Friday, June 29, 2007

The Unbearable Lightness of Spam

The spambots are in a poetic mood today.
Hoarfrost is in his bones and on his head,
trainer flips young alligators over on their backs,
Choces, Mère and Père, undreaming even of fields
And off the white smoke swims
Between the vertex that the far-lit gray
and the Splendid Splinter. For a few dreamy dollars,
The pain of being born into matter.
Down the long course of the gray slush of things
The ordinary, wide scene which begins
X. The British Attack on the Arctic
How bittersweet it is, on winter's night,
My keyhole blows a gale
Sculpting each tree to fit your ghostly form
—Now that you notice it—have just moved past
Upon from the right by far trees, that white place
Père and Mère Chose could be in conversation
marked with a dark stroke from the left, encroached
And piled up at the base of the columns
Green lilac buds appear that won't survive

8 comments:

Flannery Alden said...

Wow. That's awesome. I bet you could cause quite a stir at you local coffee house on open mike night with that one.

deadspot said...

It's funny you should mention open mike night, because when I finished reading, I wanted to give it beatnik snaps. It's better than anything William Carlos Williams ever wrote, that's for sure.

The spam was exactly this, in exactly this format. As my cursor hovered over the delete button, the phrase "Down the long course of the gray slush of things" jumped out at me, and I paused to read it, then I knew I had to share.

(administrivia)
...and it looks like Top Chef will have to wait until Monday. This day has been an unmitigated vortex of suck, starting with a short one-hour meeting at 8am sharp that lasted until after 11.
(/administrivia)

Big Orange said...

shit, that's better than the crap I've written..

Dale said...

That's weird, I mentioned open mic night in my last post but I couldn't match the poetic power of your robotic love spam.

BeckEye said...

You are a blinding, brilliant light from Heaven.

Big Orange said...

Ha! I knocked 'em dead at the Winking Lizard Tavern open mic nite with this one:

--- .... / ..-. .-. . -.. -.. .-.. . -.. / --. .-. ..- -. - -... ..- --. --. .-.. -.-- / - .... -.-- / -- .. -.-. - ..- .-. .- - .. --- -. ... / .- .-. . / - --- / -- . / .- ... / .--. .-.. ..- .-. -.. .-.. . -.. / --. .- -... -... .-.. . -... .-.. --- - -.-. .... .. - ... / --- -. / .- / .-.. ..- .-. --. .. -.. / -... . . / ... - --- .--. / --. .-. --- --- .--. / .. / .. -- .--. .-.. --- .-. . / - .... . . --..-- / -- -.-- / ..-. --- --- -. - .. -. --. / - ..- .-. .-.. .. -. --. -.. .-. --- -- . ...

deadspot said...

This particular spambot has missed its calling, I think, Big O. And hey! I've been to the Winking Lizard.

It's all a lattice of coincidence, Dale. You know how you'll say "plate of shrimp" and then someone will say "plate" or "shrimp" or "plate of shrimp"...

Thanks, Becks, but I am merely the conduit for our tortured robot friend.

Dale said...

Plate. Shrimp. Etc.