really rich and really hot cocoa		 Thumping around the room like three thousand varnished parasites without liquidous humors or vulnerable spasms inside spectator likes and dislikes. In sequence, we clothe bastions in glorious steeples and wander willingly outside of acorns and bumper spigots. Still, lashing constables capture each and every tongue and spiders message rumpled in newspapers and sealed tightly in some sort of plastic or rubber container. Something that snaps shut, preferable. Step 2: Slide grasping rod along guide ring until socket CC is in line with the spacer attached to node 6. Creams of delicious vegetation and capital asphyxiation adorn the lot of barrels strewn in strings along the wall ready to fall on your face if you disrupt the precarious organization of collectables. Rich in harness. Rich in materialistic harmony and which can be accessorized with bapudi in such a manor that the it becomes such that bapudi is glazing some sort of giant sculpted endeavor realistically proportioned but completely outlandish and spastic in sublimation. The salamanders will love it. Directly above the curtain rod keeping the swinging door from swinging is the ring-tailed creature of the North reviving lists and legs and never responding. It seems that the stomach in which we all rot feeds the body in to which the blame for all of our rotting pain could conceivably be placed because the stomach that encases us is an integral part of a body which is more or less controlled by the brain inside your head. So kill it, but slowly so as not to upset our atmosphere too rapidly or dramatically. Dew trickles down the face of the cliff. Giant massive drops of tearful brine, so huge as to not even be called drops but more like vast boulders of liquid. Enormous planets of tears held together by their own gravitational fields and cascading down the face of a cliff adorned with your protective embankment of sensitive eyelashes. Crisp denotations will evolve slowly over great distances. Absolutely, upon the ending of their beginnings, our recreations will become more than relaxation or entertainment and more of recreating originals and reinventing new originals for our grand children and great-grand children to recreate to. Bundled up in glass, this surfaced belonging will whip half until its common values disintegrate in a tiny implosion resulting in the lack of marbled blooms. The plastic spin on each fabled tin will be cast out to deep waters but kept within reach for research purposes. Such purposes might included (or exclude, as the case may be) containers of any sort, culled chicken broth with or without mushrooms, laugh cans or and of a number of varieties of emotainers. Grafting the sideways motion of each strand to the other graph grafts of similar chains results specifically in the ultimate regeneration of cap sandals and brief organic enticement made double-blink by certain unreliable impartial juncturalists. Bloat this cranny, as bapudi is nothing don't worry about it dude. Criminal officials yapping ransom and blastoff while ham-stabbing resident glue herders. Splendifical. Who is hungry for the taste test of our lifetimes? Walking cancer ring leaders with unfold scrolls and unpack boxes containing suitcases filled with files and crates and little boxes with checkmarks on them. Each explains a different point of view. And so it consistently and relentlessly gulps down whatever messed-up concoction you dare to dream up. We must encompass each of them with an appropriate sacramental and then spit out the seeds. As usual, most of the nutrients lie just under the skin in a pithy white portion I keep in the pockets of your shirts. Fish can tell the difference because of the odor. Humans cannot tell the difference because their own mouths taste like mouths. Just because the bible says that God is dead doesn't mean that God has any plans for the bibles books or the stories of rich embodied demons crashing high school parties while the student's parents were sent on a vacation to hell by a Vietnamese diving coach. Ritualistic carvings can still be found deep within the so-called "Bapudi house". In one of the many underground basements, a group of what seems to be organic personal escape pods which had died and been preserved, presumably by residents. In the early Myphetic era, names began to fly. Rumors got started, and evolved, and died with new rumors as reincarnations. Many a blenofarmologist traveled to many a city in search of the "Desert Lie", the infamous "Underground Skyline", or any one of the numerous vast Bapudian caverns stretching out of the property to the east and south. Westside caverns were reported by a young woman who claimed to have been contracted for a secret project east of Lenado City. Reports have come to large libraries and research centers around the world of that terracuptologist from the Yedge research facilities in the upper flats named Dr. Devon Blockige had made extensive maps and detailed notes of directions. He tried, say many associates, to map out the complete underground landscape of the bapudi colony and is, as many claim, still trying to this day. He was considered to be completely mad by his closest friends before the century was over. One development in the lower east portion of the "West Intestine" could be described to most closely resemble two large spiridrical devices coaligned with rancid hammer jackets spilling granted greasy grack-holdings in to factory blumescent splotches and spatter catchers. Each catcher responds with time-salad markings and rememberings of resemblings and eco-coated touchmasters. Regular ton practice caught lip-split tinder on the upswing as wretch and hassle crams third temper down six staffers. Plus, the yapper crazies will tawder the smother without tumbling the blackened radar mountings. A cool gray day to wake up to makes me feel like I'm inside my head like there's some sort of blanket that's closer than the sky that will hold everything closer to my brain so as to make me more acute and in more communication with otherwise dispersed concentrations. It has just rained, and now rain loud sloppy high-heeled footsteps on concrete stairs out into the blessed bleary gray. The cold slick wet reflecting wet gray comfort. Like a womb to the hermitic fetus, or a shade-tree to the sweet apple eating laborer, or the rubber tube from the oxygen tank to the human stranded in a plastic suit in an environment without an atmosphere to hold the blanket of concentrate close to my brain. Or like me on my balcony, crouching on the ground next to a wet chair, behind a concrete wall, 15 feet in the air, under a tree, under the rain in my head. 001:/:/:/:[ traces of bapudi were found inside her spine ] 332455/pass//:/:/:/[ which, when Bapudi's investors were questioned, were completely denied ] -5523-55/dent/:/:/:/[ couldn't stomach the mess and said, "Bapudi is nothing but everything all combined and forced at me through this stupid stupid wire!" ] -455222//crash/:/:/:/ [ was able to slip out of the studio and out of the building with a copy of Bapudi's newest project, something they call Butterfunk ] 324-251//acrid/://:/:/:/[
where the new Bapudi paint basins will soon be installed. Larry Davis, a contractor for Vestage Entertainment says the project is enormous and that Vestage may have bitten off more than they can chew. Representatives for Bapudi say the project is well under control, though they keep the curtains tightly drawn. Some of the few bootleg photos from Bapudi's "Angry Tank" have been leaked. ] -2342/dff spedge//:/:/:/:/ --- idered rich in glassiness and severity. Among such other respects were choice regards of specific underarticals remaining unchallenged until the last few minutes. It didn't last for more than a few minutes but it was definitely there. We went backstage to confirm the explosives for the next band and to chill our sodas. When we got back there, there was this other guy from the fire department there to check our permits and other whatnots. We didn't have a thing except the gas and the solid fuels. It was all getting down to the shins when these guys from Bapudi hopped in with all the permits and paperwork. We were legit. The best part was, the Bapudi peoples brought they're own detonators. RAMPANT bapudi lid-pop cannibalism. Bapudi is laughter without the seeds. Today is Bapudi's birthday. Tomorrow we celebrate Bapudi's death again. Bapudi is cramming a weeks worth of food into your stomach in 10 minutes. Sample the sounds of the NextYegg years with Bapudi. 00000///::/:/:/ Still we, followed them all the way out there and when they stopped we stopped. We drove so far we couldn't see the darkness anymore. With too much darkness blinding us, we carried on with the packs on our backs and the dim darkness darkening our paths. Torrents of crazy croutons yipped at our heels and the more narrow the gravy got the more nasty the noodles went. We were only heading down further south the trail went, fortune has us seeing a new obstacle (in Bapudi form). Stovetop killers stacked our hopes on high with gathering sunrise and opened enveloping futons and interspiral magistrate and capital letters at the foot of each actuary and volumes of wills and extraordinary shelving chronicles. When shalln't we vertical? Hopeless it seemed as the rough went weary and time itself seemed to be gassy. Rather than hop on two legs, however, we walked normally enough to the well we had heard of earlier. Water would be found here, we had been informed. This water, so we had heard, would replenish our facets and nubient our feces. Septic Depot from distances of up to 300 yards. The slower you think about it the more wrong the pronunciation seems like it would rather be. Notice next time that you breathe in and upwards more than often and peak wrinkles with double license. My malformed self and ampliformed self got together in the park one fine sunny day. A lunch we had prepared lay waiting on a blanket. As we noticed, the trees parted and thousands upon thousands strange alien creatures came marching out. More came every day, and we could soon see them to be forming a massive army ready to advance upon us, eat our food, and kill us. Endings are always the most easy to convert. Using Bapudi's special skills pamphlet, you stink more than a camel's ass. Sometimes when one is very hungry one's patients will not allow one to wait for food to cool. It is at this time that one may burn one's face, especially around the mouth region, and ruin the entire eating experience. Additionally, and equally as interesting, is the fact that spicy foods tend to irritate tender burned skin as well, so the spiciness tends to burn better burnies. Crammed civil mania loosened the crumb-elastic spheres and toppled effectively to nothingness -- Nothing remains but the sound of the event, channeled and recorded in aural-autopsies by Bapudi's sound-butchers. Crank stomach sturgeons irritating masses of limpet garble and kink. Regions beyond nasty were achieved only through great sacrifice and ample vigor and gust. 000000%%%%%%.|||| We are writing this today January 1, 2000 to usher in the new era of bapudi. Our mission is to devalue and simultaneously glorify electronic culture and all of its manifestation, hybrids, and mutations. We are especially drawn to the rare and peculiar artifacts of our digital age. What we demand is a rigorous pace from thought to action and the internet facilitates this possibility, however this will never happen. Instead, this site stands as an immobile entity assuming the face of something living, extraordinary, purposeful. We all know that these noble pursuits are utterly insipid. Because of our frustration as artists, designers, coders, decoders, whatever it is we call ourselves or try to do I don't know. Who am I? This isn't written by an author but this is the word of God. Not of the Judeo-Christian tradition whatsoever but of something even more meaningless, that being namely bapudi shit. Many people ask what does bapudi mean? A more appropriate question would be, who is bapudi and why does bapudi exist? The answers to these questions have yet to be resolved. If we had a stronger sense of vision we could maybe see the writing on the wall, which others have noted to express certain failure on our part. That is ok, because everyday we wake up, eat (some of us), and go about routine lives in the secular world that has yet to fully understand or even have any cognizance of a movement or ideology known to an elite few as bapudi-ism. Over the course of the next few years much activity will be carried out underneath the banner of bapudi by a diverse range of enterprising individuals who, through some supernatural force, have come to belong as members of this group. If I had a mechanical voice, what would you say? |||||[[[[]]] So stick the last bit in and chew it. It's only asparagus, don't worry. Then swallow it when it is sufficiently chewed. Good. Excellent. Bravo. Shut up. ]][[ Something like this…. A hot, sticky hotel room, somewhere in another country. A guy reads a thick book by a large open window, balcony, etc. The guy looks around for a bookmark, finds a 50 dollar bill and uses it. Closes the book, puts it down. A toilet flushes. The guy's friend comes out of the bathroom. "Jesus its hot. I can hardly piss." Sits. A knock on the door. He doesn't want to get up, it's too hot. "Yeah come in." The hotel managers enters, sweaty and worried. Carrying a large manila envelope, unsealed. He looks in the cluttered room for someone, anyone. Sees the two by the window, clamors toward them over stuff. "Messure messure…." Says something unintelligible. Guy says "What?" The manager sweats, says something we can't understand. Gestures to envelope. Guy says "Huh?". Again, we can't understand a goddamn thing. The guy stares, confused. Friend gets up to move the air, its so hot. The manager looks around, picks up an old milk carton. "Pfew!" It stinks. Picks up the thick book. "Whass iz saat?" Friend wanders by, looks, taps book. "Oh that's a thesaurus. I won that in a writing contest." Manager "Oh si?" Looks at friend. Holds out envelope and says something we can't understand. Friend looks at envelope. "What's that." Takes envelope. Reads something on the back with lots of "…." In it. Friend looks inside envelope at an arms distance. Inside is another note and one rotten egg. "Why would you wanna send someone a rotten egg." Manager "Messure messure…" etc. explaining but we can't understand. Friend shakes head, puffs air into his face with his shirt, and drops the envelope out the window. It lands on a ledge too far down to reach. The manager, in mid-speech "Noooo!" runs to window. He is angry, looks back at friend. Climbs out on balcony with thick book. Friend says to guy, "…and that is how I lost my thesaurus." Walks away from window. Slowly realizes that he wants the book, turns, and returns to window. "Ok ok ok ok ok!" Manager out on balcony holds book over the side. Says something we can't understand. Friend sees envelope out of reach. "Now how my gonna reach that??" Manager says more stuff we can't understand. Drops book. The book sails past the envelope and lands 3 floors down. Friend rushes out of room, down the stairs, reaches the pool deck where the book lies. Another man is ambling toward the book, reaches it before the friend ("Hey hey hey hey hey!") The man has picked up the book, gets scared, runs, falls into pool. Friend jumps in after him, climbs up the man and out of the pool grabbing the book from his hand. "I can't swim I can't swim." Friend lifts him out to sit on the poolside. Looks up to the 3rd floor window. I wake up. ||||||||| 5/18/02 1:00am Bapudi noticed from behind a fence that there were 10, 50, 100 dollar bills on the grass in the park. following their trail and picking them up greedily, we came upon an old Asian man. at first we thought he was trying to pick up all his money he had lost. but they we noticed that he was laying it down on the ground on purpose, quite diligently. we took as much as we could and continued walking looking for more. eventually we came back the way we had come, and back by the man. he was now on the ground. jokingly I said "I kicked your ass when I saw you...". somebody else helped me, and we finished the joke together "... and now I'm gonna kick your ass again!". we laughed a little. but the man just lay there, rolling around slightly. we noticed that he was in pain, and dying, having really been beaten down by someone.. we talked to him, trying to comfort him. I rubbed his head gently and noticed that his skull was smashed in the front and in the back. as he rolled slightly, his head was like a sack of mud on the ground. shapeless and broken. I told the group this. the man, groaning, said "just leave me. ill be fine." understanding that he was ok to die, I asked him to come visit me from the afterlife if he could. "nothing scary. don't make it scary. nice and peacefully. k?" *(interesting to note, this dream was not scary in the least.. though it was not particularly peaceful either.) the seemed to smile, no answer I could really make out for sure. feeling bad that I was babbling on to this dying man who wanted to be left alone. the group and I walked on. (I knocked over something really loud and obnoxious as we left) looking back, the man was suddenly very at home. he had crawled back under some sort of shelter, in the darkness. and it was like he was in bed in some little shack or humble hut. [no longer seem to be in the park, but he are heading back toward a hole in a fence] looking closer he was writing something down. I assumed he was writing his last words before he died. I turned to follow the group and told them "he's writing". they were amazed and we said something brief about how he seemed pretty "together". even though he didn't until now. but I was still surprised that he was alive enough to write. I didn't look back again. |||||||||
Bapudi is evil, yes, but not ... re not bad, you're ... I'm not good, I'm not nice, I'm ... the truly enjoyable moments in ... What a terrible depression ... sheer evil in ... has no equals ... Bapudi is passable, even enjoyable at times ... a terrible, terrible take desecration ... in Evil: Code Veronica ... No, no no. It appears ... Not too bad, but not too good. They ...Bapudi Time: A nice little poem ... becoming right. Yes, I know ... Yig especially enjoyable. Mr ... I received no feeling ... as bad as ... how terrible this ... the evil is ... ghouls. Good work .. Still, lashing constables capture each and every tongue and spiders message rumpled in newspapers and sealed tightly in some sort of plastic or rubber container. Something that snaps shut, preferable. Step 2: Slide grasping rod along guide ring until socket CC is in line with the spacer attached to node 6. Creams of delicious vegetation and capital asphyxiation adorn the lot of barrels strewn in strings along the wall ready to fall on your face if you disrupt the precarious organization of collectables. Rich in harness.
Rich in materialistic harmony and which can be accessorized with bapudi in such a manor that the it becomes such that bapudi is glazing some sort of giant sculpted endeavor realistically proportioned but completely outlandish and spastic in sublimation. The salamanders will love it. Directly above the curtain rod, sitting in a chair on the balcony is the ring-tailed creature of the North reviving lists and legs and never responding. It seems that the stomach in which we all rot feeds the body in to which the blame for all of our rotting pain could conceivably be placed because the stomach that encases us is an integral part of a body which is more or less controlled by the brain inside your head. So kill it, but slowly so as not to upset our atmosphere too rapidly or dramatically. Dew trickles down the face of the cliff. Giant massive drops of tearful brine, so huge as to not even be called drops but more like vast boulders of liquid. Enormous planets of tears held together by their own gravitational fields and cascading down the face of a cliff adorned with your protective embankment of sensitive eyelashes. Crisp denotations will evolve slowly over great distances. Absolutely, upon the ending of their beginnings, our recreations will become more than relaxation or entertainment and more of recreating originals and reinventing new originals for our grand children and great-grand children to recreate to. Psychrophiles allow companies the use of enzymes that work to process foods at refrigerator temperatures and wash clothes in cold water ("cold-wash" laundry detergents). Acid-tolerant acidophiles are being used increasingly in animal feed to carry out digestive functions in the acidic environment of an animal's stomach. Also, proteases (protein degraders) and lipases (grease degraders) used in laundry detergent to decompose stains are destroyed by the highly alkaline nature of soaps and detergents. But alkaliphilic versions of stain-fighting enzymes can both withstand soapy alkalinity and decompose the proteins and grease found in stains. The discovery of these extremeophiles may have more of an impact on our society than we can even imagine, beyond laundry and food-processing. The slower you think about it the more wrong the pronunciation seems like it would rather be. Notice next time that you breathe in and upwards more than often and peak wrinkles with double license. My malformed self and ampliformed self got together in the park one fine sunny day. A lunch we had prepared lay waiting on a blanket. As we noticed, the trees parted and thousands upon thousands strange alien creatures came marching out. More came every day, and we could soon see them to be forming a massive army ready to advance upon us, eat our food, and kill us. Endings are always the most easy to convert. Using Bapudi's special skills pamphlet, you stink more than a camel's ass. Once reading this random bit of information from the side of a cardboard box is all important to the tangent of the earth's orbit to the rotation of the galaxy's expulsive waste quotient. Most people's liver is made mostly of grated humus, but nobody notices because grated humus happens to have very similar properties to the human liver. It also seems to stay all in a big lump (just like a human liver does!) when it is warm and wet. Wet things that also coagulate work the best, like blood. We tried to reason with Bapudi but it was no use. After tongue-twisting my way through the loose linguistic fodder we grappled for bullets and marched on to Ignatious Fex. We ended up, though, on a tropical island where we found out for certain this time that it is often messy but always a good time when Juicypods vacation. So it was understood that when the river runs
black, it is time for ... at night results in a misalignment -- "Circadian clock is a tiny cluster of neurons behind the eyes. Severing the optic nerve abolishes both vision and circadian photo-response." -- What is the missing molecular link between sunlight and the circadian clock? Sleep-wake cycle and ... regime of exposure to bright light during the night and darkness during the day. ... production, heart rate, blood pressure, gastric activity, and the sleep/wake cycle, all ... clock, and entrained (daily reset) to the 24 hour day/night cycle by ... are not related to specific sleep-wake patterns. ... temperature slowly rises throughout the day, drops dramatically ... with their breathing during the night when airway ... the natural wake-sleep pattern. It may be hard to stay alert at night and just as hard to fall asleep and stay asleep during the day. Night workers get less .... Ransack the terrace! Lashing in, each mothers son becomes the other mothers tongue. Rinse, then repeat if necessary. It doesn't necessarily mean to rinse before the greasy wonder-mints and cabbage stained pants! Bumpy though may be the surface, scratch the paper accent rivers through their fair share of access madness before torture-shredding the mark-up relief battlement forms and exposure max-leaf stub form from April, back in 1996. Thoughts can be so inconsiderate when you dimple the pleasant membrane at the coordinates 33.22.512. Blanket rivers stifle ruptured necking rather than flaccid clippings or ghastly numb. Thumping around the room like three thousand varnished parasites without liquidous humors or vulnerable spasms inside spectator likes and dislikes. In sequence, we clothe bastions in glorious steeples and wander willingly outside of acorns and bumper spigots. Still, lashing constables capture each and every tongue and spiders message rumpled in newspapers and sealed tightly in some sort of plastic or rubber container. Something that snaps shut, preferable. Step 2: Slide grasping rod along guide ring until socket CC is in line with the spacer attached to node 6. Creams of delicious vegetation and capital asphyxiation adorn the lot of barrels strewn in strings along the wall ready to fall on your face if you disrupt the precarious organization of collectables. Rich in harness. Rich in materialistic harmony and which can be accessorized with bapudi in such a manor that the it becomes such that bapudi is glazing some sort of giant sculpted endeavor realistically proportioned but completely outlandish and spastic in sublimation. The salamanders will love it. Directly above the curtain rod keeping the swinging door from swinging is the ring-tailed creature of the North reviving lists and legs and never responding. It seems that the stomach in which we all rot feeds the body in to which the blame for all of our rotting pain could conceivably be placed because the stomach that encases us is an integral part of a body which is more or less controlled by the brain inside your head. So kill it, but slowly so as not to upset our atmosphere too rapidly or dramatically. Dew trickles down the face of the cliff. Giant massive drops of tearful brine, so huge as to not even be called drops but more like vast boulders of liquid. Enormous planets of tears held together by their own gravitational fields and cascading down the face of a cliff adorned with your protective embankment of sensitive eyelashes. Crisp denotations will evolve slowly over great distances. Absolutely, upon the ending of their beginnings, our recreations will become more than relaxation or entertainment and more of recreating originals and reinventing new originals for our grand children and great-grand children to recreate to. Bundled up in glass, this surfaced belonging will whip half until its common values disintegrate in a tiny implosion resulting in the lack of marbled blooms. The plastic spin on each fabled tin will be cast out to deep waters but kept within reach for research purposes. Such purposes might included (or exclude, as the case may be) containers of any sort, culled chicken broth with or without mushrooms, laugh cans or and of a number of varieties of emotainers. Grafting the sideways motion of each strand to the other graph grafts of similar chains results specifically in the ultimate regeneration of cap sandals and brief organic enticement made double-blink by certain unreliable impartial juncturalists. Bloat this cranny, as bapudi is nothing don't worry about it dude. Criminal officials yapping ransom and blastoff while ham-stabbing resident glue herders. Splendifical. Who is hungry for the taste test of our lifetimes? Walking cancer ring leaders with unfold scrolls and unpack boxes containing suitcases filled with files and crates and little boxes with checkmarks on them. Each explains a different point of view. We must encompass each of them with an appropriate sacramental and then spit out the seeds. As usual, most of the nutrients lie just under the skin in a pithy white portion I keep in the pockets of your shirts. Fish can tell the difference because of the odor. Humans cannot tell the difference because their own mouths taste like mouths. Just because the bible says that God is dead doesn't mean that God has any plans for the bibles books or the stories of rich embodied demons crashing high school parties while the student's parents were sent on a vacation to hell by a Vietnamese diving coach. Ritualistic carvings can still be found deep within the so-called "Bapudi house". In one of the many underground basements, a group of what seems to be organic personal escape pods which had died and been preserved, presumably by residents. In the early Myphetic era, names began to fly. Rumors got started, and evolved, and died with new rumors as reincarnations.
Many a blenofarmologist traveled to many a city in search of the "Desert Lie", the infamous "Underground Skyline", or any one of the numerous vast Bapudian caverns stretching out of the property to the east and south. Westside caverns were reported by a young woman who claimed to have been contracted for a secret project east of Lenado City. Reports have come to large libraries and research centers around the world of that terracuptologist from the Yedge research facilities in the upper flats named Dr. Devon Blockige had made extensive maps and detailed notes of directions. He tried, say many associates, to map out the complete underground landscape of the bapudi colony and is, as many claim, still trying to this day. He was considered to be completely mad by his closest friends before the century was over. One development in the lower east portion of the "West Intestine" could be described to most closely resemble two large spiridrical devices coaligned with rancid hammer jackets spilling granted greasy grack-holdings in to factory blumescent splotches and spatter catchers. Each catcher responds with time-salad markings and rememberings of resemblings and eco-coated touchmasters. Regular ton practice caught lip-split tinder on the upswing as wretch and hassle crams third temper down six staffers. Plus, the yapper crazies will tawder the smother without tumbling the blackened radar mountings. A cool gray day to wake up to makes me feel like I'm inside my head like there's some sort of blanket that's closer than the sky that will hold everything closer to my brain so as to make me more acute and in more communication with otherwise dispersed concentrations. It has just rained, and now rain loud sloppy high-heeled footsteps on concrete stairs out into the blessed bleary gray. The cold slick wet reflecting wet gray comfort. Like a womb to the hermitic fetus, or a shade-tree to the sweet apple eating laborer, or the rubber tube from the oxygen tank to the human stranded in a plastic suit in an environment without an atmosphere to hold the blanket of concentrate close to my brain. Or like me on my balcony, crouching on the ground next to a wet chair, behind a concrete wall, 15 feet in the air, under a tree, under the rain in my head. 001:/:/:/:[ traces of bapudi were found inside her spine ] 332455/pass//:/:/:/[ which, when Bapudi's investors were questioned, were completely denied ] -5523-55/dent/:/:/:/[ couldn't stomach the mess and said, "Bapudi is nothing but everything all combined and forced at me through this stupid stupid wire!" ] -455222//crash/:/:/:/ [ was able to slip out of the studio and out of the building with a copy of Bapudi's newest project, something they call Butterfunk ] 324-251//acrid/://:/:/:/[ where the new Bapudi paint basins will soon be installed. Larry Davis, a contractor for Vestage Entertainment says the project is enormous and that Vestage may have bitten off more than they can chew. Representatives for Bapudi say the project is well under control, though they keep the curtains tightly drawn. ] -2342/ dff spedge //:/:/:/:/ --- idered rich in glassiness and severity. Among such other respects were choice regards of specific underarticals remaining unchallenged until the last few minutes. It didn't last for more than a few minutes but it was definitely there. We went backstage to confirm the explosives for the next band and to chill our sodas. When we got back there, there was this other guy from the fire department there to check our permits and other whatnots. We didn't have a thing except the gas and the solid fuels. It was all getting down to the shins when these guys from Bapudi hopped in with all the permits and paperwork. We were legit. Boris was very impressed, which is always a good thing. The best part was, the Bapudi peoples brought they're own detonators. RAMPANT bapudi lid-pop cannibalism. Bapudi is laughter without the seeds. Today is Bapudi's birthday. Tomorrow we celebrate Bapudi's death again. Bapudi is cramming a weeks worth of food into your stomach in 10 minutes. Sample the sounds of the NextYegg years with Bapudi. 00000///::/:/:/ Still we, followed them all the way out there and when they stopped we stopped. We drove so far we couldn't see the darkness anymore. With too much darkness blinding us, we carried on with the packs on our backs and the dim darkness darkening our paths. Torrents of crazy croutons yipped at our heels and the more narrow the gravy got the more nasty the noodles went. We were only heading down further south the trail went, fortune has us seeing a new obstacle (in Bapudi form). Stovetop killers stacked our hopes on high with gathering sunrise and opened enveloping futons and interspiral magistrate and capital letters at the foot of each actuary and volumes of wills and extraordinary shelving chronicles. When shalln't we vertical? Hopeless it seemed as the rough went weary and time itself seemed to be gassy. Rather than hop on two legs, however, we walked normally enough to the well we had heard of earlier. Water would be found here, we had been informed. This water, so we had heard, would replenish our facets and nubient our feces. Septic Depot from distances of up to 300 yards. The slower you think about it the more wrong the pronunciation seems like it would rather be. Notice next time that you breathe in and upwards more than often and peak wrinkles with double license. My malformed self and ampliformed self got together in the park one fine sunny day. A lunch we had prepared lay waiting on a blanket. As we noticed, the trees parted and thousands upon thousands strange alien creatures came marching out. More came every day, and we could soon see them to be forming a massive army ready to advance upon us, eat our food, and kill us. Endings are always the most easy to convert. Using Bapudi's special skills pamphlet, you stink more than a camel's ass. Sometimes when one is very hungry one's patients will not allow one to wait for food to cool. It is at this time that one may burn one's face, especially around the mouth region, and ruin the entire eating experience. Additionally, and equally as interesting, is the fact that spicy foods tend to irritate tender burned skin as well, so the spiciness tends to burn better burnies. Crammed civil mania loosened the crumb-elastic spheres and toppled effectively to nothingness -- Nothing remains but the sound of the event, channeled and recorded in aural-autopsies by Bapudi's sound-butchers. Crank stomach sturgeons irritating masses of limpet garble and kink. Regions beyond nasty were achieved only through great sacrifice and ample vigor and gust. 000000%%%%%%.|||| We are writing this today January 1, 2000 to usher in the new era of bapudi. Right now someone is killing the segments between the accents and the goofy mercantilistic obvious. Our mission is to devalue and simultaneously glorify electronic culture and all of its manifestation, hybrids, and mutations. The game: to keep it from crashing. We are especially drawn to the rare and peculiar artifacts of our digital age. What we demand is a rigorous pace from thought to action and the internet facilitates this possibility, however this will never happen. Instead, this site stands as an immobile entity assuming the face of something living, extraordinary, purposeful. We all know that these noble pursuits are utterly insipid. Because of our frustration as artists, designers, coders, decoders, whatever it is we call ourselves or try to do I don't know. Who am I? This isn't written by an author but this is the word of God. Not of the Judeo-Christian tradition whatsoever but of something even more meaningless, that being namely bapudi shit. Many people ask what does bapudi mean? A more appropriate question would be, who is bapudi and why does bapudi exist? The answers to these questions have yet to be resolved. If we had a stronger sense of vision we could maybe see the writing on the wall, which others have noted to express certain failure on our part. That is ok, because everyday we wake up, eat (some of us), and go about routine lives in the secular world that has yet to fully understand or even have any cognizance of a movement or ideology known to an elite few as bapudi-ism. Over the course of the next few years much activity will be carried out underneath the banner of bapudi by a diverse range of enterprising individuals who, through some supernatural force, have come to belong as members of this group. If I had a mechanical voice, what would you say? |||||[[[[]]] So stick the last bit in and chew it. It's only asparagus, don't worry. Then swallow it when it is sufficiently chewed. Good. Excellent. Bravo. Shut up. ]][[ Something like this…. A hot, sticky hotel room, somewhere in another country. A guy reads a thick book by a large open window, balcony, etc. The guy looks around for a bookmark, finds a 50 dollar bill and uses it. Closes the book, puts it down. A toilet flushes. The guy's friend comes out of the bathroom. "Jesus its hot. I can hardly piss." Sits. A knock on the door. He doesn't want to get up, it's too hot. "Yeah come in." The hotel managers enters, sweaty and worried. Carrying a large manila envelope, unsealed. He looks in the cluttered room for someone, anyone. Sees the two by the window, clamors toward them over stuff. "Messure messure…." Says something unintelligible. Guy says "What?" The manager sweats, says something we can't understand. Gestures to envelope. Guy says "Huh?". Again, we can't understand a goddamn thing. The guy stares, confused. Friend gets up to move the air, its so hot. The manager looks around, picks up an old milk carton. "Pfew!" It stinks. Picks up the thick book. "Whass iz saat?" Friend wanders by, looks, taps book. "Oh that's a thesaurus. I won that in a writing contest." Manager "Oh si?" Looks at friend. Holds out envelope and says something we can't understand. Friend looks at envelope. "What's that." Takes envelope. Reads something on the back with lots of "…." In it. Friend looks inside envelope at an arms distance. Inside is another note and one rotten egg. "Why would you wanna send someone a rotten egg." Only some of them would give you free rides on the Pan-O-Panic. Manager "Messure messure…" etc. explaining but we can't understand. Friend shakes head, puffs air into his face with his shirt, and drops the envelope out the window. It lands on a ledge too far down to reach. The manager, in mid-speech "Noooo!" runs to window. He is angry, looks back at friend. Climbs out on balcony with thick book. Friend says to guy, "…and that is how I lost my thesaurus." Walks away from window. Slowly realizes that he wants the book, turns, and returns to window. "Ok ok ok ok ok!" Manager out on balcony holds book over the side. Says something we can't understand. Friend sees envelope out of reach. "Now how my gonna reach that??" Manager says more stuff we can't understand. Drops book. The book sails past the envelope and lands 3 floors down. Friend rushes out of room, down the stairs, reaches the pool deck where the book lies. Another man is ambling toward the book, reaches it before the friend ("Hey hey hey hey hey!") The man has picked up the book, gets scared, runs, falls into pool. Friend jumps in after him, climbs up the man and out of the pool grabbing the book from his hand. "I can't swim I can't swim." Friend lifts him out to sit on the poolside. Looks up to the 3rd floor window. I wake up. ||||||||| 5/18/02 1:00am Bapudi noticed from behind a fence that there were 10, 50, 100 dollar bills on the grass in the park. following their trail and picking them up greedily, we came upon an old Asian man. at first we thought he was trying to pick up all his money he had lost. but they we noticed that he was laying it down on the ground on purpose, quite diligently. we took as much as we could and continued walking looking for more. eventually we came back the way we had come, and back by the man. he was now on the ground. jokingly I said "I kicked your ass when I saw you...". somebody else helped me, and we finished the joke together "... and now I'm gonna kick your ass again!". we laughed a little. but the man just lay there, rolling around slightly. we noticed that he was in pain, and dying, having really been beaten down by someone.. we talked to him, trying to comfort him. I rubbed his head gently and noticed that his skull was smashed in the front and in the back. as he rolled slightly, his head was like a sack of mud on the ground. shapeless and broken. I told the group this. the man, groaning, said "just leave me. ill be fine." understanding that he was ok to die, I asked him to come visit me from the afterlife if he could. "nothing scary. don't make it scary. nice and peacefully. k?" *(interesting to note, this dream was not scary in the least.. though it was not particularly peaceful either.) the seemed to smile, no answer I could really make out for sure. feeling bad that I was babbling on to this dying man who wanted to be left alone. the group and I walked on.
(I knocked over something really loud and obnoxious as we left) looking back, the man was suddenly very at home. he had crawled back under some sort of shelter, in the darkness. and it was like he was in bed in some little shack or humble hut. [no longer seem to be in the park, but he are heading back toward a hole in a fence] looking closer he was writing something down. I assumed he was writing his last words before he died. I turned to follow the group and told them "he's writing". they were amazed and we said something brief about how he seemed pretty "together". even though he didn't until now. but I was still surprised that he was alive enough to write. I didn't look back again. |||||||||
Bapudi is evil, yes, but not ... re not bad, you're ... I'm not good, I'm not nice, I'm ... the truly enjoyable moments in ... What a terrible depression ... sheer evil in ... has no equals ... Bapudi is passable, even enjoyable at times ... a terrible, terrible take desecration ... in Evil: Code Veronica ... No, no no. It appears ... Not too bad, but not too good. They ...Bapudi Time: A nice little poem ... becoming right. Yes, I know ... Yig especially enjoyable. Mr ... I received no feeling ... as bad as ... how terrible this ... the evil is ... ghouls. Good work .. Still, lashing constables capture each and every tongue and spiders message rumpled in newspapers and sealed tightly in some sort of plastic or rubber container. Something that snaps shut, preferable. Step 2: Slide grasping rod along guide ring until socket CC is in line with the spacer attached to node 6. Creams of delicious vegetation and capital asphyxiation adorn the lot of barrels strewn in strings along the wall ready to fall on your face if you disrupt the precarious organization of collectables. Rich in harness. Rich in materialistic harmony and which can be accessorized with bapudi in such a manor that the it becomes such that bapudi is glazing some sort of giant sculpted endeavor realistically proportioned but completely outlandish and spastic in sublimation. The salamanders will love it. Directly above the curtain rod keeping the swinging door from swinging is the ring-tailed creature of the North reviving lists and legs and never responding. It seems that the stomach in which we all rot feeds the body in to which the blame for all of our rotting pain could conceivably be placed because the stomach that encases us is an integral part of a body which is more or less controlled by the brain inside your head. So kill it, but slowly so as not to upset our atmosphere too rapidly or dramatically. Dew trickles down the face of the cliff. Giant massive drops of tearful brine, so huge as to not even be called drops but more like vast boulders of liquid. Enormous planets of tears held together by their own gravitational fields and cascading down the face of a cliff adorned with your protective embankment of sensitive eyelashes. Crisp denotations will evolve slowly over great distances. Absolutely, upon the ending of their beginnings, our recreations will become more than relaxation or entertainment and more of recreating originals and reinventing new originals for our grand children and great-grand children to recreate to. Psychrophiles allow companies the use of enzymes that work to process foods at refrigerator temperatures and wash clothes in cold water ("cold-wash" laundry detergents). Acid-tolerant acidophiles are being used increasingly in animal feed to carry out digestive functions in the acidic environment of an animal's stomach. Also, proteases (protein degraders) and lipases (grease degraders) used in laundry detergent to decompose stains are destroyed by the highly alkaline nature of soaps and detergents. But alkaliphilic versions of stain-fighting enzymes can both withstand soapy alkalinity and decompose the proteins and grease found in stains. The discovery of these extremeophiles may have more of an impact on our society than we can even imagine, beyond laundry and food-processing. The slower you think about it the more wrong the pronunciation seems like it would rather be. Notice next time that you breathe in and upwards more than often and peak wrinkles with double license. My malformed self and ampliformed self got together in the park one fine sunny day. A lunch we had prepared lay waiting on a blanket. As we noticed, the trees parted and thousands upon thousands strange alien creatures came marching out. More came every day, and we could soon see them to be forming a massive army ready to advance upon us, eat our food, and kill us. Endings are always the most easy to convert. Using Bapudi's special skills pamphlet, you stink more than a camel's ass. Once reading this random bit of information from the side of a cardboard box is all important to the tangent of the earth's orbit to the rotation of the galaxy's expulsive waste quotient. Sityth mas moochos tanguesse lip sweating yip yip hagger lager most marliflourous ack and tastes more or less like any other type of lunchmeat you've ever eaten or at leaste have been served in the paste. Too many tyos for my tast. Captains have breathed much futher harpoons eastward than westward. Such and such lies lived once around the dock but eventually open novas were cut the lather and seen you to the side. Post that: you find yourself at the top of a vacant lot miles above everything else and you fall down and hurt yourself. Most people's liver is made mostly of grated humus, but nobody notices because grated humus happens to have very similar properties to the human liver. It also seems to stay all in a big lump (just like a human liver does!) when it is warm and wet. Wet things that also coagulate work the best, like blood. We tried to reason with Bapudi but it was no use. After tongue-twisting my way through the loose linguistic fodder we grappled for bullets and marched on to Ignatious Fex. We ended up, though, on a tropical island where we found out for certain this time that it is often messy but always a good time when Juicypods vacation. Ransack the terrace! Lashing in, each mothers son becomes the other mothers tongue. Rinse, then repeat if necessary. It doesn't necessarily mean to rinse before the greasy wonder-mints and cabbage stained pants! Bumpy though may be the surface, scratch the paper accent rivers through their fair share of access madness before torture-shredding the mark-up relief battlement forms and exposure max-leaf stub form from April, back in 1996. Thoughts can be so inconsiderate when you dimple the pleasant membrane at the coordinates 33.22.512. Blanket rivers stifle ruptured necking rather than flaccid clippings or ghastly numb.

© Bapudi 2003


-=OJ$LO=-