Placeholder: [very impressive high res masterpiece in Kodak Eastman 5247, scene by László Krasznahorkai] a landscape [very impressive high res masterpiece in Kodak Eastman 5247, scene by László Krasznahorkai] a landscape

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@generalpha

Prompt

[very impressive high res masterpiece in Kodak Eastman 5247, scene by László Krasznahorkai] a landscape

distorted image, malformed body, malformed fingers

25 days ago

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Model

SSD-1B

Guidance Scale

7

Dimensions

1248 × 832

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Україно, земле безмежних полів і золотого жита, Твоя душа живе в піснях, що вітер розносить по світу. Ти — батьківщина сильних і гордих, що борються без страху, Твоє серце б’ється голосно, як ріка, вільна від кайданів. Твоя культура — мов небо, де зорі співають вночі, Твоя мова — це музика, ніжна, як весняні дощі. У кожній пісні, у кожному слові живе твій вільний дух, Україно, ти — світло на сході, і сила, що не згасне у муках.
I thought to myself What could that mean? Am I going crazy Or is this just a dream? Now wait a minute I know I'm lying in a field of grass somewhere So it's all in my head And then I heard her say one more time
[photo by Helmut Newton] Overhead, noises, branches of the pine shifting. Then nothing. The weak sun flickered over the dry surface. It is terrible to survive as consciousness buried in the dark earth. Then it was over: that which you fear, being a soul and unable
it is not there
[Renaissance, a Sir, a pond] 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.
Gladesong Under rising sun's largesse the wood awakens around us, shadows dancing back beneath each bole and fronded veil. From loamy breaths steams sweet incense as droplets riding bark and branch, signaling creatures great and small rousing their voices clear and piping to the rapturous hymn weaving all in emerald glory.
Behind, the plates and pins bear witness like the trees of older groves. But you pay them no more mind than the motors' hums and grunts, eyes only for the vision in your thrall. And me, pressed flat against the mirrored wall with lens a-flutter - sure I'll leave an outlined ghost upon the fogged glass if I don't find release soon! Each calculated step brings your heat skating nearer, bare soles padding o'er rubber worn smooth by countless trials. The tile's your stage, this steam your shroud, an
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
[very impressive high res masterpiece in Kodak Eastman 5247, bokeh scene by László Krasznahorkai] a landscape
Behind, the plates and pins bear witness like the trees of older groves. But you pay them no more mind than the motors' hums and grunts, eyes only for the vision in your thrall. And me, pressed flat against the mirrored wall with lens a-flutter - sure I'll leave an outlined ghost upon the fogged glass if I don't find release soon! Each calculated step brings your heat skating nearer, bare soles padding o'er rubber worn smooth by countless trials. The tile's your stage, this steam your shroud, an
Rest is now filled full of beauty, And can give thee up, I ween; Come thou forth, for other duty: Motion pineth for her queen. Or, if needing years to wake thee From thy slumbrous solitudes, Come, sleep-walking, and betake thee To the friendly, sleeping woods. Sweeter dreams are in the forest; Round thee storms would never rave; And when need of rest is sorest, Glide thou then into thy cave. Or, if still thou choosest rather Marble, be its spell on me; Let thy slumber round me gather, Let an
and you live in a world where all is done in Alexandrine or Haiku. This is the world of poetry and it is starting now: Awake, you find yourself in a village so small, Enveloped by the forest, nature's grand sprawl. Peasants surround you, their lives much like your own, But your heart yearns for adventure, seeds of wanderlust sown.
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