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?

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?