At some point between the past fifteen and five days, a man named Marcus Brown was either struck by lightening or a stroke of the most fantastic genius, beginning a series called Tweet Readings … of such with and quality and surprise—where did this man come from—that my small circle of friends and I were left dumbstruck.
Twitter is, among other, better things, a moth-to-flame to Narcissists, who cluster and singe themselves, it matters not. What matters are thenumbers. As blatant a case of quantity over quality …
I find this a hard snark to end, for in his most recent reading, Brown has chosen a woman as his subject.
Not unwisely, for surely women are the most revolting creatures when it comes to stomach-churning sentiment. Maltoni does not disappoint.
Brown is artful, his English book reviewer mise en scene rather gentle—though I am sad he dropped the courtly flourish of toilet paper at the end—whereas I, in my utter lack of couth, tend to blurt it out.
Maltoni may indeed be a Conversation Agent (is somebody making a list of these hateful euphemisms? Oh right, I am) but her site is damn close to illiterate. Brown read her as she twittered; it’s nobody’s fault but her own. “A bell rings in heaven every time someone connects through social media.”
I hereby reject her from my gender.
note bene. written under influnce of flu, be kind. does it scan.
