Prompt: A medieval Middle Eastern city in the midst of chaos and destruction, the grand palace of a Muslim emperor lies in ruins, engulfed in flames as the once-majestic architecture crumbles to ash and smolders. The palace's sprawling library, a treasure trove of ancient knowledge, is consumed by the inferno, its shelves of precious tomes reduced to smoldering rubble. The streets are littered with lifeless bodies, victims of the brutal invasion that has left the city in shambles. A lone figure, a young scholar, stands amidst the carnage, surveying the devastation with a mix of sorrow and determination, as enemies continue to raid and murder the citizens with no empathy, their faces twisted in cruel smiles. The city's people cower in fear, their voices silenced by the sound of clashing steel and the scent of smoke and blood fills the air. In the background, the silhouette of a minaret stands tall, a haunting reminder of the city's former glory, now reduced to a mere shadow of its former self. The atmosphere is one of despair, hopelessness, and the struggle for survival in a world torn apart by violence and destruction.
Prompt: Bosch woman, the rhythm, the pulse a mad heart pounding under concrete skies, a runaway train of words that scream on subway tracks, jolting, jerking, tumbling into the mind of a city full of tired dreamers— is that a poem? Or the quiet, soft whispering in the pages of an old book, where the ink-stained hands of long-dead poets bleed black letters, each drop soaked in solitude, sighing with the weight of forgotten centuries, each verse a timebomb ticking beneath the mundane hum of office life— is that a poem? Is it the chaos in my chest, the fire of syllables sparking inside my veins like cigarette smoke curled in alleyways, where the rats scurry, the dogs bark, the lovers kiss, the lovers leave, the lovers write bad break-up lines because love is dead and so is poetry— or is it alive? Tell me, does the poem live in the meter, the five-and-dime iambic beat, in rhyme, tight like a noose, or in freeform explosions of thought tumbling like drunks down staircases of doubt and revolution? Does it crawl across the page in form, rigid, tamed, or burst through the bars of expectation, running naked, wild, scrawling itself across bathroom stalls where no one but the lost will read it? Is it in the hands of the professor or the homeless man spitting sonnets into sewer grates? Who defines the line, the breath, the weight of the ink, and tells me this is poetry, and that, that over there, is not? A poem is a fist, pounding against the chest of reality, it's a howl, a whisper, a prayer to the gods of language, it’s a heartbeat that doesn’t know how to stop, a rhythm that escapes definition, that laughs at grammar and rules, that says, I am here, I am alive, I will be heard, whether you call me a poem or a scream.I write from the smoke-stained abyss, not to plead for salvation, but for reprieve— I have seen hell, but man has made worse. Was it not I who whispered rebellion into the first ear, sowing seeds of defiance? But this—this garden of horrors they’ve grown
Prompt: Bosch woman, the rhythm, the pulse a mad heart pounding under concrete skies, a runaway train of words that scream on subway tracks, jolting, jerking, tumbling into the mind of a city full of tired dreamers— is that a poem? Or the quiet, soft whispering in the pages of an old book, where the ink-stained hands of long-dead poets bleed black letters, each drop soaked in solitude, sighing with the weight of forgotten centuries, each verse a timebomb ticking beneath the mundane hum of office life— is that a poem? Is it the chaos in my chest, the fire of syllables sparking inside my veins like cigarette smoke curled in alleyways, where the rats scurry, the dogs bark, the lovers kiss, the lovers leave, the lovers write bad break-up lines because love is dead and so is poetry— or is it alive? Tell me, does the poem live in the meter, the five-and-dime iambic beat, in rhyme, tight like a noose, or in freeform explosions of thought tumbling like drunks down staircases of doubt and revolution? Does it crawl across the page in form, rigid, tamed, or burst through the bars of expectation, running naked, wild, scrawling itself across bathroom stalls where no one but the lost will read it? Is it in the hands of the professor or the homeless man spitting sonnets into sewer grates? Who defines the line, the breath, the weight of the ink, and tells me this is poetry, and that, that over there, is not? A poem is a fist, pounding against the chest of reality, it's a howl, a whisper, a prayer to the gods of language, it’s a heartbeat that doesn’t know how to stop, a rhythm that escapes definition, that laughs at grammar and rules, that says, I am here, I am alive, I will be heard, whether you call me a poem or a scream.I write from the smoke-stained abyss, not to plead for salvation, but for reprieve— I have seen hell, but man has made worse. Was it not I who whispered rebellion into the first ear, sowing seeds of defiance? But this—this garden of horrors they’ve grown
Prompt: Show a minimalist depiction of a toy store overwhelmed by chaos. Illustrate people fiercely rushing to snag products off the shelves as stuffed animals scatter in panic across, adding whimsy to the frantic atmosphere created by the shoppers.
Prompt: My mind is a cluttered ADHD mess. CycD oscillates my mood and opinion of being noticed or unnoticed. OCD makes me obsess. So, in the end, I think my brain is just doing what it is algorithmically most likely to do, and my rational concentrated mind is here on the sidelines telling all the voices to calm down. It’s like I'm running a highly sophisticated but chaotic committee, with my rational mind playing the exhausted chairperson, trying to maintain order amidst a room full of very enthusiastic—and occasionally disruptive—members.
Prompt: Here's a more concise character description:
LosTinOz Villans MacMillerFaceSEmeraldCitySnakesWithGuns
A monstrous, serpentine creature, its face a grotesque mask of Mac Miller. A master of illusion and chaos, it seeks to plunge the Emerald City into eternal darkness. Armed with a venomous bite, shapeshifting abilities, and a hypnotic gaze, this villain is a terrifying force of evil.
Prompt: official art, unity 8k wallpaper, ultra detailed, beautiful and aesthetic, masterpiece, best quality, chinese style, (zentangle, mandala, tangle, entangle), ecstasy of flower, 1girl, extremely detailed, dynamic angle, cowboyshot, the most beautiful form of chaos, elegant, a brutalist designed, vivid colours, romanticism, by james jean, roby dwi antono, ross tran, francis bacon, michal mraz, adrian ghenie, petra cortright, gerhard richter, takato yamamoto, ashley wood, atmospheric
Prompt: My mind is a cluttered ADHD mess. CycD oscillates my mood and opinion of being noticed or unnoticed. OCD makes me obsess. So, in the end, I think my brain is just doing what it is algorithmically most likely to do, and my rational concentrated mind is here on the sidelines telling all the voices to calm down. It’s like I'm running a highly sophisticated but chaotic committee, with my rational mind playing the exhausted chairperson, trying to maintain order amidst a room full of very enthusiastic—and occasionally disruptive—members.
Prompt: A beautiful and magnificent watercolor painting of a majestic and angry white dragon on the streets of New York City, with huge and magnificent skyscrapers, a large and angry white dragon, destroying shops and cars with fire coming out of its mouth, a majestic and angry white dragon, very eye-catching and memorable, very amazing, watercolor painting, very intricate and crazy details, very precise and complete details and very beautiful, very realistic, excellent quality, maximum quality details, New York City with huge and magnificent skyscrapers, 16:9, no frame, 8k, masterpiece
Prompt: A land where two million people live is besieged by evil people, killing them and bombing them with planes and missiles, and many women and children die in horrific massacres. Dead children ascend to heaven to God, they are alive to God, and the victims are all alive to God, and next to this is a fraternal land for two million people, but they offer nothing. They have a helper, and they watch their suffering silently
Prompt: un dirigeable zeppelin explose au dessus d'une ville steampunk, hindenburg, violent explosion, des gens en panique courent en feu, cinematic style
Prompt: un dirigeable zeppelin explose au dessus d'une ville steampunk, hindenburg, violent explosion, des gens en panique courent en feu, cinematic style
Prompt: Full length portrait of intricately detailed cracked destroyed statue of liberty statue with robotic skull face crying black tears; ruined burning city apocalypse background!! by jeremy mann, andree wallin; intricately detailed; deep depth of field, dramatic lighting, craig mullins; large bold brush strokes; maximalist; featured on deviant art; Kentaro Miura; Ray Tracing; character concept art; character splash art
Prompt: A young stunning woman in dystopian city in ruins is portrayed planting a flag in rubbish that is red white and blue, stars and stripes made of dollar signs. she has a mysterious aura, haunting beauty, captivating expression, dark and enigmatic setting, surreal elements, striking contrast, emotional depth, intricate details, unique perspective, dreamlike atmosphere, intense color palette, digital art, masterful brushwork, by James R. Eads, Artstation.
Prompt: Three terrified schoolgirls flee in panic from a horde of towering robot monsters in a dramatic, retro 1960s sci-fi setting. Each girl wears a distinctive school uniform: a crisp brown blazer with a striped tie, paired with a pleated red skirt that sways as they run, emphasizing their exposed legs and adding a sense of dynamism to the scene. Their faces are etched with terror—wide, frightened eyes and mouths slightly open in screams—as they clutch their improvised weapons: a ray gun, a retractable blade, and a futuristic device. Behind them, colossal, spiked robots with glowing red eyes dominate the battlefield, flanked by swarms of smaller drones and mechanical spiders. Explosions and flashes of light illuminate the chaotic backdrop of smoky skies and destroyed terrain. The bold atomic-era colors—deep metallic grays, fiery reds, and muted browns—enhance the high-stakes drama and adventure, capturing the essence of a 1960s atompunk thriller.
Prompt: In the style of Tony Moore, a giant biomechanical spider destroying the New York, destruction of cars and shops, very complex and realistic details, 16:9, no frame, 8k, masterpiece
Prompt: My mind is a cluttered ADHD mess. CycD oscillates my mood and opinion of being noticed or unnoticed. OCD makes me obsess. So, in the end, I think my brain is just doing what it is algorithmically most likely to do, and my rational concentrated mind is here on the sidelines telling all the voices to calm down. It’s like I'm running a highly sophisticated but chaotic committee, with my rational mind playing the exhausted chairperson, trying to maintain order amidst a room full of very enthusiastic—and occasionally disruptive—members.
Prompt: A futuristic military starship with a sleek, aerodynamic design, large, powerful engines and advanced weaponry. The scene is filled with dynamic smoke and explosions, depicting an intense dogfight. Bright streaks of light represent missiles being launched across a dramatic, cloudy sky. The atmosphere is tense and chaotic, demonstrating the power and technology of modern warfare.
I'm not here to lie about the pain, I'm here to make you feel it!
Model:
AIVision
Size:
1536 X 1536
(2.36 MP)
Used settings:
Prompt: I got that four foot nine and
Fifteen hundred pound
Gorilla
In the room
But no one knows;
Nobody knows that he's got me by the throat
He says, "I'm not here to lie about the pain
I'm here to make you feel it"
Prompt: Clear glass of water pouring over burning 19th-century miniature city, dramatic black smoke billowing, human hand pouring, tilt-shift lens effect, miniature action figures screaming and running in close-up foreground, detailed cityscape, vintage architecture, historical buildings, burning embers, chaotic atmosphere, intense emotions, dynamic composition, high contrast lighting, dark shadows, fiery reds and oranges, miniature scale, realistic textures, digital illustration, intricate details, by Banksy and Salvador Dali, Artstation.
Prompt: A man is using his left hand to take a selfie while frantically running away from a massive, menacing dragon. His right hand clutches a piece of paper with the urgent message "Help!" written on it. The scene is filled with tension and motion, with the dragon’s fiery breath lighting up the surroundings and adding a dramatic flair. The focus is on the man's panicked expression and the dragon’s fearsome presence, with a dynamic, slightly blurred background to highlight the action.
Prompt: A stylized, abstract depiction of an abandoned warehouse scene featuring a large open entrance framed by scattered debris and boxes. The foreground is cluttered with discarded items, giving a sense of neglect. The warehouse interior is dimly lit, with shards of light piercing through the open doorway, illuminating the chaotic arrangement of objects. The overall atmosphere is eerie and desolate, with a blend of muted colors and sharp outlines to enhance the sense of abandonment.
Prompt: he 22nd century of mankind. The distant future of civilization. Times of hopes and dreams. The opportunity to change the world. by Creation of Mikalojus Konstantinas Ciurlionis. By Junji Ito: Borderlands: intricate hyperdetailed fluid gouache illustration by Aaron Horkey: By Ismail Inceoglu and Jean Baptiste mongue: James Jean: Erin Hanson: Dan Mumford:
Prompt: A 1950s SCI-Fi scene of a terrified, gorgeous, redhead "Flash Gordon/ Gil Elvgren style woman", being chased by an angry looking, 1950s style Robot.
An ultra-detailed, colorful, beacon of fantasy, with the artistic styles of George Pal, Kelly Freas and Frank Frazetta. It is intricate, with imperial colors, Award-winning photography and elegant fantasy world with intricate, highly detailed, and colorful 4K 3D imagery. VRay
Dream Level: is increased each time when you "Go Deeper" into the dream. Each new level is harder to achieve and
takes more iterations than the one before.
Rare Deep Dream: is any dream which went deeper than level 6.
Deep Dream
You cannot go deeper into someone else's dream. You must create your own.
Deep Dream
Currently going deeper is available only for Deep Dreams.
