Mister, I'll make a man out of you.

Broetics employs careful juxtaposition of images, words, and ideas to evoke a feeling that maybe has already been evoked. By your mom. Broetics is currently debating whether it's more important to be disjunctive or hyperjunctive. Your mom told me last night that hyperjunctive sounds too honest (too talky), and disjunctive sounds insincere (but broetically inclined). Your mom thinks a bro ought to try everything in moderation (your mom really wants me to watch what I'm drinking, eating, doing, and hating, as if that can be done in moderation).



Maybe being disjunctive (Ashbery) or hyperjunctive (see link) have become tired, bad ideas, and it's keg stand time. Maybe it's vision quest time. Maybe it's time to go native, bros. Peyote, pipes, pimps, palanquins.

Bros of the Day

Horace and Maecenas: what's a little money between bros?



Gertrude Stein: ballad of a lady-bro.



Robert Creeley: Bro Mountain.

They're everywhere. More than one in every two people is a bro, and by that I don't mean that more than half of all people are bros, but that there's a little bro in all of us.

Rainy Day Bros No. 12 and 35

Let's get this party started. Let's RAGE.

I have always wanted to write a manifesto, but after a semester and a half of teaching College Writing I can only "Story My Experiences".

I had a mystical-rapturous-ecstatic bro experience walking home from the ABC tonight. I saw a large group coming toward me, so slowly they seemed to be standing still. Like apostles in a fresco. I couldn't tell if they were English or drunk. As they passed me I was overcome by the smell of violets, and I realized that I was too good to be the boom box under anyone's window. This is not story-truth; this is truth-truth, facts so hard you could lose a filling. Some happenings happen exactly when you need them to; you could call it synchronicity (Did you know that that Police song contains the line "We have to shout above the din of our Rice Crispies")? Or it's God, or a teenage boy, or unicorns, or turtles all the way down.

My aesthetic wants to be Excess as a small boy in church, squirming but still barely within the limits of good behavior, reading the Bible for the dirty parts but still chastened by stories of unimaginable sacrifices (the terminally ill kid with the empty easter egg) borne lightly. lt is important to make sense. His arguments must be wickedly, winkingly logical; you'll give him that third glass of orange soda.

He is point zero zero of my take on the BroMass/Broetics/Bro School aesthetic. One thing you must know is that we will ALWAYS get our orange soda. We begin this endeavor in the spring, time of rhododendrons and crocuses and other dank buds. The only thing this has to do with the Dylan song is that everybody must get stoned.

Welcome. Bienvenue. What's the good word, bro? Bienvenido.

When a PhD Lit student (Samantha) and an MFA student (M.) met during a Writing Program Orientation at the University of Massachusetts, they had no clue that one day they'd be collaborating to reveal the truest, purest poetry aesthetic out there-- the Bro School of Poetry. They did not invent it. It has been around since your father's father's binge drinking days. Frank Norris wrote about it in a fictional account of bros being bros in his book Vandover and the Brute. Plato's Symposium? Bros being bros. All the Phi Beta Kappa bros knew that a liberal arts well-rounded prestigiousness relied on being able to throw down and rally when needed. Frat houses have been erected (ha, erected) based on the intersection of architecture and L=A=N=G=U=A=GE poetry. The New York School, including the chicks, knew how to bro down.

These are facts.

There are no multiple truths. That was so post-modernism ago.