Spam Lit Poem: In Winter Haven, the Baseball Players are Stretching

In recent days, I haven't felt much like posting here--maybe it's because I have been busy, but mostly I'm just tired of griping.

I need some positive forces in my life, so I felt it was a good idea to chill for a few days, which I did.

In fact, tonight I logged onto my email, intending to email the team that I was going to take a break from this blog for another week or so, but then I found this Spam Lit poem that is somewhat extraordinary, at least as Spam Lit poems go. Our spammer went to great lengths to cobble together a "poem" that actually has merit. In fact, I'm going to cut this person a break and not nark him/her out.

This poem reminds me of Cal Ripken, Jr. I'm not an avid baseball fan, but I adore Cal and go to great lengths to attend Oriole games when I know he will be there. My husband and I were there when Baltimore honored him on his last day as an Oriole (October 6, 2001). We were there when Baltimore sent him off to the Hall of Fame last July, and we got an unexpected treat when B.J. Surhoff was inducted to the Baltimore HOF: Cal showed up to deliver a speech in Surhoff's honor. Shortly after his speech was delivered, the heavens opened up, and it rained for two solid hours--the rain wouldn't dare crash down on Cal...

Quite simply, Cal is a class act, who always makes an effort conduct his personal and professional life in the right way. I have never heard the word "scandal" connected to the Ripken name. All of his charities have something to do with kids--his literacy foundation helps inner city kids to cultivate a love for reading, and he also runs various baseball camps for kids. As a ballplayer, he always signed autographs for the kids and never copped an attitude like some ballplayers.

I have never met Cal personally (I'd probably trip over over my own tongue if I did), but from what I have heard and read, Cal is genuine; what you see is what you get. Anyway, this one is for Cal:

In Winter Haven, the ballplayers are stretching

Standing in the way of the truth. A white

Rise, to the muffled chime of churchbell choir.

Only a fox whose den I cannot find.

A kind of snow, which hesitates

Out of the road into a way across

Only whirled snow heaped up by whirled snow,

What can we know of whatever picture-plane

Seen. What you know is only manifest

And trumpet at his lips; nor does he cast

Given by nature will soak into it.

"Be off!" say Winter's snows;

(The face of a Quos ego),

In search of brighter green to come. No way!

Comes up with as a means to its own end.

In realms of dingy gloom and deep crevasse

I've drifted somewhat from the distant heart

As it sits there like an eventual

Although December's frost killed the winter crop.

Life is good again.

Best,

Bugzita

Spam Lit Poem: II. List of Franklin Search Parties

II. List of Franklin Search Parties

Sculpting each tree to fit your ghostly form
The weight of being born into exile is lifted.
Green lilac buds appear that won't survive
Glimmering of light:
Escapees from the cold work of living,
They move against, or through, or by, or toward.
In realms of dingy gloom and deep crevasse
The paths of childhood.
Not so much of place as of renewed hope,
To listen, by the sputtering, smoking fire,
When Arctic winds crack down from Canada
Where, as I discover as I go through
And half-starved foxes shake and paw
As if your human shape were what the storm
Is the moon to grow
I've drifted somewhat from the distant heart
What? What can you do?
What is there in the depths of these walls

_______________

Spammer: Vincent Barron andy@aktifenerji.com

Spam Lit in a Block of 15 Scroll Boxes???

A few days ago, I received this piece of Spam Lit; sorry, the picture's not very clear, but each scroll bar contains one sentence. I have just discovered that if you click on the picture, you will see a large version of it.

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The ad itself was for, uh, a male product; the one picture that slid through Gmail's Spam filter was somewhat graphic.

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Now I'm a married adult, so the content wasn't shocking to me, but what about a kid getting this kind of an email?

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Yikes! Makes one want to lock their kids in a room until they turn 18.

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My question is: how is this setup supposed to fool the spam filters?

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This was a first for me.

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Anyone else receive this type of Spam Lit, and what do you know about it?

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Bugzita

Spam Lit Poem: Ignoring the Critic

There is one way to handle the ignorant and malicious critic.
Ignore him.
The covers of this book are too far apart.
In a major matter no details are small.
Behold, I have refined thee,
but not with silver
I have chosen thee in the furnace of affliction. [Isaiah 48:10]
No such thing as a man willing to be honest --
that would be like a blind man willing to see.
Separation penetrates the disappearing person
like a pigment and steeps him in gentle radiance.
It is the duty of a doctor to prolong life
and it is not his duty to prolong the act of dying.
To understand the heart and mind of a person,
look not at what he has already achieved,
but at what he aspires to do.
We are all HIV-positive.
What is thine is mine, and all mine is thine.
Your friend is your field which you sow with love
and reap with thanksgiving.
Love is what you've been through with somebody.
A symphony is a stage play
with the parts written
for instruments instead of for actors.

_________________

Spam Lit Spammer: Tom Velasquez

E-mail address: duane.heidelnjbg@horsburghworld.com

Reaction to the DEC Spam of 1978 (courtesy of Gary Thuerk)

You might be amused to read the first spam message sent out by Gary Thuerk back in 1978, which doesn't seem all that long ago.

Brad Templeton's site offers the original message, address links to recipients, and some commentary.

Who would ever think that literature (or something resembling it) would play a part in spreading the dreaded viral disease of spam?

Have fun, kiddies.

Bugz

Spam Lit Poem: "Palladio Who Beckons from the Other Shore"

E-mail spam has gone "literary," at least on the Bugzita e-mail address: I suppose having "foetry" and "poetry" bandied about on our site invites spammers to get through to us by including bad poetry and prose (keyword spamming?) in their sales pitches--certainly no worse than some of the "valid" published poetry and prose out there.

I thought I'd start a new feature called "The Spam Lit Project," which also serves notice to spammers that their handy work will appear here (without their sales pitches, of course), along with their spammer IDs and e-mail addresses. I have added a permanent announcement on the left panel of this blog.

Some Spam Lit Spammers actually use obscure public domain works for their nefarious purposes; before posting, I'll do a quick Google search to see if this is the case and attribute poems and prose to the original poets and authors. If I miss something, feel free to inform me, and I'll add the original author's or poet's name.

In other words, if you send Spam Lit to the Bugzita address (or any other e-mail address associated with this site and its members' sites), it's fair game. If I can figure out how to post their IP address, I'll do that as well. Al and Matt? Any tips? Is this even legal?

I'm all for protecting people's IDs, but I figure all bets are off for spammers.

I have just registered SpamLit.com (a catch-all domain for all genres of Spam Lit; I've got to cut back on buying domains!), and I will soon post a webpage that will attempt to explain SpamLit and how not to be be fooled by it. I may even start a Wikipedia article about the term, for the term is not my own original idea. Shortly after registering the domain, I found a site called Shovelware that uses the term "Spam Lit," posts Spam Lit work, and allows comments about it.

The Google term, without quotation marks, gets 2,150,000 hits; with quotation marks, 835 Google hits.

I'm surprised (yet thankful) that the domain name was still available.

Without further ado, here's our first Spam Lit poem:

Palladio who beckons from the other shore,
Floating on the sky.
The road, but not far enough ahead
The road, but not far enough ahead
giddy as good kids playing hookey. Now,
Late February, and the air's so balmy
Wheezing ravens, when
Snow haze gleams like sand.
Only a whiter absence to my mind,
So you can watch me watch uplifted snow
Gray the cloud-like oaks
XIII. The Route to the North
then takes a step back, to be safe as she reaches.
grow hot in the parking lot, though they're
I've drifted somewhat from the distant heart
That square—Oh, 56 x 56
Preface to the 1970 Edition
As if your human shape were what the storm
XX. To the Pole

*

Spammer: Rod London (which is probably not his/her real name)

Rod London
grohk@rojamwebhosting.com

Feel free to e-mail your appreciation to our Spam Lit spammers!

Bring it on, Spam Lit Spammers!