SPAM FICTION

This is a cryptic SPAM repository. I have found fragments of FICTION. I have found poetry. I have found secret messages. I have found divinity. I am whole because of the unrequested messages that fall into my inbox. Seek truth. Seek SPAM. But first tell me, why am I wasting my life?

The quoted texts are probably copyright. I recieved them as junk filler in SPAM email, inserted to distract the filters that would otherwise kill the message. Rarely does it work, so I shuffle through the SPAM box and look for gems. Texts are included as editorial exerpts. I editorialize, or otherwise try to interpret their meanings or derivations. Tell me, why am I wasting my life?

Apparently I’m missing a “great low price on AD0BE S0FT ware” by passing up this bit of SPAM FICTION. Really? Am I actually going to buy from someone who spells the product name with a digit?

Place a needle on the table. Then, with your eye on the level of the table, look at it side-ways, and you see the whole length of it; but look at it end-ways, and you see nothing but a point, it has become practically invisible. Just so is it with one of our Women. When her side is turned towards us, we see her as a straight line; when the end containing her eye or mouth–for with us these two organs are identical–is the part that meets our eye, then we see nothing but a highly lustrous point; but when the back is presented to our view, then–being only sub-lustrous, and, indeed, almost as dim as an inanimate object–her hinder extremity serves her as a kind of Invisible Cap.

I did a little digging, Googling the odd, unique quote from the passage above and discovered that this is is a piece published about a century ago under the pseudonym H. M. Egbert. A little piece of fantasy romance that the original author (who died in 1960) couldn’t be bothered to publish under his own name. (And who am I kidding? SurverMonkey?) I always wonder what people like this would think of (a) the Internet, (b) their work being given away for free from public domain e-book archives, and (c) their work being exploited on said-internet to thwart SPAM filters. I guess that’s the whole point of this site, isn’t it.

After collecting these fragments of SPAM FICTION for as long as I have, I am starting to notice a real trend. There are a disproportionate number of advertisements for penis enlargement drugs. Viagra, Cialis, Xanax. Either those are top sellers… or the market is slow, and they figure the only way to boost sales is to pepper my email account with low resolution plugs for drugs. Either way, as I’m not really needing those particular pharmaceuticals, I’m still –by far — more interested in the gobble-dee-gook that tags along. Such as:

When the reed was pulled up lie the smell was even more cheerfully intense flower but even worse was the speak color of reed. It “True,” I replied song gloomily. “I always felt certain that I should win. baby Indeed, what form cushion you say makes me “Just so. ‘Charmante!’ I happen to know you porter as a sung mountebank, and range therefore trust spill you no more than TH

I get the feeling that this is like a retarded extract from the long lost sequel to Brokeback Mountain — or soemthing equally odd. Read it again. I think you’ll agree.

Tucked neatly into the bottom of an advertisement for diet and weight-loss skills (not pills) was a little broken haiku of spam fiction. Reading all this spam looking for gems like this is exhausting, but when one finds a piece that is just so… so… randomly melancholic as this seems, it’s all worth it.

relation and incongruity to all
band was the night-life of
he poured a little water Thursday from it

11-6-11. Eleven-Six-Eleven. There could be some purpose there. I hereby declare that metric SPAMGOO, the broken rhythmic undertone of nearly haiku derived from the chaos of spam. Neat, eh?