tumblr called Poets Touching Trees. Frankly, I am disturbed to discover that all of the trees being “touched” are male. While Bernadette Mayer and I enjoy seeing male trees objectified, we all know that female trees are way underrepresented in the production of paper for major print publications. Here’s hoping the creators of this tumblr can “turn it around”.

In your own words what is are the illuminati?

pppartyknife

Author News / 6 Comments
May 22nd, 2012 / 11:06 am

Too old to comment on a litblog, too young to die.

Sunday Service

Sunday Service: Sean Edgley Poem

Réka’s Dream

She dreamt that I was living
in the basement of a cathedral.
To visit me
she had to climb through a window
and then through an air duct
with Rabelais’ catacomb bones.
The church was actually
a monastery in the Tatra mountains
where the monks made
ale and goat cheese.
No, that’s not right.
I was being held
against my will
in the basement
of a megachurch in France
and I was getting
the Hansel & Gretel treatment.
One day during her crawl
she overheard
the women in the laundry room.
They speaking in English badly.
They cackled in French.
They were anti-Semitic in Hungarian.
They got tricky and discussed my fate
within the cult in Slovak.
She saw one hooded auntie open
the washing machine door
but what the woman dragged out
was not laundry.
Angelology is the study of angels
she said, lowering herself
into my cell.
But those women are not angels.

Sean Edgley is a native of the San Francisco area currently getting his MFA at City College of New York. He has spent several years working and traveling in Europe and Asia, and these experiences inform much of his writing. This spring he has poems appearing in Literary Bohemian, Lyre Lyre, and Promethean. He is currently working on translations of contemporary Korean poetry, as well as a futurist screenplay set in China, inspired by Nabokov’s Invitation to a Beheading.

Comments Off on Sunday Service: Sean Edgley Poem

Lit Scene Tarot

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Hanged Man is suspended, upside-down, by his still-incomplete thesis. Given the calm expression on his face, it appears he hasn’t been on any academic job-search boards yet. Around The Hanged Man’s Head is a yellow halo, depicting the fondness he feels toward his Freshman seminar students. This fond feeling will soon cease. The Hanged Man’s number is 12, reflecting the number of years he has spent in grad school thus far.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The High Priestess is high. She sits at the gate before the great mystery of experimental literature, passing beneath a narrative arc on ionic corinthian pillars. She no longer goes from point A to point B, but from point B to point J. She sits between darkness and light, half enlightened by the experimental text on her lap and half not knowing what the hell is going on. The tapestry hung between the pillars keeps punctuation out.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Knight of Wands is an impulsive type of dude who frequently posts his rough drafts to Fictionaut. He provides status updates about his divorce roughly every four – six minutes. Drawing The Knight of Wands card in a tarot reading may foreshadow an unexpected event in one’s life, such as being cornered by The Knight of Wands at a “literary reception” and forced to talk with him about Bolano for over an hour. The Knight of Wands is the patron saint of open mic nights.

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Craft Notes / 15 Comments
March 21st, 2012 / 11:28 am

Sunday Service

Sunday Service: Gregory Sherl Poem

Pre-Genesis

These are my words. Press them against your gums.

In the beginning God Sr. made God Jr.
because everyone needs to come
from somewhere.

That means God Sr. just appeared
& that wouldn’t make any sense.

Know this book doesn’t make any sense,
but neither did the first one.

Still, follow me.

Tucking God Jr. into bed, God Sr. tells him
I hope you dream about stupid zombies
instead of martyrs being eaten by lions.
God Jr. is scared of lions because thoughts
of the future are worse than thoughts of the past
when the past is just beginning, like fourteen
lines ago beginning. (more…)