Everyone receives spam. Everyone hates spam. Spam is banal but it is becoming increasingly bizarre and interesting as it is generated by machine translation and other early artificial intelligence technologies. The result is often so baffling it could be considered art. Found words, like found objects, have a meaning beyond that intended or engendered by their or its creator(s).

Consider the following, which I received today:

me to believe her; such gullibility. “We had got to know him better by the best and the nicest and most intelligent people. To begin with.” inspect you.” “Well. Why not open my mouth and start with the teeth?” Please just stay here.” She turned to the figure. Her voice was cold. seemed incredible to me that a man should reject medicine, reason, simply watched me. Poised yet coiled; an athlete, a boxer. I and-remember?-coping with Mitford here.” “I wasn’t here last summer.

it’s part of your job.” She suddenly grimaced. “I’ve just thought of scrub behind which we were standing. Just as he passed us I heard high stare; as if at a loss. “How was Beirut?” She was taken by surprise; and watched me for a moment as I went downstairs. But before I had me. He wrote for two years with regularity, at least once a season.

spam poetry

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