Placeholder: Comme une pierre que l'on jette dans l'eau vive d'un ruisseau Qui laisse derrière elle des milliers de ronds dans l'eau Comme un manège de lune avec ses chevaux d'étoiles Comme un anneau de Saturne, un ballon de carnaval Comme le chemin de ronde que font sans cesse les heures Le voyage autour du monde d'un tournesol dans sa fleur Tu fais tourner de ton nom tous les moulins de mon cœur Comme une pierre que l'on jette dans l'eau vive d'un ruisseau Qui laisse derrière elle des milliers de ronds dans l'eau Comme un manège de lune avec ses chevaux d'étoiles Comme un anneau de Saturne, un ballon de carnaval Comme le chemin de ronde que font sans cesse les heures Le voyage autour du monde d'un tournesol dans sa fleur Tu fais tourner de ton nom tous les moulins de mon cœur

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@generalpha

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Comme une pierre que l'on jette dans l'eau vive d'un ruisseau Qui laisse derrière elle des milliers de ronds dans l'eau Comme un manège de lune avec ses chevaux d'étoiles Comme un anneau de Saturne, un ballon de carnaval Comme le chemin de ronde que font sans cesse les heures Le voyage autour du monde d'un tournesol dans sa fleur Tu fais tourner de ton nom tous les moulins de mon cœur

distorted image, malformed body, malformed fingers

20 days ago

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SSD-1B

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7

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1024 × 1024

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Comme une pierre que l'on jette dans l'eau vive d'un ruisseau Qui laisse derrière elle des milliers de ronds dans l'eau Comme un manège de lune avec ses chevaux d'étoiles Comme un anneau de Saturne, un ballon de carnaval Comme le chemin de ronde que font sans cesse les heures Le voyage autour du monde d'un tournesol dans sa fleur Tu fais tourner de ton nom tous les moulins de mon cœur
My art is like the spontaneous prose of a midnight jazz session, flowing freely and unapologetically. The critics may chatter like ghosts in the night, but my brush is a beacon of light in the darkness of conformity. My creations, born from the depths of my imagination, defy the constraints of tradition and soar into realms unknown. Each stroke is a rebellion against the mundane, a declaration of my artistic spirit unfettered by the chains of expectation.
[colour illustration by Yazan Halwani] In the heart of the night, a melody flows, Maryam sings softly, where the river glows. Ali's ballads rise like the sun's golden hue, Romance in his words, timeless and true. Omer's rhythms dance through the warm desert breeze, Stories of culture, carried with ease. Together they weave a rich, vibrant song, In the language of souls where we all belong.
In the heart of the buzzing hive, where the walls cracked and the sacred ways of life were defiled, there lurked the malevolent presence known as the Devil of Bees. This entity, born of shadows and whispers, wielded a power that struck fear into the hearts of all who dared to cross its path. The Devil of Bees was not a creature of flesh and blood, but a manifestation of primal terror, a force of nature that twisted the very fabric of reality.
Comme une pierre que l'on jette dans l'eau vive d'un ruisseau Qui laisse derrière elle des milliers de ronds dans l'eau Comme un manège de lune avec ses chevaux d'étoiles Comme un anneau de Saturne, un ballon de carnaval Comme le chemin de ronde que font sans cesse les heures Le voyage autour du monde d'un tournesol dans sa fleur Tu fais tourner de ton nom tous les moulins de mon cœur
With her eyes closed, Fiona felt the currents gently guide her, their gentle touch echoing the rhythm of her heart. The moon above seemed to pulse with each beat, as if the world itself was attuned to her presence. She reveled in this moment of serenity, feeling the weight of the world lift from her shoulders, leaving behind only the sensation of water's tender embrace. Meanwhile, on the bank of the lake, Deery watched Fiona with an expression of sheer wonder. The deer's opalescent fur glistene
[colour illustration by Junji] In the heart of the night, a melody flows, Maryam sings softly, where the river glows. Ali's ballads rise like the sun's golden hue, Romance in his words, timeless and true. Omer's rhythms dance through the warm desert breeze, Stories of culture, carried with ease. Together they weave a rich, vibrant song, In the language of souls where we all belong.
[1979 in Heavy Metal Magazine Vol. 2, #10 by Philippe Caza] "A map is not just a guide, it's a promise to forge a path forward." - the journey is more important than the destination - The Map and the Territory
A Magical Story, from the book
Wash away my troubles Wash away my pain Tell me how does your light shine Wash away my sorrow I can tell my sister by the flowers in her eyes On the road to Shambala I can tell my brother by the flowers in his eyes On the road to Shambala
My art is like the spontaneous prose of a midnight jazz session, flowing freely and unapologetically. The critics may chatter like ghosts in the night, but my brush is a beacon of light in the darkness of conformity. My creations, born from the depths of my imagination, defy the constraints of tradition and soar into realms unknown. Each stroke is a rebellion against the mundane, a declaration of my artistic spirit unfettered by the chains of expectation.
In this extraordinary tale, the Stardust became more than mere enchantment; it became a catalyst for personal growth and self-discovery. As the villagers of Fantasia journeyed through their shared illusions, they learned to see the world with new eyes, appreciating the beauty in the mundane and finding wonder in the simplest of moments. And so, in the midst of their dreamlike adventure, the inhabitants of Fantasia discovered that the true magic was not in the Stardust itself, but in their abilit
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