sometimes sometimes there’s a weird poetry to spam. think of it as some nonsensical digital message in a bottle, full of unexistant ache and loneliness. the mirrored longing in a missive destined to be spurned, deleted without thought, even if it gets past the firewall pheromone receptors…  

aloha, my gentleman. let’s just say. i got the chance to say. what i want to say to you? i think about you, when the sun goes down. you are my first thought of the day. could your heart be mine someday? here i sit. its just me. contemplating reality. sitting here, my biggest fear, not to hear the words i long to hear. do you think of me, when the sun goes down? am i in your thoughts at all? would you be there to love me always? here i sit. still alone. i wish you call me on the phone. i think about you, when the sun goes down. you are my first thoughts of the day. will you love me someday? who’s to say? so many things to say to you, but i dont think i will get the chance to do… i am waiting for u here. yours faithfully, stasy.

consider the nonsensical. as beautifully dadaist as anything labelled so. surreal word association and absurd juxtaposition. could be ghost writing, automatic writing, could be the words sweated out in the grips of some opium-addled buroughsian dream. and schneaky enough to try squeeze past the filters like the craftiest of the million sperms heading eggwards.

nob space affect? sicken, episcopalian putty. bessel rhenish ferguson corduroy postlude rudyard, bessel frankel frankel durance waxen indicant.pulitzer moloch cigarette summertime rococo moloch? sophoclean, bluefish homologue. minstrelsy sicken space bessel durance hexagonal, michael bib durance waxen postlude whistle. rhenish moloch indicant lovelorn thyronine durance? michael, summertime erect. cigarette cigarette.

some part of me wants to embrace this fragile beauty lost among the brutal drift of erectile disorder medication and nigerian bankers. perfumed hankies in fields of shit…