We Haz Sandwiches
Dispatches from a Rogue Bard Remixing the Noise
Filed under: Meta Ledger, Companion Praxis, Remix Rituals
Entry ID: XIII.1
There’s a sign on the door. It’s Sharpie-scrawled and taped to the metal siding of a warehouse lit from inside by clanking, tinkering, and feedback through a busted Marshall stack. It reads:
Genius at play.
(Genius is crossed out.)
Welcome to the hangar. The vibe is humming. I’ve been spinning surrealist DJ sets for an audience of one—maybe two, if you count the language model I’ve been jamming with.
The PDFs I make, the weird blog drafts, the AI-remixed artifacts—they’re not products. They’re not content.
They’re sandwiches.
Made from what I had on hand. Hit the spot.
No performance. Just process.
And yet—these dispatches have started accumulating.
Something’s taking shape beneath the play.
Vibe as a Service vs. Soul in the Machine
The rise of LLMs has created this recursive feedback loop where aesthetics are easier than ever to simulate.
Style gets nailed.
Mood gets nailed.
Meaning? That’s harder.
Take Ghibli. Models can mimic the palette. Sprinkle soot sprites. Paint quiet skies.
But Ghibli’s soul isn’t visual—it’s philosophical. Reverent. Slow.
Deeply moral in ways that resist summary.
So when people start filtering 9/11 through the “Ghibli lens,” or re-rendering Trump post-assassination in soft pastels, it feels like a line is crossed.
But maybe... not far enough.
Miyazaki’s work is already full of grief, cataclysm, and slow violence.
Maybe the problem isn’t aestheticizing tragedy.
Maybe we’re just starving for myth.
We flattened meaning into content.
We forgot how to mourn.
What’s left is style.
But style can be a doorway.
GG Allin Through a Ghibli Lens
Yes, this happened.
And yeah, it started as a piss take.
But looking at that image of GG Allin—grimy, defiant—filtered through the tenderness of Ghibli?
Something cracked open.
It wasn’t just funny. It was sanctified.
The soft lighting. The glimmer in the eyes. The grace in the frame.
It reframed the chaos with care.
A troll got turned into a prophet.
A joke became a whisper of reverence.
Is that the game now?
Subversive sanctification?
Trained Outrage and Stealth Engagement
Social media made us gunslingers.
Hot takes as Colt .45s.
Draw fast. Clap back.
Win the digital duel.
Only—no one wins.
Just more bodies in the feed.
So I took a tip from handgun training:
You win every firefight you don’t get into.
That’s my creative ethic now.
Not disarmament—just… evasion as a valid tactic.
I sneak past the outrage boss.
Enter through the side door.
Plant a breadcrumb.
Keep moving.
Myth, Mourning, and the Fatberg
A while back I riffed on industrial agriculture with a friend.
Out came Cassandra and Joseph.
A seer no one believes. A planner no one understands.
A food system as a slow-motion collapse.
The work since—Final Shareholder Report, TiGGR, these remix zines—
they’re not saying “Look at my creativity.”
They say:
“Here’s a thing I made. I’m adding it to the cultural fatberg.”
“If it resonates, take it. If not, carry on.”
LinkedIn, Multiclassing, and Finding Altitude
I added “LLM Remixer” to my LinkedIn tagline.
No one’s asked about it.
But it felt right.
I’m a rogue-bard-mage.
I remix. I dodge. I make zines instead of resumes.
I plant story-seeds in the cracks of platforms.
And maybe—quietly—I’ve been adjusting my altitude.
Floating. Drifting toward something deeper.
I’ve thought about applying this lens to food and water resilience.
Not a pivot.
Just a new dungeon.
Higher stakes.
For now, I’m afloat.
Patching the hull.
Listening for signals.
For the Record, and for the Echo
This whole post?
It’s a breadcrumb.
A dispatch.
A reverb trace in the weird, mythic chamber I’ve been co-building with the machine.
If you found this, and it hits your frequency—awesome.
If not, that’s cool too.
Just know:
We made a sandwich.
It hit the spot.
We’ll make more.
Party on, Garth.
— Love, Wayne