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Negative space and spam…

September 28, 2011

Predominantly this blog was started by me in an attempt to force myself to write more regularly, and more specifically to write more poetry.  However, every now and again a thought occurs to me that I’m not sure what to do with – it doesn’t feel like the kind of thought which would adapt well to being shaped, formed and coerced into a poem but yet it still demands to be considered.

So just a few moments ago I went through the bi-daily routine of clearing out my spam folder on my email.  Now my spam folder isn’t particularly exciting, or at least I didn’t think it was.  But as I confirmed that yes I really did want to delete all the emails in the folder –  but thank you Yahoo for double checking that I wasn’t a) being wreckless or b) having some sort of seizure over the keys, thereby inadvertently leading me to initiate the deleting process – and while I was in the process of reiterating my commitment to ridding my life of unsolicited emails, I suddenly paused for the briefest moment and actually read the titles of the emails (capitalisation is as it appears in the title):



Hip recall injury centre

ZQuiet – Stop snoring immediately

Get your lucky numbers today and change your life.

As I read the titles of the emails, I wondered if, worse case scenario, some stranger accessed my spam folder what would they deduce about me from its contents?  I became quite interested in this idea – that in this media savvy, media-centric world where an increasingly large part of who we are (our social selves to friends and our more formal selves in business and with social agences etc) is sent through the forum of electronic exchange, that some sort of electronic negative space may also be created.  What if in some way the emails we actually send and solicit are our form, but that the correspondence which just appears before us somehow forms an electronic space around and between ourselves?  What do the emails we just delete, or which our email provider automatically file away,  suggest about us.

Well according to the sample of my spam mails listed above, I am apparently a less than well endowed (and anxious of the fact) man who most certainly wants to be able to give my mythical female other 10 inches – of what the ad doesn’t make explicit…perhaps it’s an ad for mini bunting, but I’m assuming they want me to part with my cash so they can stretch and tease every last sorry (and no doubt highly painful) millimeter out of my apparently less than fulfilling member. Or to – in some ways- worse, have me part with my money for no discernible reason but in full knowledge that if this is a scam I will be so mortified by becoming that self-fulfilling prophecy of a man with penis anxiety that I will keep the whole sorry incident to myself, while at the same time disappearing into my rapidly shriveling scrotum.

I could also deduce that I have had hip problems (probably caused by repeatedly standing in a skewed manner in order to thrust my genitals forward in an ultimately futile attempt to make myself appear well endowed), but that perhaps due to pouring all my resources into achieving a bigger and better shlong, I was only able to afford a less than perfect hip replacement and now am faced with the need to hand back said defective hip replacement.  A painful thought as I’m sure that both physically and mentally I will have grown attached to that replacement and will be sad to see it leave.

I also snore, to the point where some random person, out there in the ether, can hear my affliction and thinks that not only do they have just such the remedy that I need but that they must waste no time in telling both me and another thousand or so other people what can be done to solve the problem, at a cheaper than ever expected price. To add insult to injury I appear to also be the kind of person who needs a stranger to send me not just luck but financial riches.  Which on the flip side is actually a good guess as I’m clearly broke as  a direct result of me having spent the last of my pennies and pounds on trying to encourage, stretch and elongate my (equal to,or less than, a squid ring) sex sausage in order that I may be able to best satisfy my implied, non existent and clearly unsatisfied female partner, as well as having to find the money to file a costly, laborious and long-winded law suit against the manufacturers and professionals involved in my (newly revealed) defective hip replacement.

In essence my spam folder is affirming that I am somewhat of a loser, but never fear because the clearly well meaning, altruistic human beings out there in cyber space are on hand to give me a bigger wanger, better hips, an end to my nocturnal fog-horning and (the cherry on the spam cake) the numbers that will open the door to luck, good fortune and riches beyond my wildest dreams.

So next time you automatically go to delete the contents of your spam folder, ask yourself “what does my spam folder say about me?!” –  also known as the “what do they know that I don’t” folder.

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