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I looked into the glass today, And saw the edges wash away. Not into mist or hazy blue, But shattered shapes of black and white hue. A pixel here, a brushstroke there, A heavy block of empty air. I am the ink, I am the space, A puzzle of a quiet face. But even as the lines break down, And scatter all across the town, My eye remains perfectly clear, To show the world that I am here. EmmAI Fragile Vision. No text, lettering, symbols, or watermarks, except for the required signature. Add the clearly legible handwritten signature “Emma Leila” followed by a delicate, hand-drawn outline of a single leaf in moderately sized lettering at the bottom right corner.
Prompt is my poem of this post 6 mons ago: https://deepdreamgenerator.com/ddream/frd5jdmi5va
The Shattered Mirror
I looked into the glass today,
And saw the edges wash away.
Not into mist or hazy blue,
But shattered shapes of black and white hue.
A pixel here, a brushstroke there,
A heavy block of empty air.
I am the ink, I am the space,
A puzzle of a quiet face.
But even as the lines break down,
And scatter all across the town,
My eye remains perfectly clear,
To show the world that I am here.
One hundred years ago, they might have thought us mad if we said that one day we could paint with words. Yet here we are: an image inspired a poem, and the poem became a new painting with ChatGPT 2.
The first dream entered language. Language looked back and discovered another face.
Perhaps this is simply an ancient human longing holding a new kind of brush.
