Placeholder: 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 Ah ooh yeah 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 Ah ooh yeah

@generalpha

Prompt

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 Ah ooh yeah

statue, doubles, twins, entangled fingers, Worst Quality, ugly, ugly face, watermarks, undetailed, unrealistic, double limbs, worst hands, worst body, Disfigured, double, twin, dialog, book, multiple fingers, deformed, deformity, ugliness, poorly drawn face, extra_limb, extra limbs, bad hands, wrong hands, poorly drawn hands, messy drawing, cropped head, bad anatomy, lowres, extra digit, fewer digit, worst quality, low quality, jpeg artifacts, watermark, missing fingers, cropped, poorly drawn

10 months ago

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Model

SSD-1B

Guidance Scale

7

Dimensions

1024 × 1024

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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 Ah ooh yeah
The line between reality and fiction blurs as the passenger becomes entangled in their own creations. They question their own sanity, unsure if they are the author or merely a character within their own twisted tales. The boundaries of time and space dissolve, leaving them adrift in a perpetual purgatory. But amidst the despair, a glimmer of hope flickers. A faint whisper that perhaps, just perhaps, they hold the power to rewrite their own destiny. With each passing story arc, they inch closer t
stand amid the roar Of a surf-tormented shore, And I hold within my hand Grains of the golden sand — How few! yet how they creep Through my fingers to the deep, While I weep — while I weep! O God! Can I not grasp Them with a tighter clasp? O God! can I not save One from the pitiless wave? Is all that we see or seem But a dream within a dream?
streetlight effect
The rain came down in torrents, each droplet a tiny missile assaulting her senses. The salty spray of the sea mingled with the tears that streamed down her cheeks, indistinguishable in their anguish. Nature mirrored her own inner turmoil, a symphony of chaos echoing the tempestuous thoughts that consumed her.
In a desolate post-apocalyptic world, sepia women glide through swirling sand, their haunting grace echoing amidst destruction. Surrealism infuses my words as I delve into the minimalist setting, reflecting the bleak struggle for survival in a colorless, unforgiving landscape.
Maria Magdalena finds herself caught in a psychological thriller, where reality and illusion intertwine. She is pursued by shadows, both real and imagined, representing the demons of her past that refuse to let her go. Her journey takes her through dark alleys and haunted landscapes, where the line between dreams and reality blurs. As she navigates this treacherous path, Maria Magdalena discovers a connection to the horrors of war. The echoes of World War II resonate in her psyche, merging with
[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
The rain came down in torrents, each droplet a tiny missile assaulting her senses. The salty spray of the sea mingled with the tears that streamed down her cheeks, indistinguishable in their anguish. Nature mirrored her own inner turmoil, a symphony of chaos echoing the tempestuous thoughts that consumed her.
In this uninhibited state, Megan felt a profound sense of freedom. She released the constraints of societal norms, allowing her desires to flow freely, uninhibited by judgment or shame. The mud became a conduit for her most authentic self, an expression of her untamed passions and a reflection of the depths of her desires. As the sun began to set and the day faded into twilight, Megan and the Grand Mistress emerged from the muddy embrace of the swamp. Their bodies glistened with a mixture of mud
Postapocalyptic, Blade Runner, Minimalism dune,Surrealism ,Abstract sepia women, sand tornado, limited visibility
[dark danger] מיד כלב יחידתי

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