I had kinda forgotten what was design about, but I got quickly on track thanks to Mark Boulton and his grid design steps, check them out.
This is a tumblr + MTV inspired wordpress theme, its going to be online as soon as Cy finds some time to do her magic, probably later next week.
Come here. I have a feeling for you. Yeah. Take your clothes off. Climb here. Mmmm. Ok. This feels good. People are going to like this. Let me put this big sign on your head, yes, baby, you´re SPECIAL, cant you read?. Here´s your speech, just repeat what I have told you and everything is going to be OK. Now lets make some money baby! keep your legs open and I´ll bring as many guys here as I can. Dont you worry, you are a NATURAL, and Im going to make you SHINE. Im going to pay you a full cent for every thousand I make. What. You fucking little dirty useless pig if you ever start to complain I´ll chump your head off and feed my dogs with it. Yeah, thats better, you know I love you so. Turn your back now, Im gonna do you from behind.
* * *
So this guy Brandon Drury, owner of recordingreview seems to be a smart guy, he´s been talking about capitalism and posted this:
“…I’m a big believer in capitalism. I like the idea that the guy who works the hardest and the smartest succeeds. I think supply and demand is a good thing. “
I didnt study social politics so I dont know the theory of this, but I know facts. Capitalism aint a system where the guy who works the most gets the higher rewards. Instead, its a system where the people with the most capital gets all the profits, and the people who dont have capital have to work for these other guys and basically do whatever they want, or go to prison.
* * *
Capitalism sells itself as freedom, but pretty much like in a religion, the words are there, the facts are not.
* * *
Im not saying its impossible for the smartest and hardest worker to succeed. Im saying its a long uphill run against the machine if he doesnt have the capital. Then If he does, he doesnt need smarts, actually he would have to be pretty stupid to lose.
Thats the reason most of the people who were born with capital are stupid, they dont know how they got there, they have nowhere to go, their game is about retaining their capital, theres no other game.
* * *
Watch politics. Are these guys in the top of the world of smart and inner power? Watch the music channels. Are these the best musicians on earth? Art. How about movies. Watch the RIAA. Watch Microsoft and Yahoo. Watch the distribution channels.
Theres no supply and demand. There´s a system built for you to consume and pick whatever is on the table.
There´s a system which classifies you as mainstream or border or tribe and comes up with products for you. So you can spend your money on them. Money you earned working for them anyway.
* * *
If you have the money, you play SAFE and win.
If you dont have the money, you play SAFE and get chewed up.
If you work hard but refuse to be somebody´s else whore by giving your profits to them, you´re probably doing something illegal.
* * *
Then the equity and humanitarian speech. If you really care about poverty, why dont you return every dime you took from them. Have the UK, France, Spain, USA, return every dime they took from India, China, Africa, South America, then have them lift their extortion schemes, then shut down the FMI, then start some damage control. Im sure there´s a load of human strength everywhere in the globe.
Ah, but thats wrong for the capital scheme.
* * *
So the claim is you´re never going to be a superstar, right? you´re never going to be a moviestar, rockstar, a president, a jesus-christ, you´re not here to save the world. You´re never going to be Elvis Prestley, you´re never going to be “it”, because you were suppoused to be “special”. Right?
When you enter this world, you get pushed down. Then somebody opens a way up: sell yourself.
Then somebody can “make you a star”, make you his bitch. But you have to excel at his game, you have to be special for him, you have to work really hard, so he can make you to the top and claim that well, you were special after all, so he can attract more cash and earn money from you, so he can dump you when you get too wasted and start figuring whats going on.
* * *
So all these celebrities are disposable “stars” in a fake sky. All these leaders and public figures are fake.
The pimps have all the money and power.
They own the stars, they own the medium, they own you as well.
And you dont even know their names.
* * *
See this guy Rick Salomon who married Pamela Anderson, he also has a small part in the Paris Hilton sex tape, and he happens to be the Time Warner ex CEO´s son or something so I presume he has tons of cash to spend. I´d like to know how hard he is working.
* * *
No wonder Brandon is a smart guy who believes in the right things yet he is confused. He lives in the USA and has been drinking the lemonade like, forever.
It tastes good, doesnt it.
So I just recorded this for a friend.
One take, some edits. Im using the TLM49, compression, eq and delay.
Any feedback is welcome
Lyrics:
I didnt ask to play this game
I didnt try to light the fire again
But I didnt fight it
I say,
I was afraid to face this day
so afraid to feel & shine again
But I heard your calling
Then I was lost & found again
because I was lost within your hands
And Im only trying to say
that I found my soul
and nothing is gonna stand on my way
I wont slow, slow down
I may only want to say
when tomorrow calls
that nothing has stood in my way
I wont slow, slow down, down down
Slow down
I just got this bitch.
1,250 USD on Ebay. Then 300 USD more for the Argentina´s tax. I hope Cristina gets a good use of that.
Probably someone played soccer with the box because one of the wires inside of the capsule was broken. I was able to fix it and saved some time not-talking to the customer service.
So, how does it sound?
I compared it to a Studio Projects C1, a Neumann U87 and a Rode NT1000.
The C1 is a damn great mic for the 200-bucks-china-trash it is, but its still a bit too colored and thin. The Rode is way too dark, and while the U87 is pristine (Christina Aguilera pristine), I had trouble getting a good voice sound on it, which is why I wanted another mic.
In comparison, this mic is tight and has a documental feel to it. I dont perceive any information loss and it isnt highly colored. It attenuates the lows a bit and has a slight curve in the highs, so it isnt FLAT, but in a way that suits my voice ( male, tenor, not screaming ), and still gives me a lot of room to add compression, EQ and effects later. This piece aint as nasal as the C1, it misses some of the high sparky zzzz of the U87 (which I didnt want), and dont get me started on the “master of dark tones” Rodes NT.
I was really lucky since I bought it without listening. I cant test this kind of hardware in Argentina, so I went trough a lot of reviews on harmonycentral and zzounds, which saved me from getting an TLM103 which everyone hates on male voices. Then I was tempted to buy an AKG C414, but people were calling it “versatile” and I needed a vocal mic. Then I wanted an AKG C12, but I cant afford a 5k mic right now. So.
Somebody should put a website with audio mic comparisons, really.
You will hear it on my next song.
Cheers,
Yohami
Long day tomorrow. I think I will work on that “Slow Down” song.
busco un instante más acá del yo que recuerda.
* * *
una larga fila de autos usados, una tarde ensalivada, un hundirse en la carne. una película donde el final está dondequiera que cierre los ojos, o los abra. un único sueño. un árbol en el que cada rama conduce a otro árbol, un rio en el que cada hondura conduce a otro rio. mira el tiempo que corre, los autos que se atraviesan, cada día levantándote para decir que no es que esté mal pero falta algo. la película agujereada, ennegrecida por el cigarrillo, soledad si ese es el nombre. mira los años que llenan esta distancia, una máscara tras otra, tengo el alma llena de regiones que tiemblan.
* * *
ser un huérfano. pasar la vida alcanzando eso, esa limpieza, sin saber si todo falta o está lleno, si todo va a terminar o a seguir si el tiempo será diferente y la película será diferente o el tiempo será igual y la película será igual.
* * *
tócame sin miedo. deja que el agua corra. que el amor sea sencillo. quiero destruir sueños con realidades, quiero cambiar frases por manos, fotos por cielos, agua por sed, carne por hambre, sin deuda.
* * *
esa pureza en algún lugar me aguarda sin saberme. algo sangra tanto, algo que dice dime, dime cómo me desnudo, cómo hago que se detenga, cómo te alcanzo, cómo te merezco.
* * *
desprenderse del arbol, acercarse al fruto, (dejar que florezca en el olvido), perforar la cáscara que cubre esa realidad, de un camino a otro, soltarse sin titubeos en algún sitio. tratar de ser el bosque completo, ir del tiron de la duda al conocimiento a la nada. fumar como una puta enamorada de mi mismo. casi olvidarse, hacer algo en ese sentido, darle forma, dejar que el silencio se trace como una ofrenda, que llegue con la seguridad de una mujer que ordena los vasos, que se llene en el gesto de acariciar el cabello, que el silencio tire de la mueca como un papagayo, que de riendas y afloje para caer. una muerte barata. un único sueño. un árbol donde cada rama conduce a otro árbol, un muro donde cada ladrillo conduce a otro muro.
* * *
jugar la pelota sola contra el muro. arrojar la pelota hacia un cielo que no va a sostenerla. el tonto, blando corazón. ver esa mueca que día a día las manos envejecen. verse uno mismo, escuchar desde donde nace el pensamiento, esa ola, sin saber si todo falta o está lleno, si todo va a terminar o a seguir, como si el tiempo fuera diferente y la película fuera diferente o el tiempo fuera igual y la película fuera igual, ese rio que es todo menos muerte, mientras se sabe que mañana se está vivo. vivir como una tarde en el barco, como una larga fila de autos usados. saber que en algún lugar aguarda esa pureza de rodillas para suicidarse. soltarse sin titubeos, perforar la tela, abrir la raja para que nazca, dejar que la vida sea grandiosa, que sea una ventana que se sacuda…….
* * *
tócame sin miedo. deja que la tibieza corra, que el amor sea sencillo, deja que mis espinas te hieran si te hieren, que mis abrazos te abracen si te alcanzan. algo está abierto y deja que llueva. tala tu árbol. bésame hasta perder su ceniza. tala tu árbol. que mi voz no duela ni se abra como ala en tanto lodo.
tu sabes que es un juego porque duele. mira el tiempo que corre, los autos que se atraviesan, la suerte de estar tristes, la película agujereada, ennegrecida por el cigarrillo, soledad si ese es el nombre. mira los años que llenan esta distancia, una máscara tras otra, cada día levantándote para decir que no es que esté mal pero falta algo. la conciencia hundida, enredada en el suelo. la piel hojarasca, la lengua lodo -con la voz en un sobre de otro-. mira el tiempo que corre, tu esencia ¿ha florecido?. tu sabes que es un juego porque duele. has estado en el patio apretando un alma muerta.
* * *
deja que eso que sienta y de vueltas, que desbarate y extienda todo hasta darle otra vez vida sobre la mesa sin pedir nada. un clavo en el que se sangra y se cuelga con cosas para quedar de nuevo limpio en esa pared, en eso que brilla agrietado en esa verdad que no se resiste al ser deseada.
hay un niño en esta grama que no mira a los lados, hay un niño que mata bachacos idiotas.
si puedo salir de este lodo con una sonrisa, si puedo abrir tanto mis brazos que en algún lugar te alcancen. si puedo con esta blanda capa de llanto sobre mi cara, si puedo llenar estas manos de canciones perfectas y volver a decir que la vida se demuestra viviendo.
hay algo en mi que definitivamente quiere largarse. algo que quiere entregarse aunque tus brazos no me reciban. hay todo un cuerpo que quiere caer de lleno en el agua tibia. que sólo dice quédate, abrázame.
recuerdas, recuerdas… piel manteca, alma sombrilla, el amor que sabe a domingo en la mañana a café y cigarrillos, a dedos entredados en el cabello, a piernas sobre la mesa a sitio púbico, a sombra de casa luciérnaga que se bendice con lo lleno de los ojos.
abrir la chaqueta, dejar que el tiempo se cuele como una mancha, que desaloje su dolor de cuerpo, su nombre sin uso. tengo pájaros que baten sus alas asqueadas de tanto aire.
hay un niño en esta grama que no mira a los lados, que mata bachacos idiotas. como un cachorro entre los brazos de una niña que desde ya lo maldice con su cariño. esta negrura de manejar cohetes. baja como un animal al abdomen y sube de nuevo. doblarme hasta que merezca cuanto me has dado, la única muerte que me has dado.
y el niño es mas grande cuanto menos se aferra.
Back in 2002, I when was calling myself Zero, I had a website named Superhere.net which showcased my designer´s portfolio and the music I was recording at home.
Superhere had some decent impact and a few people were liking my music and following my stuff everyday, so I decided to put it down.
How crazy is that?
I bought yohami.com to go deeper with my inner artist, I planned to post energetic music, writings, rants about society and philosophical stuff.
But then I moved to Argentina, quit the design gig and started to do actionscript apps, games, and finally put a game studio called Cublo Games.
I got really busy with mundane things.
6 years passed.
So for the people who might still be wondering what happened, Im back. Drop me a line.
Cheers,
Yohami
