Placeholder: [collage art by William Burroughs] In this vineyard of cacophony, the symphony of chaos plays out among the twisted vines. The clinking of glasses mingles with the discordant poetry recited by the beat poets, their voices weaving in and out of each other like a tangled vineyard maze. The electronic hum of the night is punctuated by bursts of glitched music, creating a dissonant backdrop to the fragmented conversations. [collage art by William Burroughs] In this vineyard of cacophony, the symphony of chaos plays out among the twisted vines. The clinking of glasses mingles with the discordant poetry recited by the beat poets, their voices weaving in and out of each other like a tangled vineyard maze. The electronic hum of the night is punctuated by bursts of glitched music, creating a dissonant backdrop to the fragmented conversations.

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@generalpha

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[collage art by William Burroughs] In this vineyard of cacophony, the symphony of chaos plays out among the twisted vines. The clinking of glasses mingles with the discordant poetry recited by the beat poets, their voices weaving in and out of each other like a tangled vineyard maze. The electronic hum of the night is punctuated by bursts of glitched music, creating a dissonant backdrop to the fragmented conversations.

distorted image, malformed body

2 days ago

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Model

SSD-1B

Guidance Scale

7

Dimensions

1280 × 720

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The road goes ever on and on, down from the door where it began
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.
In a place where no one ever came close to dreaming about... a place from a foaming brain, there is a tiny ripple of truth that duplicates sanity to reality... existence of self-pity and triumph! This is a long gone dream in which only lost souls find mercy from a god of an insane creation! Blowing cold winds that come from an uneven breathing pattern warm the frigid core of the sun! Rotting brain from inside the brittle bone of an old branch impatiently waiting to outgrow the sky… You are lost
Through the thick woods you stride, their splendor profound, Senses awash with grandeur, emotions tightly wound. Leaving home and loved ones, a painful farewell, But vengeance ignites within, a tale to tell. Determined you stand, seeking justice for your guide, Embarking on a journey where fate will decide. Thrills course through your veins, uncertainty in the air, A mix of emotions, a blend beyond compare.
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.
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
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
streetlight effect, It's dark everywhere except for one spot where there's a bright streetlight. The streetlight helps you see things clearly and find your friends easily in that small area.
[Tilt-Shift Photography] The world above was a distant legend, whispered among Cuties around flickering campfires. They spoke of a sun that had vanished from the sky generations ago, replaced by a colossal fungal overgrowth that blotted out the heavens. What lay beyond this fungal wasteland, none could say for certain. The world outside was a place of myths and nightmares, a place where the air didn't taste of decay, and the earth wasn't a sea of mycelium. Luna's senses were honed to perfection
[collage art by William Burroughs] So I think about vineyards. Lusher! Wilder! Whoa! Not that vibrant. set in a vineyard, the electronic hum of the night intermingles with the rustling of the vines. Collage of voices and images swirl in the minds of the poets as they gather under the neon glow of the moon. Words fragmented and rearranged like a Beatnik symphony, creating a cacophony of meaning and madness. A figure emerges, glitched and distorted, moving through the digital vines, a glitch in t
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
Historical craniometric studies found that the Beaker people appeared to be of a different physical type than those earlier populations in the same geographic areas. They were described as tall, heavy boned and brachycephalic. The early studies on the Beakers which were based on the analysis of their skeletal remains, were craniometric. This apparent evidence of migration was in line with archaeological discoveries linking Beaker culture to new farming techniques, mortuary practices, copper-work
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