Placeholder: So how come I feel so lonely when you're up getting down? … So I'll play along when I hear that special song I'm gonna be the one who gets it right You'd better move when you're swayin' round the room Looks like the magic's only ours tonight … But I don't feel like dancin' when the old Joanna plays So how come I feel so lonely when you're up getting down? … So I'll play along when I hear that special song I'm gonna be the one who gets it right You'd better move when you're swayin' round the room Looks like the magic's only ours tonight … But I don't feel like dancin' when the old Joanna plays

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@generalpha

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So how come I feel so lonely when you're up getting down? … So I'll play along when I hear that special song I'm gonna be the one who gets it right You'd better move when you're swayin' round the room Looks like the magic's only ours tonight … But I don't feel like dancin' when the old Joanna plays

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2 years ago

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SDXL

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Your eyes scan the crowd, taking in the eclectic mix of patrons who have found refuge in the bar's smoky embrace. A group of poets huddle in one corner, their voices rising and falling in animated discussion, while a lone saxophonist pours his soul into the music, his notes weaving through the air like tendrils of smoke. And then, your gaze settles on her — Theresa Hak Kyung Cha, a solitary figure nestled in a booth at the edge of the room. She sits with a quiet grace, her dark hair framing a fa
Their dreams are our nightmares
Your eyes scan the crowd, taking in the eclectic mix of patrons who have found refuge in the bar's smoky embrace. A group of poets huddle in one corner, their voices rising and falling in animated discussion, while a lone saxophonist pours his soul into the music, his notes weaving through the air like tendrils of smoke. And then, your gaze settles on her — Theresa Hak Kyung Cha, a solitary figure nestled in a booth at the edge of the room. She sits with a quiet grace, her dark hair framing a fa
So how come I feel so lonely when you're up getting down? … So I'll play along when I hear that special song I'm gonna be the one who gets it right You'd better move when you're swayin' round the room Looks like the magic's only ours tonight … But I don't feel like dancin' when the old Joanna plays
Deadline. Another damn deadline. What amazes you most is that you haven't become a hack. Pressure. The constant pressure. Keep those worlds coming. The weirder the better. It gets worse every year. They always want something new. Bigger monsters. Stronger heroes. You dig deeper into my dreams. You feel it, you know... whatever I draw... You know you can stop it... You won't stop it. You live through your dreams. You escape. They
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So how come I feel so lonely when you're up getting down? … So I'll play along when I hear that special song I'm gonna be the one who gets it right You'd better move when you're swayin' round the room Looks like the magic's only ours tonight … But I don't feel like dancin' when the old Joanna plays
I dig deeper into my cityscape memories hoping for inspiration, but it's all a bit dystopian in there. Must be the contaminated cityscape air getting to me noodles. What's that rose-tinted sheila gone and gotten herself into in the grubby cityscape this time? 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 blear
[poster by Andrew MacLean] the vibrant streets of a city with a long history seen from above: old shops and buildings to skyscrapers
[poster by Kevin Eastman and Peter Laird] the vibrant streets of a city with a long history seen from above: old shops and buildings to skyscrapers
[coffee] In the Inn, the smiling hobbit worked behind the bar. Though small in stature, none was more joyful in service. His eyes, bright as sunrise and always upturned in mirth, inspected beans from distant lands. From the machine poured drinks like liquid gold. Each shot drew from him a chuckling sniff, scents of exotic hills filling his head. With care he textured cream, lips still smiling as lofty peaks crowned. Patrons gathered round pots steaming, laughter echoing as in a hobbit-h
What don’t you understand? How dare you?!
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