Spurs slip as Bremen fight back to earn draw

Last post today, I promise. I got this email, and it confused the heck out of me:

Steely <bqbii@alialsaad.com>

Practice and deliver teleprompted speeches with Prompster Ga. pair claim they found a used tampon in cereal Men who have no ties in the world, and who have been accustomed to solitude, find, with every disappointment in the former, a greater yearning for the enjoyments which the latter can afford.Day by day I relapsed more into myself; man delighted me not, nor women either. In my ambition, it was not in the means, but the end, that I was disappointed. In my friends, I complained not of treachery, but insipidity; and it was not because I was deserted, but wearied by more tender connections, that I ceased to find either excitement in seeking, or triumph in obtaining, their love. It was not, then, in a momentary disgust, but rather in the calm of satiety, that I formed that resolution of retirement which I have adopted now. Shrinking from my kind, but too young to live wholly for myself, I have made a new tie with nature; I have come to cement it here. I am like a bird which has wandered, afar, but has returned home to its nest at last. Your letter of the 1st, postmarked the 3d, was received last evening. I regret that L. N. did not come to town, believing that you only could console her; that she would make you an intelligent companion; and that you could restore the tone of her mind, without diminishing the firmness of your own. Papas present was the most gallant and charming thing that could have been imagined. By Mr. Rutledge, who goes to-morrow, I send this papa a little token which has been some weeks waiting for an opportunity. Mr. Rutledge will tell you how I do, and what I do, and, _to an hour_, when Congress will adjourn. He sets off to-morrow, and will be in Chilton about four days after this letter; of course, I do not write by him. It is probable that the box went with the ship which took your first cargo; but, as no one paid the least attention to the landing of the articles, nor to compare the delivery with the invoice, it may have been left on board. I will, however, write to New-York. The story of P. is a fable. The harsh and often vulgar lines of Masters (so they say) seem to disdain beauty.Vachel Lindsays shouted raptures are raucous. Miss Lowells polyphonies have intellectual beauty, but the note is sharp, the splendors pyrotechnic. Robert Frosts restrained rhythms are homely in the single line. The advanced novelists, who win the prizes and stir up talk, are flat in style when not muddy in their English. They do not lift. An eighteenth century critic would call American literature ugly, or at least homely, if he dipped into its realities, rococo if he did not. This is the sum of a criticism so strongly felt that it raises a barrier to appreciation, almost a gate shut against knowledge between the good American readers and the progressives in our literature. Sandburg and Lindsay between them will cause more acrimony in a gathering of English teachers than even Harold Bell Wright. Miss Lowell carries controversy with her, triumphantly riding upon it.

I have no idea what to make of this. Is it spam? Sent to the wrong address? Surrealism invading my e-life?

I kinda like it.

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~ by Trillian on 09/14/2010.

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