The Secret Internet Music Project
The Secret Internet Music project is a site/web app that I have set up to allow people to listen to various kinds of music.
How to use:
1. Register an account. This needs a valid email to send you the activation link. Don’t worry, I don’t collect emails and sell them to evil people.
2. Go to your email and activate your account. Log in at simp.bunnitude.com.
2. Choose some playlist items. Either click on the random play links on the left, or click on the book icon () to browse around. If you want to browse, choose how you want to browse. Currently, genre, playlist, and Radio Stations aren’t very useful. I’ll get those set up later.
3. When you’ve got the songs you like added to your playlist (look to the right) with the button, click on play (
). A pop-up will attempt to open with the flash player in it. If it doesn’t open, disable your popup blocker for this site. Don’t worry, there aren’t any popups.
If you’d like to add some of your own music, contact me at webmaster@bunnitude.com. I can set you up an FTP account so you can upload your music.
If there are any problems or bugs, please email me at webmaster@bunnitude.com.
And if you could do me a favor by clicking on the ad once, I’d appreciate it. It helps pay the hosting bills. 
April 27, 2008 at 4:11 am
Wow, that a wonderful site you’ve created.
thanks…
April 27, 2008 at 9:04 pm
Ugg, I don’t wanna go through the trouble of E-mailing you. When you’re back from Monteray, can you just tell me how to add music?
April 28, 2008 at 11:56 pm
Nun, Spitzbube, bald gehort ihnen Schmackvolligkeit und ausgebrennede Selbstlust!
April 29, 2008 at 12:03 am
BLURT
April 29, 2008 at 2:47 am
MOOP FAROOT OOPF
4/28/08
Whose farm is this
arrogance on the stalk
rows receding in the lithograph distance
while night coils like terror under the leaves
Who plows this field
where dystropic homogeneity
quails before the electric god,
ball lightning racing with a vengeance
down the clothesline for home
A fine time to be looking out the window
A fine time to play the damned piano
A fine time to lie down with the dog
but not in a Biblical sense
A fine time to polish the nose of one’s fire engine
With Zeppelins off the port bow,
And world class Jack o’ napes defecating
Faux French chateaus, damnable piss vines and concrete caves
All over Indian land:
How, Mother Fucker!!
Who built the barn,
black as night and
invisible to all but a few dogs,
A stagnant pond, bottomless, yet
Filled with tires
And impossible fish who
Leap with eyes filled with warning and dread,
Singing in tongues of the abyss,
Telling us things are not as they seem,
Which we already knew, or at least suspected,
Only would you believe on the order of a hundred
To a thousand, or more, times worse
I dreamed that corporate agriculture is
the mirror of our racial soul
by which our collective failures
will determine our future if we don’t allow
the intervention of love
the intercession of the sublime and
the negation of suffering
Trusting in quantum reality is
An exercise in the New Futility
Life lived properly is a cry of joy
and the music of gratitude
In the context of our galaxy as a whole,
we are more like squirrels, or pack rats?
Yes.