Placeholder: 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 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

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@generalpha

Prompt

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

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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[very impressive high res masterpiece in Kodak Eastman 5247, scene by László Krasznahorkai] a landscape
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.
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
[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.
C'est un trou de verdure où chante une rivière Accrochant follement aux herbes des haillons D'argent... [intro] Rivière chantante, Verdures en échos doux, Haillons dans le vent.
it is not there
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
[very impressive high res masterpiece in Kodak Eastman 5247, bokeh scene by László Krasznahorkai] a landscape
[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.
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
[very impressive high res masterpiece in Kodak Eastman 5247, scene by László Krasznahorkai] My sister, by the chiming kinks Of the Atlantic Ocean, takes in light. Beyond her, wreathed in algae, links on links Of breakers meet and disconnect, foam through bracelets Of seabirds.The wind sinks. She does not feel the change At once. It will take time. My sister, Stirring briefly to arrange Her towel, browns like a chicken, under fire.
It sis darlls focrapt arn alivel. I art live nothing pooff, Iny alive wimetbou, Late of nothing, It sis. tame, by alive, rairts dapllam, Mothing preofs and I rabe roead for raim, landensfite day.
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