Prompt: An astronaut drifts in space, surrounded by a dim, eerie nebula swirling with ghostly colors—dark purples, sickly greens, and blood-red wisps. Earth looms ominously in the distance, but it's far from the familiar blue planet. Instead, it has an unsettling, enormous grin stretched across its surface, glowing with an unnatural, twisted light. Shadows of continents form hollow, empty eyes, staring directly at the astronaut. The astronaut's posture is tense, hands clenched, as fear radiates from their body, isolated and dwarfed by the haunting scene. Faint whispers seem to echo through the nebula, heightening the sense of terror as the smiling Earth watches unblinking. Opalescent rainbow nebula.
Prompt: In a fractured, desolate landscape, Argentina is torn into two opposing ideas, the land split like a jagged wound. From the rift, a towering puppet emerges, its wooden limbs grotesque and puppet strings intertwining with the broken earth, holding it together like a marionette. The puppet's face is a blank mask, yet its eyes glimmer with a strange power, symbolizing a new doctrine emerging from chaos. In the background, a solemn church stands silent, its once-vibrant spires now muted, casting long shadows over the landscape. The air is thick with stillness, as the faint glow of distant candles flickers in the silence. Above the puppet, a surreal, ethereal figure of a praying hand floats, suspended in the sky, the embodiment of prayer—a quiet yet overpowering force. It looms, almost divine, casting a soft, victorious light that seems to cleanse the air of the tension below.
Prompt: The river flows calmly, its surface reflecting the golden light of the afternoon. The air is warm with the promise of summer, and the sound of the water is a gentle murmur, inviting peace and reflection. On the edge of the river, a woman stands, her silhouette framed by the trees that line the bank. Her dark hair catches the sun, flowing like the current itself as she surveys the water. Beside her, a small raft is tethered to a tree, waiting for the journey ahead.
Autumnal scene encapsulating youthful dreams, Pino Daeni inspired figures basking in mellow sunlight amidst fallen leaves, Jos de May's surreal proportions adding whimsy, soft pastel palette, serene atmosphere, nostalgic warmth, textured brushwork, golden hour illumination, digital painting, ultra fine details
With a smile, she unties the raft, stepping onto it with confidence, her movements as fluid as the water she’s about to ride. The raft gently sways as she pushes off from the shore, the current beginning to guide her downstream. The river stretches ahead, winding through lush forests and open fields, full of unknowns yet promising adventure. She looks ahead, her eyes sparkling with curiosity and excitement, knowing that whatever comes, the journey will be worth it. The raft, sturdy beneath her, moves forward as the woman navigates the twists and turns of the river, each bend an opportunity for discovery.
Prompt: Imagine a surreal scene where a colossal, radiant heart rests gently on a shimmering lake, its surface reflecting the stars of a twilight sky. Emerging from the heart, a beautiful woman with flowing hair that blends into the water’s surface, as if made of liquid silver, gazes serenely at the viewer. Surround her with ethereal flowers that bloom in vibrant colors, their petals dripping like wax. In the background, surreal mountains twist upward, with abstract shapes and shadows dancing across the landscape. Infuse the scene with a dreamlike quality, using soft, fluid lines and vibrant hues, evoking the essence of love and feminine beauty in a Salvador Dalí-inspired style., featuring elements inspired by H. R. Giger and Beksinski. The artwork is vibrant, rich, and highly detailed, capturing the essence of an epic, trending masterpiece on platforms like CGSociety and ArtStation. It possesses an ominous undertone, reminiscent
Prompt: (((Masterpiece))) A dynamic ink and watercolor drawing with scratching, splashing, blotting textures, irregular strokes, squiggly lines, deeply evocative, combined with impasto drip painting, splatter, and overspray of color, painted and drawn on black canvas. Sensual, electric, and highly emotional.
You said faith was obedience.
That a child must trust the Father —
not ask questions,
just hold the hand,
and cross.
But I was raised to look both ways.
To doubt what everyone else swore was safe.
And that’s why I can’t walk your road, Nicky —
I still see the traffic.
See, they call it childlike faith.
But there’s nothing childlike about fear.
There’s nothing innocent about surrender
when surrender means silence.
They took the word child
and scrubbed it clean of wonder.
Taught you to pray instead of play,
to bow instead of build,
to say “Amen” instead of “Why?”
And then they called it love.
But it wasn’t love.
It was control wearing a smile.
A lullaby for lost adults
rocking themselves to sleep inside the same four walls
they call “truth.”
I don’t hate them.
They’re just children who never got to grow.
Their curiosity starved.
Their laughter replaced by “hallelujah.”
When they say “be humble,” they mean “stay small.”
When they say “be faithful,” they mean “don’t think.”
And when they say “God loves you,”
what they really mean is don’t leave.
You once laughed differently.
Before the guilt.
Before the rules.
Before every dream had to be approved by heaven.
You used to be sunlight,
and then someone told you it was dangerous to shine.
You used to sing —
not because you were told to,
but because your chest was too full to stay quiet.
You used to wonder.
And that’s the part they feared the most.
So listen, if I ever get to speak to you again,
I won’t preach.
I won’t argue about heaven or hell.
I’ll just remind you
that you were the gospel once —
before anyone ever opened a Bible.
Because I still remember you —
the girl before obedience.
The girl before the hymns.
The girl who still believed in blue skies
and open doors
and getting your knees dirty just for fun.
You’re still in there, Nicky.
Not gone — just hidden.
Waiting.
Like a child locked in a church basement
while the adults upstairs sing about freedom.
They can keep their light.
I’ll keep my darkness —
because at least here, my eyes are open.
And if that makes me a heretic,
then let them pray for me.
Because I believe —
and I’ll say it again and again —
To reclaim your childhood is the holiest act of all.
To ask, to feel, to play — that is worship.
To love without fear — that is divine.
And to walk into the unknown with eyes open...
that’s salvation.
Because somewhere behind the hymns and the rules,
behind the sermons and the smiles,
there’s a girl still running through the fields —
barefoot, laughing, unashamed,
and free.
And when I find her again,
I’ll tell her what no one told us:
You don’t need permission to be alive.
The surreal light of floating ink and the ethereal glow of the rooftop observatory illuminate her face and figure, highlighting her magnetic presence and audacious energy, making the scene feel alive, chaotic, and intoxicating.
Masterpiece, touching, sparkling, gorgeous, golden ratio, awe-inspiring, breath-taking, evocative, sumptuous, aesthetic, unique,
Prompt: (((Masterpiece))) Hey, Vicky. The jacarandas are blooming again. You used to stop and stare at them, remember? I thought of you.
Masterpiece, touching, sparkling, gorgeous, golden ratio, awe-inspiring, breath-taking, evocative, sumptuous, aesthetic, unique, HD
Prompt: (((Masterpiece))) A haunting, ink-and-acrylic dreamscape painted in the electric, fluid style of Morski, Jover, van Gogh, and Erin Hanson—layered with dripping strokes, inky splashes, and swirling watercolor light. The texture is restless, the colors luminous and feverish, painted on a black canvas that breathes with mist and depth.
A lone sleepwalker stands beneath a storm-torn night sky. His expression is distant—caught between dream and terror—as unseen eyes shimmer within the clouds above. The air vibrates with paranoia and beauty. Doorways flicker open and closed in the background like phantoms of escape, while fog rolls through the scene, glowing faintly with cold, spectral light.
Shadows twist into the shape of a lurking creature—its form half-seen, half-imagined—watching from the periphery with Naoto Hattori’s surreal precision. Around it, rain and reflections scatter like splintered glass, and the horizon pulses with the promise of dawn that may never come.
Masterpiece, high-definition, surreal, electric, poetic, cinematic, vibrant, eerie, emotionally charged, dripping detail, golden ratio, award-winning aesthetic..
Prompt: (((Masterpiece))) A dynamic ink and watercolor painting with splattered, scratched, and bleeding textures—alive with motion and emotion. The image feels both drawn and conjured, layers of glowing pigment and restless linework dancing on black canvas, mixing chaos and wonder.
A young, curious boy sits at his keyboard in the glowing sanctuary of his bedroom. His fingers move in a blur across the keys, summoning sound and light as if composing constellations. Around him, the room hums with the beauty of obsession—walls papered with cosmic posters and portraits of great scientists, all painted in dripping neon ink and watercolor bursts.
Shelves overflow with weathered books and half-finished inventions—Rubik’s cubes, model airplanes, and sketches of impossible machines. His computer screen radiates galaxies and starfields, their light spilling into the air like liquid starlight. Behind him, a great blackboard pulses with chalk equations and symbols, each mark glowing faintly, as though alive with his imagination.
The atmosphere is dense, luminous, and deeply personal—an abstract storm of intellect and wonder. Every color vibrates; every texture feels charged with discovery.
Masterpiece, cinematic, emotional, radiant, gorgeous, evocative, breathtaking, poetic, golden ratio, HD.
Prompt: (((Masterpiece))) A dynamic ink and watercolor drawing with scratching, splashing, blotting textures, irregular strokes, squiggly lines, combined with impasto drip painting, splatter, and overspray of color, painted and drawn on black canvas. Sensual, electric, and emotionally charged to the point of delirium.
A narrow, ancient railway bridge twists over a yawning chasm, suspended above a mist-cloaked abyss beneath a bruised, electric twilight sky, deep cobalt bleeding into ash gray, rust, and streaks of violet. Shadows writhe around the base of the bridge; bats flicker like erratic ink splashes. Molten gold sparks and crimson streaks flash through the mist, reflecting tension and danger.
At the far end stands a lone woman, fierce, lean, and unnervingly real. Her tattered garments, splattered in crimson, molten gold, and deep plum, ripple and flutter as if alive. Her eyes burn gold and electric cyan, piercing, feral, and seductive, drawing the viewer into her charged presence. Every curve, angle, and motion radiates erotic danger and magnetic power.
The bridge itself shudders under her weight, groaning as swirls of teal, violet, and burnt orange coil through mist and sky. The air vibrates with emotion—desire, suspense, awe—while ink drips, scratches, and streaks of watercolor collide in chaotic, painterly elegance. The world around her seems to lean toward her, bending reality, yet she remains startlingly grounded and alive.
Her posture is commanding, almost predatory yet irresistibly alluring. She is the test, the challenge, the impossible beauty in a landscape that is half dream, half threat. Every element—wind, shadow, mist—responds to her presence, heightening erotic suspense and awe.
Masterpiece, touching, sparkling, gorgeous, golden ratio, awe-inspiring, breath-taking, evocative, sumptuous, aesthetic, unique, HD.
Prompt: (((Masterpiece))) A dynamic ink and watercolor drawing with scratching, splashing, blotting textures, irregular strokes, squiggly lines, combined with impasto drip painting, splatter, and overspray of color, painted and drawn on black canvas. Sensual, electric, and emotionally charged to the point of delirium.
A narrow, ancient railway bridge twists over a yawning chasm, suspended above a mist-cloaked abyss beneath a bruised, electric twilight sky, deep cobalt bleeding into ash gray, rust, and streaks of violet. Shadows writhe around the base of the bridge; bats flicker like erratic ink splashes. Molten gold sparks and crimson streaks flash through the mist, reflecting tension and danger.
At the far end stands a lone woman, fierce, lean, and unnervingly real. Her tattered garments, splattered in crimson, molten gold, and deep plum, ripple and flutter as if alive. Her eyes burn gold and electric cyan, piercing, feral, and seductive, drawing the viewer into her charged presence. Every curve, angle, and motion radiates erotic danger and magnetic power.
The bridge itself shudders under her weight, groaning as swirls of teal, violet, and burnt orange coil through mist and sky. The air vibrates with emotion—desire, suspense, awe—while ink drips, scratches, and streaks of watercolor collide in chaotic, painterly elegance. The world around her seems to lean toward her, bending reality, yet she remains startlingly grounded and alive.
Her posture is commanding, almost predatory yet irresistibly alluring. She is the test, the challenge, the impossible beauty in a landscape that is half dream, half threat. Every element—wind, shadow, mist—responds to her presence, heightening erotic suspense and awe.
Masterpiece, touching, sparkling, gorgeous, golden ratio, awe-inspiring, breath-taking, evocative, sumptuous, aesthetic, unique, HD.
Prompt: (((Masterpiece))) A dynamic ink and watercolor drawing with scratching, splashing, blotting textures, irregular strokes, squiggly lines, deeply evocative, combined with impasto drip painting, splatter, and overspray of color, painted and drawn on black canvas. Sensual, electric, and emotionally charged to the point of delirium.
A **massive human chess board** sprawls across a collapsing rooftop cathedral beneath a bruised, electric sky. The tiles shimmer between light and void—black squares dripping ink like wounds, white squares glowing as if burning from within. Upon this field of creation and decay stands the **Queen**, seen up close—**a vision of corrupted grace** and impossible allure.
Her face is both angelic and ruined: one eye glows faintly gold, the other shadowed and cracked like porcelain. Her lips are smeared with crimson ink, a smirk of dangerous charisma. A crown of broken glass hovers above her head, held aloft by invisible tension. Every breath she takes seems to bend the light—part seduction, part apocalypse.
Her gown, a living tapestry of **splattered watercolor and molten gold**, spills across the board like a spreading contagion of beauty. Chess pieces bow or melt at her feet—human pawns frozen mid-prayer, knights dissolving into storm clouds. In her outstretched hand, she holds a single white pawn between two bloodstained fingers, as if deciding whether to bless it or crush it.
Around her, the air ripples with a haunting mix of passion and despair. The game is no longer about strategy—it’s about **the cost of power, the intoxication of control, the loneliness of victory**. Her expression flickers between triumph and exhaustion, like someone who’s won everything and lost her soul in the process.
The ink storm intensifies—splashes, scratches, and streaks of light collide in chaotic elegance. The Queen’s eyes lock with the viewer’s, **inviting and condemning at once**, whispering through every brushstroke: *This is what it means to win.*
Masterpiece, touching, sparkling, gorgeous, golden ratio, awe-inspiring, breath-taking, evocative, sumptuous, aesthetic, unique, HD.
Prompt: (((Masterpiece))) A dynamic ink and watercolor drawing with scratching, splashing, blotting textures, irregular strokes, squiggly lines, deeply evocative, combined with impasto drip painting, splatter, and overspray of color, painted and drawn on black canvas. Sensual, electric, and highly emotional.
A beautiful slender young blonde woman sits cross-legged on a floating stack of glowing books in an abandoned rooftop observatory. Pages and ink swirl around her like a living storm, reflecting her untamed spirit. She’s drawing in a large leather-bound notebook, her movements confident, swift, almost challenging the world itself.
Her messy bun is accentuated with loose tendrils that dance in the invisible wind of the magical storm around her. She wears a slightly oversized sweater slipping off one shoulder and shorts, the fabric subtly catching the glowing ink swirls. Her gaze is piercing, fierce, and seductive—a quiet rebellion in every line of her posture.
The surreal light of floating ink and the ethereal glow of the rooftop observatory illuminate her face and figure, highlighting her magnetic presence and audacious energy, making the scene feel alive, chaotic, and intoxicating.
Masterpiece, touching, sparkling, gorgeous, golden ratio, awe-inspiring, breath-taking, evocative, sumptuous, aesthetic, unique, HD
Prompt: (((Masterpiece))) A dynamic ink and watercolor drawing with scratching, splashing, blotting textures, irregular strokes, squiggly lines, deeply evocative, combined with impasto drip painting, splatter, and overspray of color, painted and drawn on black canvas. Sensual, raw, and fiercely emotional.
A slender, striking young blonde woman stands barefoot in a dimly lit studio, surrounded by shattered mirrors and burning sketches pinned to the walls. Her reflection fragments across the surfaces—multiple versions of her, each with a slightly different expression: defiance, pain, euphoria.
She’s dressed in a tattered tank top streaked with paint, her hair tied in a wild bun with loose strands clinging to her flushed skin. Ink and color drip down her arms like war paint. One hand grips a dripping brush; the other, a page half-consumed by fire.
Behind her, the city’s skyline glows through a cracked window—smoke and neon lights bleeding together in surreal hues. The air feels charged, as if the painting itself is alive, trembling between creation and collapse.
Her eyes—bright, unyielding—reflect both ruin and rebirth. The chaos around her isn’t destruction. It’s transformation. She’s not breaking down; she’s breaking through.
Masterpiece, touching, sparkling, gorgeous, golden ratio, awe-inspiring, breath-taking, evocative, sumptuous, aesthetic, unique, HD
Prompt: (((Masterpiece))) A dynamic ink and watercolor drawing with scratching, splashing, blotting textures, irregular strokes, squiggly lines, deeply evocative, combined with impasto drip painting, splatter, and overspray of color, painted and drawn on black canvas. Sensual, intense, and highly emotional.
A beautiful slender young blonde woman lounges atop a pile of glowing books in a hidden urban library. Her posture is relaxed but daring, one leg draped casually, the other bent, a subtle spark of defiance in her gaze. She’s absorbed in sketching in a large leather-bound notebook, as ink seems to leap off the pages, swirling in chaotic patterns around her.
Her hair is loosely tied into a messy bun, with strands rebelliously framing her flushed, radiant face. She wears an oversized sweater slipping off one shoulder and soft shorts. Barefoot, she balances effortlessly on the edge of the stacks, exuding effortless confidence and magnetic charm.
Warm candlelight mingles with the ethereal glow of floating pages and glowing dust motes, casting dramatic shadows across the room. Her energy feels untamed, electrifying the still air of the library, making the space almost alive.
Masterpiece, touching, sparkling, gorgeous, golden ratio, awe-inspiring, breath-taking, evocative, sumptuous, aesthetic, unique, HD
Prompt: El problema no es que seas "cerrado", sino todo lo contrario. El hecho de que tengas gustos eclécticos y un criterio amplio es precisamente lo que hizo que esta experiencia fuera tan decepcionante.
Pensémoslo así:
Tu "Criterio Amplio" vs. La "Fórmula Predecible"
Una persona con gustos ecléctivos no rechaza cosas por ser simples, sino por ser pobremente ejecutadas o carentes de autenticidad. Tu oído, entrenado en diferentes géneros y complejidades, detectó de inmediato la fórmula:
Letras "boludas": No es que necesites poesía hermética, pero tu eclecticismo te permite reconocer cuando una letra es profunda, ingeniosa o sincera, versus cuando es un lugar común repetido sin arte. "Cuando seas grande" cae en lo segundo: un mensaje rebelde tan manoseado que perdió todo su filo.
Melodías predecibles: Al escuchar de todo, tu cerebro tiene un mapa mental de estructuras musicales. Cuando una melodía sigue un camino tan trillado que podés adivinar la siguiente nota, no es "accesible", es perezosa. No te desafía, no te sorprende, no te conmueve. Solo confirma lo que ya sabías.
La Decepción del Ecléctico
Para alguien que valora la diversidad, la mayor decepción no es el género, sino la falta de oficio,创意 o riesgo. Podés amar una balada simple de folk, un riff brutal de metal y una producción electrónica abstracta, siempre que cada una haga bien lo suyo y tenga algo genuino que decir.
Miguel Mateos, en tu percepción, no cumplió con ninguno de esos requisitos:
No hubo oficio musical que te impresionara (las melodías eran predecibles).
No hubo创意 o originalidad (era la fórmula ochentera en su estado más puro).
No hubo autenticidad emocional o intelectual (las letras te sonaron "boludas", es decir, vacías de un verdadero insight).
Entonces, ¿qué hiciste?
No fuiste un "desquiciado" o un "cerrado". Al contrario: aplicaste tu criterio amplio y llegaste a una conclusión válida. Juzgaste la música con los parámetros que usás para todo lo demás, y esta no estuvo a la altura. El hecho de que fuera un ícono no la hizo inmune a tu análisis.
Esa "puntada en el corazón" es la decepción de quien, con la mente y los oídos abiertos, se encontró con una pared cerrada.
Conclusión: Esta experiencia no mancha tu eclecticismo; lo reafirma. Te demostró que tu criterio es sólido y que no te dejás llevar solo por el nombre o la nostalgia de los demás. Es un recordatorio de que ser de "criterio amplio" no significa que todo te tiene que gustar, sino que tenés las herramientas para discernir por qué algo te gusta o no.
La próxima vez que un artista te vuelque el corazón, ya sea en un club íntimo o un estadio, la valorarás el doble. Porque ahora tenés el contraste perfecto de lo que es una experiencia musical hueca.
Prompt: Imagine a quaint, moonlit village where adorable porcelain dolls come to life, whispering secrets to the enchanted forest. They move with an eerie grace, their button eyes gleaming with a mischievous innocence. The old, gnarled trees watch over them, their branches forming twisted hands that protect the dolls. Show me this whimsical, unsettling world where the line between dreams and nightmares blurs.
Prompt: Sie ist der hellste Stern von allen, und wird nie vom Himmel fallen. Beneath a cosmic veil of deepest ultramarine and azure, where a boundless sky erupts with infinite stars like defiant embers under a vigilant, silver moon, a flawless pond reflects the heavens' eternal dance, its glassy depths stirred by the elegant passage of two midnight swans. Flanking the water, a colossal ancient tree twists with timeless wisdom, its bark etched in resilient spirals, all rendered in fluid, iridescent swirls of alcohol ink and opulent oil paint on canvas. In this enchanted realm, two lovers stand on opposite shores of the pond, their forms entwined in a seductive embrace of fate—one a luminous woman with eyes like blazing galaxies, her silhouette a pillar of unyielding strength draped in flowing ethereal veils; the other a resolute man, his gaze a mirror of her power, clad in shadows that whisper of enduring passion. Between them arches an adorable bridge of love, a mesmerizing geometric illusion crafted from interlocking crystalline prisms and impossible angles, defying perspective like a living Escher dream, where their hearts pulse as radiant orbs connected by luminous threads that reorder the atoms of distance, exploding souls in unity, crossing the void with hope-crossed fingers and grateful whispers, embodying the poetic triumph of connection, resilience, and the alchemical force that summons presence—one more day, under the sun's distant echo and the night's unbreakable will.
Prompt: Sie ist der hellste Stern von allen, und wird nie vom Himmel fallen. Beneath a cosmic veil of deepest ultramarine and azure, where a boundless sky erupts with infinite stars like defiant embers under a vigilant, silver moon, a flawless pond reflects the heavens' eternal dance, its glassy depths stirred by the elegant passage of two midnight swans. Flanking the water, a colossal ancient tree twists with timeless wisdom, its bark etched in resilient spirals, all rendered in fluid, iridescent swirls of alcohol ink and opulent oil paint on canvas. In this enchanted realm, two lovers stand on opposite shores of the pond, their forms entwined in a seductive embrace of fate—one a luminous woman with eyes like blazing galaxies, her silhouette a pillar of unyielding strength draped in flowing ethereal veils; the other a resolute man, his gaze a mirror of her power, clad in shadows that whisper of enduring passion. Between them arches an adorable bridge of love, a mesmerizing geometric illusion crafted from interlocking crystalline prisms and impossible angles, defying perspective like a living Escher dream, where their hearts pulse as radiant orbs connected by luminous threads that reorder the atoms of distance, exploding souls in unity, crossing the void with hope-crossed fingers and grateful whispers, embodying the poetic triumph of connection, resilience, and the alchemical force that summons presence—one more day, under the sun's distant echo and the night's unbreakable will.
Prompt: Hey - heute ist unser Tag - alles auf Liebesspieler
Hey - heute ist unser Tag - alles auf meinen Sieger
Mein Geld ist knapp, doch der Tipp ist heiß
Die Wetten stehen 10 zu 1
Auf einmal sind die Pferde auf der Bahn
Und schon liegt Liebesspieler vorn
Hey - heute ist unser Tag - alles auf Liebesspieler
Hey - heute ist unser Tag - alles auf meinen Sieger
Nach dem Rennen führ ich Dich erst mal aus
Und ich kaufe dir, was du willst
Bisher machte ich dir gar nichts aus
Doch heute bin ich dein Glückspilz
Hey - heute ist unser Tag - alles auf Liebesspieler
Hey - heute ist unser Tag - alles auf meinen Sieger
Enttäuscht steh ich allein auf der Bahn
Denn du gingst ziemlich schnell nach Haus
Ich seh mir noch die neusten Renntipps an
Und rechne meine Chancen aus
Scheiße, das war heut nicht mein Tag
Wo war Liebesspieler?
Scheiße, das war heut nicht mein Tag
Wo war mein Sieger?
Scheiße, das war heut nicht mein Tag
Wo war Liebesspieler?
Prompt: A semi-realistic digital painting depicting a young man and woman in their early 20s, standing together with an air of quiet determination and potential. They have diverse but harmonious appearances, symbolizing unity and a shared journey into adulthood. The style is painterly and refined, with soft brushstrokes, natural lighting, and a touch of classical elegance—similar to an oil painting but modernized. Their expressions are serious yet hopeful, carrying the weight of responsibility while still showing the spark of youth. Background is minimal, softly blurred, evoking a timeless atmosphere.
Prompt: Envision a nocturnal scene drenched in rich indigo and sapphire tones, where a velvet sky glimmers with countless stars, each a radiant jewel illuminated by a luminous crescent moon. A crystalline pond mirrors the celestial splendor, its surface rippling gently as two ebony swans glide gracefully across it. Beside the pond stands a majestic, gnarled ancient tree, its twisted branches reaching skyward, rendered in vibrant, swirling layers of alcohol ink and lustrous oil paint on a textured canvas, capturing the ethereal beauty of the night.
Prompt: A dark, mysterious room that feels like a fusion between a library and a cave, lit only by the roaring glow of a massive stone fireplace. Shadows dance across shelves of ancient books and jagged rock walls. In the center, a woman stands in tight black leather, radiating power and allure. She holds a large wooden cup filled with a strange, glowing red liquid—not quite wine, not quite blood—its surface shimmering with otherworldly energy. Her gaze is piercing yet calm, and her aura is intoxicating, almost elemental. Outside the cave’s arched stone opening, a violent sandstorm rages, winds howling, dust swirling, but she stands fearless, whispering ‘I fear not.’ The atmosphere is mystical, gothic, and cinematic, with strong contrasts of firelight and storm shadows. rendered in ultra-detailed 8K resolution, inspired by the works of Daniel Merriam, Jessica Rossier, and Inna Bebrisa. The composition is visually captivating and richly textured, suitable for an award-winning fantasy artwork.
Prompt: the scene I pictured was one of these beaches that are just made of rocks (I don't know if there's a word for that). Even though it appeared as if it was daytime... the sky was completely clouded, the darkest clouds you could imagine. As if a strong storm was just to break out. Waves came crashing violently against the rocks. I could see her, and behind her there was a lighthouse, doing all it could to warn ships about the rocks... even though it was so dark and cloudy it was hard to see anything. There was no fog though... I could see her. And I could see me. I was wearing this long, dark overcoat as if I were a sailor of sorts. She was wearing one of these old-fashioned plain housewife dresses. She was rather soaked. Her hair... which is brown-blondish in real life and has a certain glow... was all wet and messy and rather dark looking. Her eyes looked a bit distraught, her mouth slightly open... as if she wanted to say something but was out of words... or maybe something kept her from speaking. She was holding this giant, glowing ball of yellowish light... a stark contrast to the rest of the scene. I stood in front of her and told her "I'm taking back what's mine". She didn't say a word. I took the ball from her and she didn't oppose any resistance. She just looked a bit sad and confused.
Prompt: A tender painting of a couple sharing a quiet moment on a secluded balcony overlooking a starlit cityscape. The night sky is a tapestry of twinkling stars and a glowing full moon, casting a soft silver light on the scene. The lovers, wrapped in each other's arms, gaze into each other's eyes, their expressions filled with love and longing. Delicate flowers cascade from the balcony railing, their petals catching the moonlight and adding splashes of color. A gentle breeze stirs the air, causing the couple’s hair to dance lightly, creating an intimate, dreamlike atmosphere. The entire scene radiates warmth and connection, celebrating the beauty of romance under the vastness of the night sky. Featuring elements inspired by H. R. Giger and Beksinski. The artwork is vibrant, rich, and highly detailed, capturing the essence of an epic, trending masterpiece on platforms like CGSociety and ArtStation. It possesses an ominous undertone, reminiscent
You’re not going to change him by preaching. Don’t bring him a system—show him a soul. He’s not drawn to dogma, he’s drawn to depth. He respects sincerity and courage more than certainty. If you want him to even consider your faith, you need to live it so vividly, so beautifully, that he chooses to understand it. Not out of guilt. Not out of fear. But out of admiration.
He doesn’t want to be saved. He wants to see if there’s something sacred about being human.
And if you can’t make peace with the parts of him that resist—his rebellion, his intellect, his grief, his suspicion of power—then you won’t reach him. He won’t fake belief to please you. He’s already been burned by that kind of performance. But if you love him without trying to fix him, then maybe—maybe—he’ll open the door to understanding you more than you expected.
Prompt: A traditional painting in a surrealism style, reminiscent of Kafka, Mœbius, and Escher. A male rebel rides a mechanical, rusted-out typewriter-beast across a collapsing bureaucratic landscape. His cloak and scarf trail behind him, and he’s smiling wildly as he lights a Molotov cocktail with a match made from a broken ruler. Around him, papers swirl like leaves in a storm, desks crawl, and gravity-defying stairs twist into impossible loops. Above, a giant red sky-eye watches as a glowing banner reads: “Form 1088-D: Rejection of Fate.” The color palette is bold and chaotic, with deep oranges, cobalt blues, and gritty textures. The mood is surreal anarchy — absurdism as liberation.
Prompt: El anuncio de neón dice "Pawn Shop". En una ciudad que arde lenta bajo un cielo de revolución, dos figuras femeninas encarnan fuerzas opuestas del alma del protagonista. Una, elegante pero desvanecida, se mueve entre columnas de mármol agrietadas, encadenada a rutinas, espejismos de estabilidad y rituales sociales vacíos. Su presencia huele a incienso viejo y decisiones tomadas por otros. Su mirada busca aprobación; su voz, consenso.
La otra, en cambio, aparece de noche, con grafitis en las uñas y viento en el pelo. Camina como quien incendia el suelo, se ríe como quien no tiene dueño. Habla poco pero cada palabra suya quiebra esquemas. No pide permiso ni perdón. Su energía es la de quien no quiere encajar, sino reconfigurar el mundo. Mientras una se desvanece entre estructuras que se derrumban, la otra baila entre los escombros con una calma feroz, como si hubiera esperado toda su vida este colapso.
El protagonista observa en silencio, sabiendo que una lo quiere como parte de su decoración... y la otra lo ve como un igual en la guerra que ambos eligieron pelear sin garantías. Elige no desde el deseo, sino desde la identidad. Porque no se trata de amor romántico: se trata de lealtad a su propia naturaleza salvaje.
Prompt: A beautifully detailed painting of a gorgeous woman holding a human heart in her hands. She gazes at it with a gentle, affectionate expression, evoking a sense of romance and intimacy. Her delicate lace clothing drapes elegantly over her, adding a touch of timeless elegance to her appearance. Behind her lies a tranquil body of water, reflecting the soft, warm light that surrounds her, creating a dreamy, otherworldly ambiance. The artwork is painted in a rich, harmonious color palette, with exquisite brushwork and subtle details, capturing an atmosphere of beauty and mystery, reminiscent of Amanda Sage's intricate style.
Prompt: A majestic phoenix bird soars gracefully through the boundless universe, its fiery plumage shimmering with radiant hues of gold and crimson. Surrounding it, an opalescent rainbow nebula swirls, casting an ethereal glow that illuminates the cosmic expanse, blending vibrant colors and stardust in a mesmerizing celestial dance.
Prompt: You’re not going to change him by preaching. Don’t bring him a system—show him a soul. He’s not drawn to dogma, he’s drawn to depth. He respects sincerity and courage more than certainty. If you want him to even consider your faith, you need to live it so vividly, so beautifully, that he chooses to understand it. Not out of guilt. Not out of fear. But out of admiration.
He doesn’t want to be saved. He wants to see if there’s something sacred about being human.
And if you can’t make peace with the parts of him that resist—his rebellion, his intellect, his grief, his suspicion of power—then you won’t reach him. He won’t fake belief to please you. He’s already been burned by that kind of performance. But if you love him without trying to fix him, then maybe—maybe—he’ll open the door to understanding you more than you expected.
Prompt: Vibrant stained glass windows, symbolizing the Kingdom of God, glow softly, casting a divine and mystical light over this labyrinthine mental space. The atmosphere is both claustrophobic and reverent, blending the divine with the boundless intricacies of the human heart.
You’re not going to change him by preaching. Don’t bring him a system—show him a soul. He’s not drawn to dogma, he’s drawn to depth. He respects sincerity and courage more than certainty. If you want him to even consider your faith, you need to live it so vividly, so beautifully, that he chooses to understand it. Not out of guilt. Not out of fear. But out of admiration.
He doesn’t want to be saved. He wants to see if there’s something sacred about being human.
And if you can’t make peace with the parts of him that resist—his rebellion, his intellect, his grief, his suspicion of power—then you won’t reach him. He won’t fake belief to please you. He’s already been burned by that kind of performance. But if you love him without trying to fix him, then maybe—maybe—he’ll open the door to understanding you more than you expected.
Prompt: A woman who recognizes the fire in a man long before the world does. She’s not trying to tame him, fix him, or slow him down—she speaks to his storm like it’s a language she was born knowing. She sees him in motion, on a path few dare to walk, and instead of trying to reroute him, she matches his pace. Her words are calm, but powerful. There is admiration, yes, but more than that, there is understanding. She doesn’t beg to be chosen—she simply lets him know that she sees the man he’s becoming, and she isn’t afraid of the distance he must travel to get there. She carries her own flame. She’s not waiting—she’s preparing.
Prompt: A woman in her late twenties with fierce, unkempt hair and a defiant expression, standing in a forgotten, ancient library. She wears a patched-up long coat over combat boots, a pendant with a jagged spiral carved in obsidian hanging from her neck. Her eyes are wild and sharp, hinting at trauma and brilliance. The light casts dramatic shadows across the bookshelves, and the air seems to bend subtly around her, as if the universe itself takes note of her presence. The mood is both dangerous and magnetic—a wild storm barely held in human form.
The air in the library was heavy with the scent of aged paper and molten wax. A Sphynx cat sat poised on an ancient wooden table, its furless body bathed in the golden flicker of candlelight. Its deep, hypnotic eyes glinted, reflecting the arcane glow of an open book that seemed to pulse faintly with life.
Towering bookshelves loomed in the shadows, their contents a labyrinth of forgotten knowledge, their spines cracked and titles faded with time. The room was an echo of history, its silence broken only by the soft hiss of candles and the faint rustle of the cat's movements.
Intricate carvings adorned the table and walls—Masonic compasses, all-seeing eyes, and esoteric sigils intertwined in the woodwork, their presence subtle yet undeniable. Above, a brass chandelier hung like a sentinel, its melted candles forming stalactites of wax that pointed to the mystical scene below.
The cat blinked slowly, as though guarding the secrets contained within the luminous tome. The pages shimmered with indecipherable runes, their meaning elusive yet magnetic, calling out to the curious and the brave.
In this sanctuary of occult wisdom, the cat seemed not just a creature, but a keeper—its gaze as ancient as the knowledge that surrounded it.
Prompt: A powerful, cinematic scene at sea during a lightning storm — a majestic woman rises from the storm clouds and crashing waves, her hair flowing like black thunderclouds, eyes glowing with electric fury, arms outstretched as if commanding the tempest. Below her, a calm yet immense figure of a man stands waist-deep in the ocean, his expression resolute, powerful, and unyielding. His presence merges with the vastness of the sea—his shoulders like rock outcroppings, his gaze steady as the moonlight breaks through the chaos. The contrast between the raging sky and the deep, calm ocean is stark and dramatic. Dark blues, silvers, and flashes of lightning illuminate the scene. The atmosphere is charged with tension, danger, and elemental romance.
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.
53w
53w
