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.