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distorted image, malformed body, malformed fingers

1 month ago

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Model

SSD-1B

Guidance Scale

7

Dimensions

1024 × 1024

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Hereditary madness... but less on the hillbilly side...
[Dahlia Death] "You have to be honest, i will not help you if you lie to me" The man says: "When i felt the truck losing control, i saw a shadow, and a black cloud above me, they were very strange, and they were moving really fast." "When i felt the truck losing control, i saw a shadow, and a black cloud above me, they were very strange, and they were moving really fast." w_runYou ask "tell me more about this shadow... could it be... a devil?" w_run You ask "tell me more about this shadow...
There goes the siren that warns of the air raid Then comes the sound of the guns sending flak Out for the scramble, we've got to get airborne Got to get up for the coming attack
Darkness fell as they entered the looming marshes. Mist curled around twisted trees like spectral fingers. Alex shivered, every cracked branch an impending threat. A piercing cry shattered the eerie quiet. They raced toward the sound, emerging in a small clearing. There, suspended above a foggy pool, hung Mikołaj - tiny fists beating futilely against thin air. Below, hulking Spas clawed his way from the water, face twisted in hunger. But Alex saw only her prey: the demon who tormented her mother
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how's a photo meant to say no when wild inspiration blooms before me eyes? There you stand in gleaming glory amid the humid locker chambers, steam wisping round ankles from showers past. Behind ye, walls of aged oak swell and creak with decades of trophies and tales. Your leathers lay abandoned upon a bench, woven with protections of the ancient tongues. And me? Skin near bursting from this tight-laced shirt, shutter clicking faster than me breath as your spellworks its magic. Each slow step ech
riding a bus
Hereditary madness... but less on the hillbilly side... [high res photo by Helmut Newton: Shattered Image, Shot the texture and double expose the film]
bing! bang!
bing! bang!
bing! bang!
But it's not the mood to hear The tales of limousines and pails Of money they'll make like a pro I be like, "Yo black, just play me the tape" But at the show the time to spare I just make But the songs created in they shacks
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