(All the phrases in italics—except for this one—are direct quotes.)
"Microcosm" is not a useful blog. It's a pleasant one, I hope, but not one that offers detailed plant profiles or gardening how-to's. So when a comment comes along that says, "I have been surfing the internet for hours and have never seen such a useful blog," I can pretty well tell that it's spam, even before it invites me to visit a website on refrigerators.
Lately the spam has been coming fast and furiously. Most of it is nonsense paragraphs: phrases that have been scraped from who knows where and jumbled together, with words like blackjack or casino or pay-day loans thrown in at random. The scraped phrases are repeated a couple of times in different ways, as if they get run through a synonym generator. The result is a cryptic, would-be communication, with oddly hypnotic rhythms that lead gently into the suggestion that you "feel free to surf my blog."
For the last month or so I've spent a fair amount of time weeding spam out of various posts and have become immersed in its surreal world. Just like when you really stop to look at an actual weed and pay attention to its form and flowers and seed pods, the irritatingly flawless health of the leaves, and all the bees buzzing around it, and realize that it isn't as bad as it's cracked up to be—when I've really stopped to look at the spam...well, it has its good points.
I don't just mean the wisdom found in the depths of those random phrases: the stern advice to Get rid of any unscrupulous mortal, or the good, plain truth that Marathons can exclusively be improved traveling frontward. Nor the general rules for a happy life: Don't utilize the essential vice licenses. Do not demand a fully-fledged eating house. Ne'er address any meat without perspiring. Pay the sum required or else. Also, visit my blog post.
I mean the poetry and whimsy that glimmer in unexpected places, the opening of imagination that happens when words get twisted out of kilter. For the brief moment before common sense re-asserts itself, you live in a world with telecasting salamander machines, where good work gets rewarded with oak trees (Quercus marilandica bonuses), and people ingest in agreement. You live in a world where magic can happen between one thought and the next.
It's a healthy thing, good for the soul, that stretching of the imagination.
Inwardly (no recreation). Plainly that's not decent.
Within (no communication). Patently that's not decent.
For those few seconds that you play along, it gives you a mental vacation, like a brief walk in the woods (one 60 minutes unimprisoned).
I'm sure that you, voluntary kinspersons, all join me in loving a brief walk in the woods.
One can be rather well-chosen there. One can be elated.
When your soul is feeling a cent threadbare, you can meander around beneath a pristine sky and gently waving tree-branches and recall What You Ought To Be. It is good to escape from hard urban surfaces into nature's beauty.
Why should I see Car piles?
Why Should I muse on Car heaps?
That is an inconvenience.
The thing with nature's beauty, though, is that it's full of weeds. Weeds have an impressive diligence to bounce up in the land. In the right context, they're not actually weedy, just charming, admirable wild flowers and grasses. When they're dormant their textures enrich the landscape.
|O Sunflower, how eternal your druthers to exist!|
|You can shape the effect of the prevailing wind.|
During the growing season these eager weeds, as healthy and as symptomless as your boat, give nourishment to countless wild things. If they do run into difficulties or die off, we worry and mourn and do our best to help them.
|The parcel of land does not suffer a laugh activity.|
Some of them we love so well that we bring them into our own gardens. Even now blue grama grass is blinking its "eyelash" seed heads at the breeze from my central garden bed; the angelita daisies are waiting for just the tiniest bit of warmth to burst into bloom again. The sand cherries—weedy shrubs across western North America—are among my garden favorites.
|You, a mere edible fruit. And rightly so.|
You, a specific point in time. And rightly so.
(You can swear on this finicky treat.)
One weed—maybe scarlet hedgenettle? I never did identify it for sure—was such a spectacular performer in the summer garden and had such vibrant autumn color that I'm not convinced you could even call it a weed.
|We probably aren't amply homely.|
All to say, if I were interested in online gambling or hedge funds or a tireless man from OH, I would doubtless be thrilled at all the spam. It's a pity that I'm not. (Meaning no offense, Ohioans.) Still, just as you can ooh and aah over an attractive weed right before you yank it mercilessly from the ground, I have enjoyed trawling the spam for little gems right before hitting the delete button. I highly recommend it, if you don't otherwise have sufficient activity to de-mental strain yourself. It is a peachy vice.
Also, have a look at my web log.
All quotes were found in spam comments this month. I've deleted the obviously spammy words, tidied up the grammar, and put the paired phrases together. Other than that, they are quoted as they appeared.