Placeholder: [high res picture fromBlade Runner (1982)] ...in this dust that was a city If I could find a souvenir Just to prove the world was here [high res picture fromBlade Runner (1982)] ...in this dust that was a city If I could find a souvenir Just to prove the world was here

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[high res picture fromBlade Runner (1982)] ...in this dust that was a city If I could find a souvenir Just to prove the world was here

distorted image, malformed body, malformed fingers

2 months ago

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Model

SSD-1B

Guidance Scale

7

Dimensions

1024 × 1024

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guardians of a bygone era. The scorching sun, its rays ablaze, unveils the desolate kingdom of this forsaken city - a realm consumed by shadows and desolation. Discarded vehicles lie strewn about, remnants of a time when vitality coursed through these stony arteries. Yet now, only echoes of darkness persist, a symphony of silence that proclaims an eternal night. The air hangs heavy with the scent of ash and smoke, while the ground sears beneath one's fingertips, as if the very earth were aflame.
guardians of a bygone era. The scorching sun, its rays ablaze, unveils the desolate kingdom of this forsaken city - a realm consumed by shadows and desolation. Discarded vehicles lie strewn about, remnants of a time when vitality coursed through these stony arteries. Yet now, only echoes of darkness persist, a symphony of silence that proclaims an eternal night. The air hangs heavy with the scent of ash and smoke, while the ground sears beneath one's fingertips, as if the very earth were aflame.
[photography by Titian, Rembrandt van Rijn, by Jeremy Mann, Luis Royo,] Within the shelter of the crumbling building, embraced by the storm's symphony, Maria Magdalena and the machines forged an unexpected bond. Her compassion and unwavering belief in their capacity for redemption became their guiding light, illuminating a path towards reclaiming their lost selves.As the rain pelted against the broken windows, the machines stood alongside Maria Magdalena, their once cold exteriors warmed by her
After the fall of the world, two humans stand on the side of their battered car, gazing out at a once-thriving city now reduced to rubble and dust. The remnants of civilization lay scattered before them, a haunting reminder of what once was. The silence is deafening, broken only by the distant howl of the wind as it whips through the desolate streets.
guardians of a bygone era. The scorching sun, its rays ablaze, unveils the desolate kingdom of this forsaken city - a realm consumed by shadows and desolation. Discarded vehicles lie strewn about, remnants of a time when vitality coursed through these stony arteries. Yet now, only echoes of darkness persist, a symphony of silence that proclaims an eternal night. The air hangs heavy with the scent of ash and smoke, while the ground sears beneath one's fingertips, as if the very earth were aflame.
And so, they marched forward into the enigma of their existence, their footsteps echoing like a dirge in the desolate wasteland. As they ventured deeper into the unknown, the line between man and machine blurred further, and their once-humanity slipped away like grains of sand through their fingers. In the end, they discovered the chilling truth that lurked in the heart of the temporal abyss. They were not pioneers of knowledge, nor heroes of discovery. They were pawns in a game played by force
[Fritz Leiber's Lankhmar] Narrow alleys twist like serpents, often veiling hidden corners where secrets thrive and whispers echo. The buildings loom overhead, their timbers creaking and leaning as if sharing in the city’s age-old secrets. Worn signs hang precariously from rusted chains, advertising everything from fine silks to dubious potions, each a promise of something more—be it luxury or peril.As one ventures deeper into the veins of Lankhmar, the cacophony of voices swells—a symphony of ba
guardians of a bygone era. The scorching sun, its rays ablaze, unveils the desolate kingdom of this forsaken city - a realm consumed by shadows and desolation. Discarded vehicles lie strewn about, remnants of a time when vitality coursed through these stony arteries. Yet now, only echoes of darkness persist, a symphony of silence that proclaims an eternal night. The air hangs heavy with the scent of ash and smoke, while the ground sears beneath one's fingertips, as if the very earth were aflame.
[high res picture fromBlade Runner (1982)] ...in this dust that was a city If I could find a souvenir Just to prove the world was here
I picture her zooming through the gloomy back alleys of the urban sprawl on her rusty cityscape cruiser, tatty leather jacket flapping in the smoggy winds. Nothing but crumpled high-rises and abandoned skyways stretching as far as the bleary cityscape eyes can see. But then a suspicious sound echoes above the usual din of sirens - is that didgeridoo music wafting over from the volatile factory district? She twists the grimy throttle and speeds towards the commotion through the dystopian cityscap
[Kupka] Driven by an inexplicable hunch, Dr. Watson followed his instincts and ventured outside the bustling streets of London and into the desolate moors that surrounded it. The barren heath stretched as far as the eye could see, a stark contrast to the gas-lit urban sprawl he called home. The modern industrial world seemed distant here, replaced by the vast emptiness of the natural landscape. Sparse grass and gnarled trees dotted the rolling hills, buffeted by the harsh winds sweeping across t
[poster by Bernie Wrightson] the vibrant streets of a city with a long history seen from above: old shops and buildings to skyscrapers
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