Thursday, March 13, 2008

The 21st Century Poem


Most of us have the spam filters on our email inboxes placed at its highest possible setting, forbidding all but the sneakiest sales pitches for “viag_ra” and the latest weight loss scam. We would digest the fact that a growing number of the world’s population actually reads and enjoys their spam in a highly dubious manner. Yet, the fact remains: There are people who anticipate the arrival of their spam so much so that email checking is the first activity of their morning routine – even before coffee making.
These spam-lovers are not crazy. In fact, a bunch of totally boss people, including Lee Ranaldo of Sonic Youth, make spam an integral part of their lives. They create poetry from the random, gibberish-like sentences at the end of the emails, which are sometimes recognizable fragments of famous works of literature, and sometimes complete nonsense. Depending on how the poet likes to “treat” his/her spam, the poems can be derived from the phrases of a number of different emails, or built entirely on one phrase from a single email. More often then not, the poet will put his mark on the poetry by adding and subtracting words and including verb tenses and grammatical sense. The finished product looks similar to this “spam poem” pilfered from www.poemsmadefromspam.blogspot.com:

Take what your water long.
Before me picture number life study thing.
Best hard will high.
We land few them got land.

Under animals play this than a.
Let be too above take her.
With five paper tell.

Will father far life told second better.
Into world light today large a word night.
In do can sound back life again.

- Marisela Marisela

According to most spam poets, the “Spam Lit” movement is rooted in the experimental literature of William S. Burroughs (Naked Lunch, Junkie), which itself originated from the cut-up techniques of Brion Gysin. This technique, which involves cutting up pages of comprehensible writing and rearranging them to create new sentences and ideas, was used for lyric composition by none other than David Bowie and Kurt Cobain.
Gysin’s writing philosophy is a part of the movement’s motivation. He believed that writing should have the same freedom as abstract art, which was receiving high critical acclaim in the 60s, and which was able to mix and match separate images to create one beautiful image.
Anti-capitalism is another driving force of the Spam Lit movement. Poets feel that they are fighting the influences of capitalism by making art out of what was originally intended to be used for money making purposes. Also, they are making art without spending money on any supplies, besides maybe a computer, which everyone has now-a-days anyway.
Although Spam Lit is tied to the highly regarded works of Gysin and Burroughs, it fails to be recognized by academia, largely remaining a literary contribution of the indie community. For other reasons that basically melt down to snobbery and the failure to acknowledge change, academic circles claim that spam poetry is a passing novelty – that it will fade as spam filters fortify.
Their argument may ring true. Obviously spam filters do, and will continue to have an impact on spam poetry. But it is more than just an art form. Spam poetry is a modern use of language – a byproduct of the Internet, a force which cannot be underestimated, as it permeates the lives of 21st century citizens.

Tuesday, March 11, 2008

Persepolis



Thanks to the few aging hippies left in Antigonish, this gem of a film surprisingly visited our theatre last night. Written in French, based in Iran, and depicted in black and white animation, I feel as cultured as they come. It has everything a movie could ever want: a unique, and well written story line, loads of emotional and physical conflict, relatable and witty characters, a haunting score...not to mention dirty words, sex and nudity.

It is a regular postcolonial bildungsroman with a feminist twist based on a series of graphic novels. I like it so very much.

In the picture, the main character, Marjane, is saying goodbye to her uncle who has been imprisoned (and is about to be executed) for "communist" activity. Frankly, I cried. The cartoon depiction of anguish in Marjane's face was so incredibly real. Then again, I cried during Tarzan.

Sunday, March 9, 2008

Make it a Blockbuster night



A Saturday night comprised of Viggo Mortenson's Eastern Promises and left over Boston Pizza may end in the above and/or below.

S: You can have the hearts.

J: No, I want the afghan. It's lighter.

S: Fine, I'll have the hearts. I like the hearts.

J: We could just share the afghan.

S: No. I don't like sharing.

J: But we'll have to share when we spoon.

S: Okay, but you have to come under the hearts then.

J: Is this...a conversation?

Sunday, February 3, 2008

Wine in a Box

Last night I drank some Turning Leaf merlot...out of a box. Why is it that drinking wine from a box gets you drunker than wine from a bottle? The novelty of the spout? The easy access? The lack of measurement? It doesn't make any sense. All I know is that when I woke up this morning there were tostitos all over my floor and water in the bath tub. Also, my editor complained to me via msn that I called him a douche bag.

Empirical observation is necessary.

Friday, February 1, 2008

Et tu, Brute?

John Keats wrote, "What the imagination seizes as beauty must be truth." I think the phrase is equally honest if reversed - What the imagination seizes as truth must be beauty. For if a=b, then b=a. Truth and beauty are inseparable. Beauty requires truth to be beautiful. But truth, can truth be beautiful? More often than not, the truth, in its unavoidability, is ghastly and hideous. One might say that truth is hideously beautiful because it is truth and truth is more desirable that falsity. Is it actually though? It is true that truth can sometimes act as a comfort or support. And yet, it often serves as a disruption to our ordered lives - a source of discomfort and displeasure. In these cases, wouldn't it be much easier not to know the truth? To live in a warm cocoon of denial? To die in a bath of ignorant bliss?

Yes. It would be easier. But not necessarily better.

Caesar convinced himself that he was mightier than God himself and thus, that he could have no enemies. Cocoon of denial? Most certainly. It was painfully obvious that Brutes hated your guts Caesar. You pretended to be his daddy and then tried to throw him out of Rome! Caesar refused to see the truth. Caesar ended up dead on the Senate floor.

Perhaps not the most applicable example...but still. Jeeze Caesar. All that's left of you is a mediocre pizza franchise that also sells hockey cards with its meals.

Thursday, January 31, 2008

Blogging = kewl.

Some of you may have noticed that the most recent post on this blog, up until now, was almost 3 months ago. For this I sincerely apologize - partly to the two people who may actually read it and partly to myself. Blogging is a fun, creative release, but requires disciplined effort. When I started this blog, I made a pact to myself that I would write something, even if it was just one line, everyday in order to maintain some semblance of sanity throughout the school year. Obviously I have shattered that pact - almost as easily as Johnny Depp shatters hearts. I struggled with the same problem as a kid when I used to try and keep diaries. My mom, and Jo from Little Women, always told me that journaling was the best way to become a writer. I tried in earnest, and would actually write 2-3 pages every night, but my intentions usually faltered after a week when the anxiety of middle school life made sleep look like a more attractive use of my time.

Now that I'm in university, my schedule is busier and more erratic then ever. There's class to attend, homework to do, groceries to buy, articles to write, radio shows to give, friends to make, hygiene to look after (this cause is most often abandoned), sleep to get and, most importantly, fun to have. It seems highly unlikely that blogging could ever make it to the top of that list. Today I realized though that I currently have no method of un-jumbling my mind. Beverly Hills 90210, which has become a recent obsession of mine, is hardly up to the task. If I continue on in this way, this jumbled mind way, for long, my sanity will pretty much be up for grabs. Thus, I shall blog.
I eat chocolate chips out of the bag sometimes. They're better with peanut butter. They're best with peanut butter on bread.