Placeholder: Not my mess to clean’ Not my mess to clean’

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@generalpha

Prompt

Not my mess to clean’

large hands

1 year ago

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Model

SDXL

Guidance Scale

7

Dimensions

832 × 1248

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Not my mess to clean’
The words swirl in my mind as I sit at my desk, surrounded by the chaotic mess of papers and empty coffee cups. The weight of the deadline presses down on me, but my imagination soars. I close my eyes and let the visions take hold. I see a vast expanse of doors stretching infinitely in all directions. Each door leads to a different dimension, a different reality. Some doors are ordinary, blending into the background, while others shimmer and pulsate with an otherworldly energy. I imagine my prot
Imagine having a large collection of books and tapes, but some of them contain errors or biases. These flaws introduce incorrect information and spurious correlations. For example, books with a specific font style might have inaccuracies unrelated to the content. To overcome this, you want to extract the genuine knowledge common to all the books and tapes, disregarding the flawed details. The goal is to find a representation that captures the underlying concepts, free from biases. Similarly, in
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
Not my mess to clean’
Through the broken windows of abandoned buildings, glimpses of the city's past glimmered like fading memories. Faded billboards advertising products that no longer existed, cracked movie posters from an era long gone, and remnants of a bygone society that had crumbled under the weight of its own hubris. Yet, amidst the ruins, there were pockets of resistance, small enclaves of hope that refused to surrender. Underground networks of rebels and freedom fighters plotted and strategized, their spiri
You say my time here has been some sort of joke That I've been messing around Some sort of incubating period For when I really come around but I'm cracking up And you have no idea No idea how it feels to be on your own In your own home with the fucking phone And the mother of gloom
Rows of makeshift structures, constructed from salvaged materials, were scattered throughout the cavern. These served as living quarters, workshops, and communal areas for the bunker's residents. Rustic furnishings, handcrafted from repurposed materials, added a sense of comfort and homeliness to the otherwise stark environment. In one corner, a small hydroponic garden thrived, its verdant greenery providing a stark contrast to the rocky surroundings. The carefully tended plants offered a sourc
Not my mess to clean’
[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
streetlight effect
The Cave of the Damned.
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