Placeholder: In a place where no one ever came close to dreaming about... a place from a foaming brain, there is a tiny ripple of truth that duplicates sanity to reality... existence of self-pity and triumph! This is a long gone dream in which only lost souls find mercy from a god of an insane creation! Blowing cold winds that come from an uneven breathing pattern warm the frigid core of the sun! Rotting brain from inside the brittle bone of an old branch impatiently waiting to outgrow the sky… You are lost In a place where no one ever came close to dreaming about... a place from a foaming brain, there is a tiny ripple of truth that duplicates sanity to reality... existence of self-pity and triumph! This is a long gone dream in which only lost souls find mercy from a god of an insane creation! Blowing cold winds that come from an uneven breathing pattern warm the frigid core of the sun! Rotting brain from inside the brittle bone of an old branch impatiently waiting to outgrow the sky… You are lost

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@generalpha

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In a place where no one ever came close to dreaming about... a place from a foaming brain, there is a tiny ripple of truth that duplicates sanity to reality... existence of self-pity and triumph! This is a long gone dream in which only lost souls find mercy from a god of an insane creation! Blowing cold winds that come from an uneven breathing pattern warm the frigid core of the sun! Rotting brain from inside the brittle bone of an old branch impatiently waiting to outgrow the sky… You are lost

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3 years ago

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Model

Kandinsky

Guidance Scale

7

Dimensions

608 × 912

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In a place where no one ever came close to dreaming about... a place from a foaming brain, there is a tiny ripple of truth that duplicates sanity to reality... existence of self-pity and triumph! This is a long gone dream in which only lost souls find mercy from a god of an insane creation! Blowing cold winds that come from an uneven breathing pattern warm the frigid core of the sun! Rotting brain from inside the brittle bone of an old branch impatiently waiting to outgrow the sky… You are lost
That thou, dead corse, again in complete steel, Revisit’st thus the glimpses of the moon, Making night hideous, and we fools of nature So horridly to shake our disposition With thoughts beyond the reaches of our souls? Say, why is this? Wherefore? What should we do?
The moon asked the crow For a little show In the hazy milk of twilight No one had to know The moon asked the crow For a little show In the hazy milk of twilight No one had to know
[focus, no umbrella, happiness] Wash away my troubles Wash away my pain With the rain in Shambala Wash away my sorrow Wash away my shame With the rain in Shambala [no text, no umbrella]
Our dreams don’t belong to them
[art by Slipknot] In the ethereal stillness of the celestial realm, Metatron, the chief of winged angels, descended. His radiant wings shimmered like starlight, casting a celestial glow across the heavens. Suddenly, a tremor rippled through creation. God struck the three hundred and ninety heavens, and they quaked in reverent awe. From His eyes, tears flowed—hot as molten fire—cascading down like fiery rain into the vast ocean below. The waters stirred, roiling with sorrow as waves ignited in a
It sis darlls focrapt arn alivel. I art live nothing pooff, Iny alive wimetbou, Late of nothing, It sis. tame, by alive, rairts dapllam, Mothing preofs and I rabe roead for raim, landensfite day.
Will unfold behind the clouds And there upon the rainbow Is the answer to a never ending story Ah-ah-ah-ah-ah Never ending story
In a place where no one ever came close to dreaming about... a place from a foaming brain, there is a tiny ripple of truth that duplicates sanity to reality... existence of self-pity and triumph! This is a long gone dream in which only lost souls find mercy from a god of an insane creation! Blowing cold winds that come from an uneven breathing pattern warm the frigid core of the sun! Rotting brain from inside the brittle bone of an old branch impatiently waiting to outgrow the sky… You are lost
un éclipse de soleil sur la côte landaise, plage de La Piste, à 20h26, le 12 août 2026
ink haiku: the post apocalyptic lacy Chinese lantern, alone in the dark of the shore, competes with the full Moon
[scifi, a woman] Who was I? Where was I?… The landscape was totally unknown to me, even my body was unfamiliar. What forces brought me here? I searched my mind for memories… There was something there, but it was too clouded… A name… I scanned the horizon. A distant structure rose out of the mists. As evening approached I came upon an enigmatic oasis with a fountain.
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