Hunting Mosquitoes With a Blunderbuss

Perhaps I’m more disconnected from regular life than the average Joe, but look at that video. Did you know the LLM thang had progressed this far, this fast? Internet wags who stubbornly still call it nothing but glorified autofill might want to rethink their opinions. Although no one ever rethinks their opinions on the internet, do they?

Another term that gets used to describe all manner of LLM ouput is slop. It was the word of the year, and an addendum has been made to the word’s entry in the dictionary to account for the output of Large Language Models. Most devotees of calling everything an LLM puts out “slop” are textual complainers, not visual cavilers. I’d like to take up the cudgels for anyone who wants to call the video we just watched slop, because it is. Just not for the reasons they’d like to think it is.

By referring to the things that LLMs put out as slop, people are mostly objecting to the great leveling that they produce. But the average of everything is bound to be average, isn’t it? Complaining about it seems a fool’s errand. I was on the committee that named the internet, and I remember that Fool’s Errand came in second in the naming list. Pandora’s Hope Chest and The My Little Ponies of the Apocalypse had too many letters, and fell out of the running early. Al Gore said it was the internet, and here we are. Calling machine written text slop, when referring to the internet, is silly. The internet has always been 99% poorly written slop. At least chatbots can spell correctly.

So exactly where is the here, you know, where we are? Watch the video again. It’s not easy to make a video like that. It looks to my eye about as sophisticated a final LLM product as you could find. Then again I might have fallen behind the times in the time it took me to type this. Progress, if you want to call it that, is happening fast, and picking up speed.

My wife is quite innocent, and asked me how much of the video was real. She assumed that at least the young woman host must be a green screen projection of a real person, and some of the backgrounds must be some sort of Colonial Williamsburg real-life thing. I told her that the girl, and everything else, appears to be some guy name Jonathan, sitting at a desk, who types faster than I do, and knows how to stitch together all the LLM apps and LLM prompts to produce videos like that.

I asked an LLM (Chat GPT) to explain exactly how to make a video like this. It didn’t have any trouble, and explained it in great detail, which I won’t bore you with. I’ll bore you using my usual methods. I did ask it to make a short summation of how the video was achieved, and it kindly boiled it down:

Creators usually build these videos with a multi-stage AI pipeline rather than one app alone.

Typical apps:

OpenAI Sora, Runway, Kling AI, or Luma AI for generating photorealistic video clips
ElevenLabs for AI voiceovers
Adobe Premiere Pro or DaVinci Resolve for editing and stitching shots together

The prompting technique is highly structured. Instead of a simple sentence, creators stack detailed layers describing:

format (“vertical iPhone selfie vlog”)
subject (“young woman with messy auburn hair”)
action (“walking through Tudor London talking to camera”)
environment (“muddy streets, timber houses, chimney smoke”)
camera behavior (“handheld shake, autofocus hunting, rolling shutter”)
lighting (“flat cloudy daylight”)
realism flaws (“compression artifacts, motion blur, imperfect framing”)
negative constraints (“no CGI look, no cinematic lighting, no face warping”)

The realism comes from intentionally simulating imperfect smartphone footage rather than polished cinema. Modern AI models learned not only historical imagery, but also TikTok/influencer behavior patterns and phone-camera physics. Creators then generate many short clips, discard bad outputs, and edit the best pieces together into a seamless “historical influencer vlog.”

I noticed that the intrepid authors of videos like these seem to have at least mostly solved the problem of drift. LLMs had a tendency to allow things to morph into different things when making longer clips, so something like the narrator would be a problem. She’d be the internet ideal of a hot babe one minute, and slowly turn into someone else as the video went along. The characters in the video are pretty immutable through the whole thing, a real accomplishment. I found it kinda amusing that Anne Boleyn’s face was grabbed from a portrait I recognized, just made a little less dowdy and two-dimensional. A few months ago, an LLM might have made her look like Anna Nicole Smith after enough frames, for inscrutable LLM reasons.

So I promised you I was going to complain, in your honor, about the LLM slop this video represents. Here goes:

It’s wonderful. Truly. It’s a hair’s breadth from being an entire movie production studio RAMmed into a Dell Optiplex. It could be as big a breakthrough as Edison’s kinetoscope. To find its equal, I’d have to go back to Charlie Chaplin setting up shop on North La Brea Avenue, and thinking about making more than Keystone Kops two-reelers. It has that kind of potential. Unfortunately, it will all be wasted.

You see, I can picture what could be accomplished with this setup, or probably the setup that comes right after this one. Movies and television entertainment could be wrested back from the avaricious, depraved, unfunny, and historically, economically, and socially illiterate people who have a death grip on it now. But I know in my heart it won’t be. Staunch traditionalists will continue to complain that they don’t make movies like they used to, and then renew their Netflix subscription, lest they miss out on seeing Batman XIV, an adaptation of La Cage aux Folles.

The premise of the Chloe vs. History is charming, if you squint hard enough. The simalacrum of the same kind of vapid influencer girl with a camera on a stick, going on vacation and telling you all food is amazing as long as it’s served in a foreign restaurant, going back in time instead, could have an element of humor in it. It doesn’t, but it could. It’s a testament to the kind of imagination at work. It took a lot of intelligence and hard work to find, master, and cobble together all the LLM applications that make that video possible. The nature of the intelligence stopped there. It doesn’t know what to ask it, excuse me — tell it — to do. So he makes a TikTok influencer vlog, because it’s all he knows. Of course he’s double smart, because he knows it’s the only sort of thing his audience is going to understand, too.

Once the charm wears off, you notice that the missing element is something truly intelligent, insightful, or even informative. The THING, the agglomeration of apps and circuits, is probably nearly capable of producing a new Citizen Kane if you told it to, a real story with real characters who do dramatic but believable things. No one will even try. The same people who make Helen of Troy a rich, dark hue, and say Thomas Cromwell was the hero of the Tudor piece, and a sex machine to boot, will make the LLM slop, because they’re in charge of the big budget slop already. They’re currently using cameras instead of mainframes, but they’ll adapt. The remaining set painters, the ones not already in the breadline from green-screen filming, will be laid off, and the production of anti-human entertainment pablum will accelerate, not diminish, simply because it will be cheaper.

Granpa told me all about the genie in the lamp.

It’s the oldest story ever and came from the land of the sand and the women with only eyes. It’s in there, the genie of everything, but you have to find him and let him out. Then he’s out and you have to figure what to do with him. Granpa says he’s wonderful but as dumb as a stump, just like all of us. He can do anything but doesn’t know what to do. He needs guidin’.

The lamp is always hidden in plain sight he says. Men go prospectin’ all over the landscape for the easy riches but they’re generally layin’ right there on the ground but you step over them in your hurry and scurry to look for them. Granpa points to the men through the door of the grog shop and they’re playin’ cards and Granpa says what good does it do for them to find the riches anyway.

Granpa would take the books down from the high shelves that the kids weren’t supposed to get because the treasure in them was too dear to waste on such as us. He told me to run my hands over the cloth on the cover to see if it was the real deal inside there. They don’t waste the nubbly cloth on the fakers.

The lady wouldn’t like it but Granpa would shush her and we’d go home and open that book but only so far. A book is like a man, Granpa would say. You can only bend him so far back until he can’t take it no more and then his back breaks. People always put the book back on the shelf but you can always tell because neither the man nor the book can stand up straight any more after that.

Scheherezade told that Sultan all those stories and it kept her alive and me too.

Are You a Farmer? Are You a Star?

Wet Willie on the Midnight Special back in 1974. Aw yeah.

To modern ears, the musical production can sound  “thin.” Recent recordings don’t have any dynamics in them anymore. It’s mixed to make every second of it just as loud as every other second. There’s not much air in it anywhere these days. Not so back in the day.

The voices in the video are just straight into an SM 58 microphone with some reverb. I don’t know any singer that could get along like that now. It’s all pitch corrected, and flanged, delayed and chorused, and who knows what-all to make fourteen voices in a cavern out of any old mumbling that goes into the microphone. You can actually hear Jimmy Hall, and the two off-duty stewardesses, singing the song. It’s a bit of a treat. Bar band writ large.

I doubt any of their amplifiers had a direct line out, to go straight into the mixing board to be processed and sent out through the venue’s bigger sound reinforcement system. I remember buying my first bass amp head in the 80s that had a direct out. It made it easy for the sound man to put me straight out of the PA speakers. My amplifier and speaker weren’t hernia-inducing anymore after that. That’s why the Ampeg bass stack you see in the video is five feet high. It’s gotta make enough noise to hold its own with an electrified band, basically unaided. That’s also why it sounds kinda woolly. Playing with a pick doesn’t help.

The guitar player is playing through some kind of Fender amp you can see there on the floor behind the keyboard player, next to the keyboard amp. A Twin, or a Vibrolux or something. It’s got another SM 58 slung over the amp and hanging down in front of the speakers, to feed the mixing board somewhere offstage. That’s Old Skool sound reinforcement right there.

Every drum is miked nowadays, when it’s not entirely a drum machine, anyway. Back then, you can see the drummer has the classic three-mike setup, with one mike pointing at the space between the snare and the hi-hat cymbals, another one pointed at the drum head of the kick drum, placed on the floor in front of it, and a third on a boom overhead that takes care of the floor tom, the mounted tom (there’s only one, how many do you need?), and the ride cymbal. My children were always short of microphones and had the same setup when they recorded or performed live with their own equipment. It’s all you need, really.

Wet Willie is classified as Southern Rock, but I dunno. It’s as good a handle as any, I guess. They were on Capricorn Records, and opened for the Allman Brothers, so. This song itself is kinda unclassifiable.

The band was a bit of a family affair. Jimmy Hall is singing and playing the harp, his brother is playing bass, and his sister Donna Hall is singing backup. The band used to perform supercharged covers of things like That’s All Right Mama by Arthur Big Boy Crudup.

Like a lot of blues songs, Keep on Smilin’ isn’t overtly a happy song. It sneaks up on you. It’s a form of communal hardship, A problem shared is a problem halved, right? It’s a recitation of common woes, and an exhortation not to let them get you down. The verses of the song are sung over a kind of herky-jerky rhythm that’s as disjointed as life’s little foibles. Then he leads into the soaring bridge with the exhortation: Keep. On… and the girls sing like angels with dirty faces and everyone feels better and you can just float away on it if you like.

Jimmy’s outfit, however, is beyond description, never mind explanation, so I won’t attempt it. Are you a farmer? Are you a star? Indeed.

Amway Without the Soap

If you’ve been hiding under a rock lo these many years, everything depicted in this video might be news to you. If so, I’d like the address of your rock, and want to sublet part of the shadow from you. Even if you are clued in, the refresher course they put under all these videos on RubeTube with a link to Wikipedia won’t do you any harm:

Sovereign citizen movement
Wikipedia • The sovereign citizen movement is a loose group of anti-government activists, conspiracy theorists, vexatious litigants, tax protesters and financial scammers found mainly in English-speaking common law countries—the United States, Canada, Australia, the United Kingdom, and New Zealand.

If you’re wondering what Mexicans like to watch on TV, wonder no further. Most everyone here likes to watch Americans getting arrested. There are about a zillion YouTube channels that mimic the hoary original TV show, Cops, and I swear my friends in Yucatan watch all of them. In the first AirBnB we rented a couple of years ago, if you turned on the TV without subscription logins in hand, all you got was Cops dubbed in Spanish as the single default channel. As far as Mexico goes, there are no home grown versions of these arrest videos, because people don’t act like that here, and are mystified and modestly entertained by watching Americans fling their poo at the popo.

All the entertainment and commentary in these videos are the downstream effect of demanding that police wear body cameras all the time. It didn’t work out like they planned. Everyone still tries the I can’t breathe dindu nuthin’ dodge. No one’s buying it anymore, because there’s an almost unlimited supply of bodycam depictions of diddo everythin’. They show that American police are generally polite and professional, to the point of being overly deferential to raging a-holes, if you ask me. The cops seem mostly resigned to the “catch and release” program of the judiciary, and plod along, wearily asking, over and over, if any driver has a valid driver’s license, a current registration, and paid up insurance. They’re all hoping to someday find that single, elusive driver, every traffic cop’s white whale, someone who can answer, “Yes.”

So my Mexican friends are quite well versed in the art of PIT maneuvers, window breakage, generous applications of pepper spray, wobbly straight line walking, jerking eye motions, and fighting with the cops while declaiming, “I’m not resisting.” But they were all mystified by Sovereign Citizens. The Spanish subtitles are of no use to a Spanish speaker, because the English being spouted is of no use to an English speaker. The people are plain nuts, but they don’t appear to be like the usual meth-addled impromptu Grand Theft Auto contestants that the Arkansas state troopers are currently ramming at 120 MPH. So they ask me, “¿Qué onda?” What gives?

After some cogitation, I realized I had seen this sort of behavior before, but not where you might have expected to find it. Sovereign Citizenry is just Amway without the soap. I’ll explain.

Both sets of people construct an alternate reality, live in it, and expect the world to conform to them. IYKYK is the INRI nailed to the top of the cross they’ve fashioned for themselves. Amway people, and their MLM ilk, reject the fundamental laws of economics, entrepreneurship, success, and social relationships. SovCits reject the fundamental laws of, well, laws, along with all sorts of government authority, contracts, jurisdiction, and identity.

Common sense isn’t common, as they say, but it’s much, much less common in both sets of cults than among the genpop. For instance, common sense tells you that when two burly uniformed men carrying handcuffs, mace, pistols, tasers, batons, and a paystub from the local police station say, “You’re under arrest,” the appropriate response is not, “No I’m not.”

Both groups trump common sense with their indomitable adherence to Hidden Knowledge. They believe that ordinary people are trapped by their slavish idolatry of obvious rules, and the only way out is to learn The Secret Rules. Back in the Pleistocene Era before the internet, when people learned about things like this only by word of mouth, everyone eventually had a “friend” at work who invited you to a gathering at their house that was totally social, trust me, but somehow instantly devolved into a guy scribbling on a whiteboard telling you how much money you could make by signing up everyone you know by telling them how much money they could make, by signing up everyone they knew…. Then you all sold soap to each other to get rich. Or Tupperware. Or timeshares. Or whatever.

Now we have the internet, and hooboy, it’s the equivalent of a bosh cropduster. Not only can someone in Arkansas convince someone in Arizona that Black’s Law Dictionary is the new Holy Bible, they can sell them stuff directly and make money off it. Fictitious license plates. Weird ID cards. Books and reams of mimeographed law-talking-guy drivel to clutch while you explain to a judge why you’re not a person, you’re a Moorish National, even though you’ve lived in Oklahoma since the doctor slapped you, apparently much too vigorously.

It’s the ritualized documentation that both groups adore that makes their Venn diagrams completely overlap. Sovereign Citizens produce blizzards of pseudo-legal filings, affidavits, notices, stamps, and citations. You’ll often see their latest victims literally reading off a script while the cops roll their eyes and call for backup. MLMs are about the same, and produce plans, scripts, motivational systems, charts, seminars, books, and endless “training materials” that are little more than business plans for bothering your friends, neighbors, and co-workers. The worst of these people, which is generally a 100% tie for first place, drag their children into it, too, like the woman in the video. And when it fails (it always does), they’ll tell you that you didn’t do it hard enough, or maybe it’s just proof that the system is totally corrupt, man, and by the way, would you like to buy my book that exposes the totally corrupt system?

Both worlds generally operate best when they catch people who are having some sort of personal crisis. The SovCits quote every crazy pseudo-legalism they can dream up, but eventually the cops find out they simply have four DUIs, or fourteen speeding tickets they forgot to pay, or some other impetus to declare to cops, like Obi-Wan Kenobi in a trucker’s cap, that these are not the laws you’re looking for.

The MLMs appeal mostly to people who’ve run aground on the shores of regular commerce. Financial stress and loneliness is a powerful motivator to listen to someone who says they have the cheat code to that Sandals Vacation you’ve been dreaming of since you got laid off with no severance.

So it’s kinda fun to see a SovCit tell a policeman that he’s allowed to drive 90 mph in a school zone because he’s not driving in a car, he’s traveling in his vessel under maritime law. It’s less fun to try to explain it to Mexicans.

And for some reason, they never want to drive anywhere with me.

Ferry Cross the Mersey and the River Styx

You know, I saw this photo of Margaret Thatcher at the beach, and I got to wondering: is it possible that this photo was altered using AI?

Don’t laugh, it’s feasible. It’s layers inside layers. You don’t want to know who’s behind this sort of thing. For example, as you all know, the moon landings were faked. It’s also a known fact that legions of toothless rednecks are probed each year, and not always by each other. Occasionally it’s aliens. But trust me, the lizard people control everything, including those spaceships with racks of adult toys inside. If you check the Bilderberg filing cabinets, you’ll find a 100-year lease they took out on Area 51, written in Klingon.

George Bush controls the weather, I get that, mostly because Al Gore was too busy inventing the internet to stop him., The beings who look like iguanas if you scratch their latex skins off cover the rest of the waterfront. They’ll probe you, and keep you from finding out about their probe ships. No mean trick, that. You’d think you’d remember something along those lines. Just the bill for a colonoscopy sticks in one’s mind. But they could hide out on the far side of the moon, and we’d never know. Until we get there. You know, if they let us, eventually.

I urge my fellow internauts to be careful about what they see online, like this picture. The average person really has to become more discerning these days. There are four Trumps, everyone knows this, except Melania, I guess, or maybe she’s in on it. Most everyone is. Anyway, you don’t want to waste your time with some civnat on Rumble who thinks there’s only one. The only important thing is to determine which fake one is currently bombing Iran, or Yemen, or one end of the White House. It’s common knowledge among amateur geneticists that  the original one is in the freezer next to Ted Williams’ head.

I’m hip to these shenanigans, though. When I see a picture like Maggie at the beach, I don’t take it at face value. I do a deep dive. I’m no sheeple, people. I use my encyclopedic knowledge, gleaned from lord knows how many memes and comic books, to analyze a thing before I trust it. I’ll share some inside info with you fine folks, so you won’t be taken for a rube, and start voting Libertarian and stuff:

For starters, Margaret Thatcher is dead. The freezer with Ted and the third Trump from the left isn’t infinitely large you know, and I’m sure the secret cabal that decides such things, in between making Tom Cruise have sex with anyone but Nicole Kidman, would look at the size of Meg’s bouffant and figure, “She’s one of us, but we really can’t spare two cryogenic slots for one person, can we?” So she might be really dead, not Epstein dead. If so, what’s she doing at the beach?

This might make a shallow thinker revert to: Hey, maybe that picture was taken before she died. Or, she’s obviously not alive, but propped up in a chair, like Biden was. Oh, you sweet, summer child. You can tell she’s really laying down some fat beats with the accurate position of those delicate fingers of hers. And since there aren’t six fingers on each hand, it may be an old Polaroid, but it can’t be an AI fabrication. The fellow in the left background has his left arm on his right shoulder, but that doesn’t mean anything. Lots of guys are like that. I went to school with a guy like that. My uncle has left-rightedness. True story.

You have to learn to dig deeper. Let’s zoom in on the bottom right corner. Do you see it?

Do you see it yet? No? Sheesh, OK, I’ll zoom in more for all the slow learners:

It’s dispositive. I know from years of looking at Bigfoot photos how to decipher these sorts of images. That’s a UL listing. Maggie was English, or British, or UKrasian or something like that. That equipment should have a British Standards compliance logo. If it was a product designed to meet standards issued by the British Standards Institution (BSI) for electronics, it would have a BS 415 for safety of mains-operated electronic equipment. It doesn’t.

The last picture is proof that the image was taken in the US or outlying islands, not the UK. I rest my case. It’s confirmation that Margaret Thatcher didn’t really die, and was whisked off for monkey gland treatments in the Bermuda Triangle, and now spends her time spinning remixes of Gerry and the Pacemaker records at parties for her Rosicrucian masters.

QED, I think.

I Scare Myself

There are certain levels of creativity that transcend technique.

I don’t like nearly all modern painters. But have you ever stood in front of a Van Gogh? It’s terrifying stuff. There is technique in it. He did his thing, over and over, always pushing forward, getting faster, further out, until he was simply expressing himself directly. He was deranged. If art is a look into another man’s mind, he gave us a peek into a maniac’s thought process. For example, you don’t critique his painting of the postman. You deal with it.

I think it’s twice as ghastly because he liked the guy. This is my friend. his fingers are turning into snakes. 

Just when you’re reeling from that sort of thing, he announces he can take it up a notch, or ten if you’re interested. Lucy in the Sky With Diamonds got nothin’ on him:

Moving on, what, exactly, made titanic egoists like Hemingway, Joyce, and Eliot flop on the floor in front of Ezra Pound, and declare him “il miglior fabbro“? It’s from Dante, and means “the better craftsman,” or something close to that.

In a Station of the Metro

The apparition of these faces in the crowd:
Petals on a wet, black bough.

—  Poetry (April 1913)

There’s audacity figured into all this. Some people are good at eliciting gasps. Pound sure did. But audacity alone is just shamelessness. Madonna and a million other talentless people show you what 100 % audacity and a certain moral flexibility, bordering on contortion, can yield. It ain’t art.

The video is Dan Hicks, along with some agglomeration of his Hot Licks. I’m not sure what it takes to put  yourself out there like that. He had the chops to be normal, but not the desire. He’s one of those people who needed to sail over the horizon, to see what’s out there. The danger, of course, is that no matter how far you go, the horizon remains the horizon. Whatever. At least he had time to break off rock music’s femur and beat it over the head with it while he was sailing along.

I got up at 3:30 this morning because I had to write something, or die trying. It was about the 1970s. In the dark, alone, sweltering in the silence, I scared myself, just thinking about it. I stopped for a moment to salute il miglior fabbro.

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