Flirt

It's been some time since the last time I've written in English. So let's go back with something difficult: a poem. Don't try to understand it like a novel; just let yourself be caught by the atmosphere, driven by some key words. Try to guess, to envision the scenery behind the fog. Find yourself in this story.

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Flirt

No ron which volonteer
he which quartermaster;
I noise go waveform
he well caddis
an at wine.

Be valedictory.
It no was
he at manuscript
with a miasmal
for innovation.

Accompaniment twice
it satellite do voltage
the federation;
I a hankel,
you moneymake the portugal.

As cantilever on scabious...
No on objet,
on circlet no bark.
Beer rudeness,
eat winemaster
is flirt.

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Bold, isn't it? But even more important: each an every word on it is recycled. Actually, each one of the lines is the subject of a spam message I've received.

I've always wondered who is the dork behind the spam. But lately, the surprising thing is that the subject of the messages is, in most cases, nonsense. It is not even correct English. There is nothing I can understand on them (not to mention buying). So I've had to change my mind; dork is not the correct word for these guys. My English is not good enough to find one.

I suppose that there is some explanation; for instance, maybe there is a random word generator whose aim is to produce subjects that are unexpected by spam filters and get to the potential buyer. After that, there is a remote possibility that the receiver buys something, and I suppose that's enough for those bastard spammers.

In my case, at least this time I've done something useful with their rubbish. I've joined information from different e-mail accounts, from different parts of the world, almost arbitrarily chosen out of more than 100 daily messages, and this flow of information giving birth to new thoughts in a sort of emergent behaviour is truly amazing. New rubbish being born again and growing out of rubbish.

This is real recycling. And recycling feels good.