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Bob Dylan – Facts. NobelPrize.org

 

When I first received this Nobel Prize for Literature, I got to wondering exactly how my songs related to literature. I wanted to reflect on it and see where the connection was. I’m going to try to articulate that to you. And most likely it will go in a roundabout way, but I hope what I say will be worthwhile and purposeful.

If I was to go back to the dawning of it all, I guess I’d have to start with Buddy Holly. Buddy died when I was about eighteen and he was twenty-two. From the moment I first heard him, I felt akin. I felt related, like he was an older brother. I even thought I resembled him. Buddy played the music that I loved – the music I grew up on: country western, rock ‘n’ roll, and rhythm and blues. Three separate strands of music that he intertwined and infused into one genre. One brand. And Buddy wrote songs – songs that had beautiful melodies and imaginative verses. And he sang great – sang in more than a few voices. He was the archetype. Everything I wasn’t and wanted to be. I saw him only but once, and that was a few days before he was gone. I had to travel a hundred miles to get to see him play, and I wasn’t disappointed.

He was powerful and electrifying and had a commanding presence. I was only six feet away. He was mesmerizing. I watched his face, his hands, the way he tapped his foot, his big black glasses, the eyes behind the glasses, the way he held his guitar, the way he stood, his neat suit. Everything about him. He looked older than twenty-two. Something about him seemed permanent, and he filled me with conviction. Then, out of the blue, the most uncanny thing happened. He looked me right straight dead in the eye, and he transmitted something. Something I didn’t know what. And it gave me the chills.

I think it was a day or two after that that his plane went down. And somebody – somebody I’d never seen before – handed me a Leadbelly record with the song “Cottonfields” on it. And that record changed my life right then and there. Transported me into a world I’d never known. It was like an explosion went off. Like I’d been walking in darkness and all of the sudden the darkness was illuminated. It was like somebody laid hands on me. I must have played that record a hundred times.

It was on a label I’d never heard of with a booklet inside with advertisements for other artists on the label: Sonny Terry and Brownie McGhee, the New Lost City Ramblers, Jean Ritchie, string bands. I’d never heard of any of them. But I reckoned if they were on this label with Leadbelly, they had to be good, so I needed to hear them. I wanted to know all about it and play that kind of music. I still had a feeling for the music I’d grown up with, but for right now, I forgot about it. Didn’t even think about it. For the time being, it was long gone.

I hadn’t left home yet, but I couldn’t wait to. I wanted to learn this music and meet the people who played it. Eventually, I did leave, and I did learn to play those songs. They were different than the radio songs that I’d been listening to all along. They were more vibrant and truthful to life. With radio songs, a performer might get a hit with a roll of the dice or a fall of the cards, but that didn’t matter in the folk world. Everything was a hit. All you had to do was be well versed and be able to play the melody. Some of these songs were easy, some not. I had a natural feeling for the ancient ballads and country blues, but everything else I had to learn from scratch. I was playing for small crowds, sometimes no more than four or five people in a room or on a street corner. You had to have a wide repertoire, and you had to know what to play and when. Some songs were intimate, some you had to shout to be heard.

By listening to all the early folk artists and singing the songs yourself, you pick up the vernacular. You internalize it. You sing it in the ragtime blues, work songs, Georgia sea shanties, Appalachian ballads and cowboy songs. You hear all the finer points, and you learn the details.

You know what it’s all about. Takin’ the pistol out and puttin’ it back in your pocket. Whippin’ your way through traffic, talkin’ in the dark. You know that Stagger Lee was a bad man and that Frankie was a good girl. You know that Washington is a bourgeois town and you’ve heard the deep-pitched voice of John the Revelator and you saw the Titanic sink in a boggy creek. And you’re pals with the wild Irish rover and the wild colonial boy. You heard the muffled drums and the fifes that played lowly. You’ve seen the lusty Lord Donald stick a knife in his wife, and a lot of your comrades have been wrapped in white linen.

I had all the vernacular down. I knew the rhetoric. None of it went over my head – the devices, the techniques, the secrets, the mysteries – and I knew all the deserted roads that it traveled on, too. I could make it all connect and move with the current of the day. When I started writing my own songs, the folk lingo was the only vocabulary that I knew, and I used it.

But I had something else as well. I had principles and sensibilities and an informed view of the world. And I had had that for a while. Learned it all in grammar school. Don Quixote, Ivanhoe, Robinson Crusoe, Gulliver’s Travels, Tale of Two Cities, all the rest – typical grammar school reading that gave you a way of looking at life, an understanding of human nature, and a standard to measure things by. I took all that with me when I started composing lyrics. And the themes from those books worked their way into many of my songs, either knowingly or unintentionally. I wanted to write songs unlike anything anybody ever heard, and these themes were fundamental.

Specific books that have stuck with me ever since I read them way back in grammar school – I want to tell you about three of them: Moby Dick, All Quiet on the Western Front and The Odyssey.


Moby Dick is a fascinating book, a book that’s filled with scenes of high drama and dramatic dialogue. The book makes demands on you. The plot is straightforward. The mysterious Captain Ahab – captain of a ship called the Pequod –  an egomaniac with a peg leg pursuing his nemesis, the great white whale Moby Dick who took his leg. And he pursues him all the way from the Atlantic around the tip of Africa and into the Indian Ocean. He pursues the whale around both sides of the earth. It’s an abstract goal, nothing concrete or definite. He calls Moby the emperor, sees him as the embodiment of evil. Ahab’s got a wife and child back in Nantucket that he reminisces about now and again. You can anticipate what will happen.

The ship’s crew is made up of men of different races, and any one of them who sights the whale will be given the reward of a gold coin. A lot of Zodiac symbols, religious allegory, stereotypes. Ahab encounters other whaling vessels, presses the captains for details about Moby. Have they seen him? There’s a crazy prophet, Gabriel, on one of the vessels, and he predicts Ahab’s doom. Says Moby is the incarnate of a Shaker god, and that any dealings with him will lead to disaster. He says that to Captain Ahab. Another ship’s captain – Captain Boomer – he lost an arm to Moby. But he tolerates that, and he’s happy to have survived. He can’t accept Ahab’s lust for vengeance.

This book tells how different men react in different ways to the same experience. A lot of Old Testament, biblical allegory: Gabriel, Rachel, Jeroboam, Bildah, Elijah. Pagan names as well: Tashtego, Flask, Daggoo, Fleece, Starbuck, Stubb, Martha’s Vineyard. The Pagans are idol worshippers. Some worship little wax figures, some wooden figures. Some worship fire. The Pequod is the name of an Indian tribe.

Moby Dick is a seafaring tale. One of the men, the narrator, says, “Call me Ishmael.” Somebody asks him where he’s from, and he says, “It’s not down on any map. True places never are.” Stubb gives no significance to anything, says everything is predestined. Ishmael’s been on a sailing ship his entire life. Calls the sailing ships his Harvard and Yale. He keeps his distance from people.

A typhoon hits the Pequod. Captain Ahab thinks it’s a good omen. Starbuck thinks it’s a bad omen, considers killing Ahab. As soon as the storm ends, a crewmember falls from the ship’s mast and drowns, foreshadowing what’s to come. A Quaker pacifist priest, who is actually a bloodthirsty businessman, tells Flask, “Some men who receive injuries are led to God, others are led to bitterness.”

Everything is mixed in. All the myths: the Judeo Christian bible, Hindu myths, British legends, Saint George, Perseus, Hercules – they’re all whalers. Greek mythology, the gory business of cutting up a whale. Lots of facts in this book, geographical knowledge, whale oil – good for coronation of royalty – noble families in the whaling industry. Whale oil is used to anoint the kings. History of the whale, phrenology, classical philosophy, pseudo-scientific theories, justification for discrimination – everything thrown in and none of it hardly rational. Highbrow, lowbrow, chasing illusion, chasing death, the great white whale, white as polar bear, white as a white man, the emperor, the nemesis, the embodiment of evil. The demented captain who actually lost his leg years ago trying to attack Moby with a knife.

We see only the surface of things. We can interpret what lies below any way we see fit. Crewmen walk around on deck listening for mermaids, and sharks and vultures follow the ship. Reading skulls and faces like you read a book. Here’s a face. I’ll put it in front of you. Read it if you can.

Tashtego says that he died and was reborn. His extra days are a gift. He wasn’t saved by Christ, though, he says he was saved by a fellow man and a non-Christian at that. He parodies the resurrection.

When Starbuck tells Ahab that he should let bygones be bygones, the angry captain snaps back, “Speak not to me of blasphemy, man, I’d strike the sun if it insulted me.” Ahab, too, is a poet of eloquence. He says, “The path to my fixed purpose is laid with iron rails whereon my soul is grooved to run.”  Or these lines, “All visible objects are but pasteboard masks.” Quotable poetic phrases that can’t be beat.

Finally, Ahab spots Moby, and the harpoons come out. Boats are lowered. Ahab’s harpoon has been baptized in blood. Moby attacks Ahab’s boat and destroys it. Next day, he sights Moby again. Boats are lowered again. Moby attacks Ahab’s boat again. On the third day, another boat goes in. More religious allegory. He has risen. Moby attacks one more time, ramming the Pequod and sinking it. Ahab gets tangled up in the harpoon lines and is thrown out of his boat into a watery grave.

Ishmael survives. He’s in the sea floating on a coffin. And that’s about it. That’s the whole story. That theme and all that it implies would work its way into more than a few of my songs.


All Quiet on the Western Front was another book that did. All Quiet on the Western Front is a horror story. This is a book where you lose your childhood, your faith in a meaningful world, and your concern for individuals. You’re stuck in a nightmare. Sucked up into a mysterious whirlpool of death and pain. You’re defending yourself from elimination. You’re being wiped off the face of the map. Once upon a time you were an innocent youth with big dreams about being a concert pianist. Once you loved life and the world, and now you’re shooting it to pieces.

Day after day, the hornets bite you and worms lap your blood. You’re a cornered animal. You don’t fit anywhere. The falling rain is monotonous. There’s endless assaults, poison gas, nerve gas, morphine, burning streams of gasoline, scavenging and scabbing for food, influenza, typhus, dysentery. Life is breaking down all around you, and the shells are whistling. This is the lower region of hell. Mud, barbed wire, rat-filled trenches, rats eating the intestines of dead men, trenches filled with filth and excrement. Someone shouts, “Hey, you there. Stand and fight.”

Who knows how long this mess will go on? Warfare has no limits. You’re being annihilated, and that leg of yours is bleeding too much. You killed a man yesterday, and you spoke to his corpse. You told him after this is over, you’ll spend the rest of your life looking after his family. Who’s profiting here? The leaders and the generals gain fame, and many others profit financially. But you’re doing the dirty work. One of your comrades says, “Wait a minute, where are you going?” And you say, “Leave me alone, I’ll be back in a minute.” Then you walk out into the woods of death hunting for a piece of sausage. You can’t see how anybody in civilian life has any kind of purpose at all. All their worries, all their desires – you can’t comprehend it.

More machine guns rattle, more parts of bodies hanging from wires, more pieces of arms and legs and skulls where butterflies perch on teeth, more hideous wounds, pus coming out of every pore, lung wounds, wounds too big for the body, gas-blowing cadavers, and dead bodies making retching noises. Death is everywhere. Nothing else is possible. Someone will kill you and use your dead body for target practice. Boots, too. They’re your prized possession. But soon they’ll be on somebody else’s feet.

There’s Froggies coming through the trees. Merciless bastards. Your shells are running out. “It’s not fair to come at us again so soon,” you say. One of your companions is laying in the dirt, and you want to take him to the field hospital. Someone else says, “You might save yourself a trip.” “What do you mean?” “Turn him over, you’ll see what I mean.”

You wait to hear the news. You don’t understand why the war isn’t over. The army is so strapped for replacement troops that they’re drafting young boys who are of little military use, but they’re draftin’ ‘em anyway because they’re running out of men. Sickness and humiliation have broken your heart. You were betrayed by your parents, your schoolmasters, your ministers, and even your own government.

The general with the slowly smoked cigar betrayed you too – turned you into a thug and a murderer. If you could, you’d put a bullet in his face. The commander as well. You fantasize that if you had the money, you’d put up a reward for any man who would take his life by any means necessary. And if he should lose his life by doing that, then let the money go to his heirs. The colonel, too, with his caviar and his coffee – he’s another one. Spends all his time in the officers’ brothel. You’d like to see him stoned dead too. More Tommies and Johnnies with their whack fo’ me daddy-o and their whiskey in the jars. You kill twenty of ‘em and twenty more will spring up in their place. It just stinks in your nostrils.

You’ve come to despise that older generation that sent you out into this madness, into this torture chamber. All around you, your comrades are dying. Dying from abdominal wounds, double amputations, shattered hipbones, and you think, “I’m only twenty years old, but I’m capable of killing anybody. Even my father if he came at me.”

Yesterday, you tried to save a wounded messenger dog, and somebody shouted, “Don’t be a fool.” One Froggy is laying gurgling at your feet. You stuck him with a dagger in his stomach, but the man still lives. You know you should finish the job, but you can’t. You’re on the real iron cross, and a Roman soldier’s putting a sponge of vinegar to your lips.

Months pass by. You go home on leave. You can’t communicate with your father. He said, “You’d be a coward if you don’t enlist.” Your mother, too, on your way back out the door, she says, “You be careful of those French girls now.” More madness. You fight for a week or a month, and you gain ten yards. And then the next month it gets taken back.

All that culture from a thousand years ago, that philosophy, that wisdom – Plato, Aristotle, Socrates – what happened to it?  It should have prevented this. Your thoughts turn homeward. And once again you’re a schoolboy walking through the tall poplar trees. It’s a pleasant memory. More bombs dropping on you from blimps. You got to get it together now. You can’t even look at anybody for fear of some miscalculable thing that might happen. The common grave. There are no other possibilities.

Then you notice the cherry blossoms, and you see that nature is unaffected by all this. Poplar trees, the red butterflies, the fragile beauty of flowers, the sun – you see how nature is indifferent to it all. All the violence and suffering of all mankind. Nature doesn’t even notice it.

You’re so alone. Then a piece of shrapnel hits the side of your head and you’re dead.
You’ve been ruled out, crossed out. You’ve been exterminated. I put this book down and closed it up. I never wanted to read another war novel again, and I never did.

Charlie Poole from North Carolina had a song that connected to all this. It’s called “You Ain’t Talkin’ to Me,” and the lyrics go like this:

I saw a sign in a window walking up town one day.
Join the army, see the world is what it had to say.
You’ll see exciting places with a jolly crew,
You’ll meet interesting people, and learn to kill them too.
Oh you ain’t talkin’ to me, you ain’t talking to me.
I may be crazy and all that, but I got good sense you see.
You ain’t talkin’ to me, you ain’t talkin’ to me.
Killin’ with a gun don’t sound like fun.
You ain’t talkin’ to me.


The Odyssey is a great book whose themes have worked its way into the ballads of a lot of songwriters: “Homeward Bound, “Green, Green Grass of Home,” “Home on the Range,” and my songs as well.

The Odyssey is a strange, adventurous tale of a grown man trying to get home after fighting in a war. He’s on that long journey home, and it’s filled with traps and pitfalls. He’s cursed to wander. He’s always getting carried out to sea, always having close calls. Huge chunks of boulders rock his boat. He angers people he shouldn’t. There’s troublemakers in his crew. Treachery. His men are turned into pigs and then are turned back into younger, more handsome men. He’s always trying to rescue somebody. He’s a travelin’ man, but he’s making a lot of stops.

He’s stranded on a desert island. He finds deserted caves, and he hides in them. He meets giants that say, “I’ll eat you last.” And he escapes from giants. He’s trying to get back home, but he’s tossed and turned by the winds. Restless winds, chilly winds, unfriendly winds. He travels far, and then he gets blown back.

He’s always being warned of things to come. Touching things he’s told not to. There’s two roads to take, and they’re both bad. Both hazardous. On one you could drown and on the other you could starve. He goes into the narrow straits with foaming whirlpools that swallow him. Meets six-headed monsters with sharp fangs. Thunderbolts strike at him. Overhanging branches that he makes a leap to reach for to save himself from a raging river. Goddesses and gods protect him, but some others want to kill him. He changes identities. He’s exhausted. He falls asleep, and he’s woken up by the sound of laughter. He tells his story to strangers. He’s been gone twenty years. He was carried off somewhere and left there. Drugs have been dropped into his wine. It’s been a hard road to travel.

In a lot of ways, some of these same things have happened to you. You too have had drugs dropped into your wine. You too have shared a bed with the wrong woman. You too have been spellbound by magical voices, sweet voices with strange melodies. You too have come so far and have been so far blown back. And you’ve had close calls as well. You have angered people you should not have. And you too have rambled this country all around. And you’ve also felt that ill wind, the one that blows you no good. And that’s still not all of it.

When he gets back home, things aren’t any better. Scoundrels have moved in and are taking advantage of his wife’s hospitality. And there’s too many of ‘em. And though he’s greater than them all and the best at everything – best carpenter, best hunter, best expert on animals, best seaman – his courage won’t save him, but his trickery will.

All these stragglers will have to pay for desecrating his palace. He’ll disguise himself as a filthy beggar, and a lowly servant kicks him down the steps with arrogance and stupidity. The servant’s arrogance revolts him, but he controls his anger. He’s one against a hundred, but they’ll all fall, even the strongest. He was nobody. And when it’s all said and done, when he’s home at last, he sits with his wife, and he tells her the stories.


So what does it all mean? Myself and a lot of other songwriters have been influenced by these very same themes. And they can mean a lot of different things. If a song moves you, that’s all that’s important. I don’t have to know what a song means. I’ve written all kinds of things into my songs. And I’m not going to worry about it – what it all means. When Melville put all his old testament, biblical references, scientific theories, Protestant doctrines, and all that knowledge of the sea and sailing ships and whales into one story, I don’t think he would have worried about it either – what it all means.

John Donne as well, the poet-priest who lived in the time of Shakespeare, wrote these words, “The Sestos and Abydos of her breasts. Not of two lovers, but two loves, the nests.” I don’t know what it means, either. But it sounds good. And you want your songs to sound good.

When Odysseus in The Odyssey visits the famed warrior Achilles in the underworld – Achilles, who traded a long life full of peace and contentment for a short one full of honor and glory –  tells Odysseus it was all a mistake. “I just died, that’s all.” There was no honor. No immortality. And that if he could, he would choose to go back and be a lowly slave to a tenant farmer on Earth rather than be what he is – a king in the land of the dead – that whatever his struggles of life were, they were preferable to being here in this dead place.

That’s what songs are too. Our songs are alive in the land of the living. But songs are unlike literature. They’re meant to be sung, not read. The words in Shakespeare’s plays were meant to be acted on the stage. Just as lyrics in songs are meant to be sung, not read on a page. And I hope some of you get the chance to listen to these lyrics the way they were intended to be heard: in concert or on record or however people are listening to songs these days. I return once again to Homer, who says, “Sing in me, oh Muse, and through me tell the story.”

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作者其它书也值得读读 已出版《食用油营销第1书》《金龙鱼背后的粮油帝国》《鲁花:一粒花生撬动的粮油帝国》《手机战争》等财经书籍。 第一章 从晶体管到芯片 肖克利要创业的消息,就像17世纪的牛顿宣布要建立工场一样引起了轰动。那时候,美国还在草创时期的半导体产业主要集中在东部的波士顿和纽约长岛地区,许多科学家和工程师精英都慕肖克利之名前往美国西海岸,不远千里地聚集在肖克利旗下。可以这么说,肖克利给硅谷带来了最初的火种。 ——我也認可這個說法,不是斯坦福或其他校園,純粹是人才的原因 芯片发明后的六年间,政府对芯片项目的资助高达3200万美元,其中70%来自空军。同期美国半导体产业的研发经费有约85%的比例来自政府,政府的支持成就了美国在半导体领域的技术优势。“华盛顿通过支付技术研发费用和保证最终产品的市场份额,将原子弹最终制造成功的间隔缩短至六年,晶体管缩短至五年,集成电路缩短至三年。”不过,这些半导体企业实力壮大以后,往往不愿再参与美国政府出资的研发项目,因为那意味着专利权归政府所有,而且还得受保密条款的约束。 ——這纔是更合理的產業支持政策 诺伊斯采用激进的价格政策,将主要芯片产品的价格一举降到1美元,不仅是市场上的主流芯片价格的零头,还低于当时芯片的成本。这不是传统意义上的亏本倾销,而是第一个以反摩尔定律为定价依据的案例。反摩尔定律认为,同样的芯片在18个月后价格就会跌一半,所以按照几年后的价格为当前的芯片定价是有一定合理性的。市场被迅速打开,芯片很快在民用市场得到越来越广泛的应用,仙童的营收和利润都迅速上升,还带动了其母公司的股价上涨。摩尔后来评论:“诺伊斯以低价刺激需求,继而扩大产能、降低成本的策略,对于芯片产业的发展而言,其重要性堪比芯片的发明。” ——看到這裏的時候,真是非常震撼,好厲害的定價策略 东通工用磷渗透法研发出了高频的晶体管,于1957年做出世界上第一款袖珍收音机,并在这款产品上启用了索尼商标。盛田昭夫到美国去推销袖珍收音机的时候,德州仪器刚刚轻率地放弃了这个市场。美国人对盛田昭夫说:你们为什么要制造这种小收音机?美国人都想要大收音机。盛田昭夫回答:单单纽约就有20多家广播公司,同时就有20多套节目在播放,每人使用一台小收音机收听自己喜欢的节目,岂不更好?索尼用“一人一台”的宣传成功打破了美国人全家共用一台大型收音机的观念,成为全世界最畅销的收音机...

产品随想 | 周刊 第116期:Great things in business are never done by one person.

Cromite   https://github.com/uazo/cromite Cromite a Bromite fork with ad blocking and privacy enhancements; take back your browser! awesome-shizuku   https://github.com/timschneeb/awesome-shizuku Curated list of awesome Android apps making use of Shizuku KernelSU   https://github.com/tiann/KernelSU A Kernel based root solution for Android Love, Hate or Fear It, ​​TikTok Has Changed America   https://www.nytimes.com/interactive/2024/04/18/business/media/tiktok-ban-american-culture.html?unlocked_article_code=1.mE0.DpEZ.VWmNssw5B6_c "My model for business is The Beatles.There were four guys who kept each others, kind of, negative tendencies in check. They balanced each other, and the total was greater than the sum of the parts. And that's how I see business. You know, great things in business are never done by one person. They're done by a team of people. "Our motivation is simple--we want to provide the most advanced and innovative platform to our developers, and we wa...

产品随想 | 周刊 第117期:He saw the intersection of art and science and business and built an organization to reflect that.

He disliked biography attempts. “I regard my scientific papers as my essential biography,’’ Land said. “I pour my whole life into the scientific project I’m investigating. I leave behind the things I’ve done in the past to do the work in the present.’’ “The purpose of inventing instant photography was essentially aesthetic,’’ Land said in 1947, announcing the process’s invention. “We live in a world changing so rapidly that what we mean frequently by common sense is doing the thing that would have been right last year.” — Edwin Land, Statement to Polaroid Corporation employees (25 June 1958) The worldview he was describing perfectly echoed Land’s: “Market research is what you do when your product isn’t any good.” And his sense of innovation: “Every significant invention,” Land once said, “must be startling, unexpected, and must come into a world that is not prepared for it. If the world were prepared for it, it would not be much of an invention.” Thirty years later, when a reporter ask...

Scott Forstall: "Great leaders exude a positive attitude of possibility and don’t shy from working harder than their employees and taking risks."​

  Scott Forstall led the team at Apple that developed the iPhone – and is equally successful in vastly different realms, including co-producing multiple Tony Award winning Broadway shows. What has always impressed me most, though, is the time he devotes to mentoring a diverse set of entrepreneurial founders. We’ve had the pleasure of knowing each other for several years, thanks to mutual friend Ali Partovi ’s incredible Neo community , a mentor community, accelerator and VC through which we support junior engineers to become senior leaders. Ali was an early backer of Airbnb, Dropbox, Uber and Facebook, so I knew I was in good hands! At our recent Neo reunion I was able to catch-up with Scott for a wide-ranging conversation on the landscapes of opportunity in technology and what we’re anticipating next. He kindly agreed to go o...

“真假难辨”的效果图如何打造,以一只笔为例(下)——渲染篇

原文地址 独家教程 | “真假难辨”的效果图如何打造,以一只笔为例(下)——渲染篇 上期独家教程,康石石带大家用Rhino完成了 COPIC MULTILINER 针管笔建模(复习请戳: 独家教程 | “真假难辨”的效果图如何打造,以一只笔为例(上)——建模篇 ),下面我们把它丢进Keyshot渲染器里,看看究竟Keyshot究竟能不能打造真实照片一般的既视感。 Keyshot虽为各家晚辈,但近年来突飞猛进。有的同学说Keyshot渲染效果不如V-Ray,但我们可以看下本期独家教程内容再作判断。 基础材质赋予 首先我们打开 Keyshot 基本导入参数 导入后 由于我们事先在Rhino中,对各个部件分过色,所以我们可以直接,尽情 把左边各种需要的材质球直接拖到需要的部件上 。 初步赋予材质后效果 特写效果 环境光赋予 Keyshot预设的材质显然不能够完全适合所需情况,且物体上的光线并不是很正确。因此同学们需要 将环境光换成更加接近真实摄影棚的灯光场景 。 选用 3 Panels Tilted 2k 作为的基本环境光,将环境光拖入环境里之后,效果如下: 模型各部材质赋予 由于光影的变化,整个模型已更加真实。 接下来 各部的材质还需根据实际的视觉情况 手工调整 。 以下是这次模型各部材质的参数:   笔身主要的金属材质 黑色塑料件部分以及笔头的黑色 笔夹与笔头所使用的金属材质 Tip:金属材质是将Keyshot预设的钢材质的粗糙度调整为0.01而成。 握柄处的塑料材质 Tip:因为塑料的视觉特点,此处特地选用了 半透明属性的材质 做调整,除了表面颜色的参数之外,剩余的三个颜色区域均使用了 R255,G255,B255的纯白 。 笔身标签渲染 在给各部赋予了材质之后,产品很重要的一个环节就是印刷于产品之上的各种商标与说明,在Keyshot中,这些效果可以很轻松的通过标签功能来实现。 首先对实物上的印刷效果进行观察, 可以看出实物上的印刷效果其实是比较立体的 。 Tip: 细节,往往是产品品质的一种体现。 在效果图的渲染中,也应该...

巴菲特致股东信-1971年

 编者笔记: 保险业务因为高毛利,开始有了更多竞争(资本逐利性) 确保当保险灾难来临时,有能力调集足够的资金来解决 巴菲特几乎从不进行恶意收购,收购的主要目的是:长期持有企业以获得经营利润并利用自由现金流再投资 原文: https://xueqiu.com/6217262310/131103035  To the Stockholders of Berkshire Hathaway Inc.: It is a pleasure to report that operating earnings in 1971, excluding capital gains, amounted to more than 14% of beginning shareholders' equity. This result--considerably above the average of American industry--was achieved in the face of inadequate earnings in our textile operation, making clear the benefits of redeployment of capital inaugurated five years ago. It will continue to be the objective of management to improve return on total capitalization (long term debt plus equity), as well as the return on equity capital. However, it should be realized that merely maintaining the present relatively high rate of return may well prove more difficult than was improvement from the very low levels of return which prevailed throughout most of the 1960's. ...

《Becoming Steve Jobs》Chapter 11 Do Your Level Best

As a mass-market consumer electronics device, the iPod would eventually be sold, of course, all the usual places: Best Buy, Circuit City, big-box department stores, and even the computer retailers like CompUSA. Steve disdained all these outlets. His obsession with his products continued well after they’d been manufactured. The tacky, low-margin hustle of these chains ran completely against the minimalist aesthetic of his products and the clean exuberance of his marketing. There was only one place where he really enjoyed seeing his products sold to the public: his own Apple stores, which had debuted four months ahead of the iPod. 觉得那些喧嚣、嘈杂的零售渠道,配不上自己极美的产品 Going back as far as the debut of the Mac, Steve had always groused about the way Apple computers were sold in its resellers’ stores. The way his computers were displayed and sold represented the very worst of what could go wrong when things weren’t done his way. The salespeople, always interested in quick turnover, seemed to make litt...

Steve Jobs on the iTunes Music Store: The Unpublished Interview

A candid talk with Apple's CEO on a landmark day in its history. By Laura Locke  |  Wednesday, December 7, 2011 at 1:15 am Steve Jobs announces the iTunes Music Store. On April 28th, 2003, moments before I was about to interview Steve Jobs at San Francisco’s Moscone Center, I was jittery. Anticipation? Nerves? Excitement? You bet. All of those visceral emotions were firing. Knowing Jobs’ storied reputation as an irascible and exacting Silicon Valley CEO had me on edge. But I had prepared a tight set of questions. Secretly, I was hoping he might enjoy the line of inquiry. In turn, I would have a lively and candid report for my editors at TIME. What I didn’t know was that the interview was taking place on what would turn out to be one of the most important days in Apple’s history: The launch of the iTunes Music Store. Once again, Ste...

产品随想 | 周刊 第50期:2010年kkndme:写在房价暴涨前

Products Digital Clock 4   https://sourceforge.net/projects/digitalclock4/ 开源的桌面时钟工具,开源,Linux, Mac, Windows FlipIt   https://github.com/phaselden/FlipIt Flip Clock screensaver 开源的翻页时钟 Windows 11 Fixer   https://github.com/99natmar99/Windows-11-Fixer Windows 11 Fixer is a program designed to make customizing your Windows 11 as easy as possible. 在一个集中的位置,能直接Win11相关的设置 即食历史   https://cuphistory.net/ 非常简短的历史科普,Base香港,很多内容有广东话 kkndme聊房   https://github.com/momo0853/kkndme kkndme聊房,数据整理自天涯。提供HTML、PDF和Markdown三种形式。 v86   https://github.com/copy/v86 x86 virtualization in your browser, recompiling x86 to wasm on the fly 浏览器中模拟x86 GitHub City   https://github.com/honzaap/GithubCity Create a 3D city from your GitHub contributions 让过往成城 Layoffs.fyi   Tracker   https://layoffs.fyi/ Tracking all tech startup layoffs since COVID-19. 用技术,监测疫情依赖的美国科技公司裁员 Trianglify   https://github.com/qrohlf/trianglify Algorithmically generated triangle art Low Poly生成工具...