Placeholder: Amidst the swirling haze of cigarette smoke and the dimly lit corners of a bohemian bar, the groovy '60s found their sanctuary. It was a place where poets, musicians, and wanderers sought refuge from the bustling chaos of the outside world. The air was thick with anticipation as the sound of jazz mingled harmoniously with the clinking of glasses. They found themselves drawn to this den of creativity, their paths converging in the heart of the underground scene. They reveled in the smoky ambiance Amidst the swirling haze of cigarette smoke and the dimly lit corners of a bohemian bar, the groovy '60s found their sanctuary. It was a place where poets, musicians, and wanderers sought refuge from the bustling chaos of the outside world. The air was thick with anticipation as the sound of jazz mingled harmoniously with the clinking of glasses. They found themselves drawn to this den of creativity, their paths converging in the heart of the underground scene. They reveled in the smoky ambiance

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@generalpha

Prompt

Amidst the swirling haze of cigarette smoke and the dimly lit corners of a bohemian bar, the groovy '60s found their sanctuary. It was a place where poets, musicians, and wanderers sought refuge from the bustling chaos of the outside world. The air was thick with anticipation as the sound of jazz mingled harmoniously with the clinking of glasses. They found themselves drawn to this den of creativity, their paths converging in the heart of the underground scene. They reveled in the smoky ambiance

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

7 months ago

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SSD-1B

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7

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1024 × 1024

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Amidst the swirling haze of cigarette smoke and the dimly lit corners of a bohemian bar, the groovy '60s found their sanctuary. It was a place where poets, musicians, and wanderers sought refuge from the bustling chaos of the outside world. The air was thick with anticipation as the sound of jazz mingled harmoniously with the clinking of glasses. They found themselves drawn to this den of creativity, their paths converging in the heart of the underground scene. They reveled in the smoky ambiance
[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
They spoke of the transformative power of words, the need to challenge societal norms, and the responsibility of artists to provoke change. In the sanctuary of the smoky bar, they found solace in their shared vision of a world reborn, where the groovy '60s became a catalyst for revolution, not just in society but within themselves. Together, they vowed to continue their journey, to push boundaries, challenge the status quo, and capture the essence of their era. The groovy '60s were not just a fl
[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
Amidst the swirling haze of cigarette smoke and the dimly lit corners of a bohemian bar, the groovy '60s found their sanctuary. It was a place where poets, musicians, and wanderers sought refuge from the bustling chaos of the outside world. The air was thick with anticipation as the sound of jazz mingled harmoniously with the clinking of glasses. Together, they vowed to continue their journey, to push boundaries, challenge the status quo, and capture the essence of their era. The groovy '60s wer
Give them one of those captivating styles... Tolstoy, Dostoevsky, Solzhenitsyn... Yes... a psychological journey... channel Gogol with a touch of Orwell... blend in a little Cold War... sure... surreal events in a Soviet town... a man encounters a phantom trooper lurking in an abandoned factory... "Twilight Zone." Now... what do they look like? No! Not that! Did that before-- What? No, not that way! Damn deadlines. They're throwing me off completely. Too much pressure. Mixing up the scenes! Too
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[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
Amidst the swirling haze of cigarette smoke and the dimly lit corners of a bohemian bar, the groovy '60s found their sanctuary. It was a place where poets, musicians, and wanderers sought refuge from the bustling chaos of the outside world. The air was thick with anticipation as the sound of jazz mingled harmoniously with the clinking of glasses. Together, they vowed to continue their journey, to push boundaries, challenge the status quo, and capture the essence of their era. The groovy '60s wer
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
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
streetlight effect
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