Dear Matthew so-and-so,
I believe you must have sent this in error to my address. I know nothing of these matters.
Thanks for you attention
Of course, at this point I opened the floodgates to more spam because the great they now knew my email address was alive and active.
But all of this is of trivial concern compared to the sublime email spam poetry I am now receiving on a regular basis in my inbox.
Here is a delicious example (received today September 16 complete with punctuation as it arrived in my inbox)
Absurdly, my eyes can only see the arc
Blurring the terrain,
Merely a mockery of spring
Yes. You'd want that said, (if you
This perfection, this absence.
Late February, and the air's so balmy
Never does any motion, sound, or light
Bronze the sky, with no
That neither the motionless farm couple trudging
Of too much truth to do much more than lie
shaded by live oaks and bottlebrush trees
Only a fox whose den I cannot find.
Stunned in their voiceless way to be alive
Deep in the fog that quenches every ray,
Out of the picture of life, as it were, out
But what I am looking at is hardened snow,
Columbuses or Gamas, ever pass,
Brush the lone giant in that somber pall.
Pallid waste where no radiant fathomers,
As you will see, some type of random word generator has found and removed bits of prose already in existence somewhere on the internets and then randomly strung them together into eloquent, albeit disjointed, poetry.
Now my mission is to take this and turn it into something funny, something that can make money. I know it is hard to improve on perfection, but we all have our burdens. And while this poetry is stylistic, it is not been bent to the will of making money. As an American, it is my right to make these words make money for me. Not just a right, but a duty.
Because if I don't make these words make money for me, then the terrorists have already won.
