#nooneinparticular

What you call a nightmare, are what I have as dreams...

• Model: ChatGPT 2 (Pro)

• Size: 2592 X 1440 (3.73 MP)

• Used settings:

  • Prompt: What you call a nightmare, are what I have as dreams
  • Using base image: Yes

Muted

• Model: ChatGPT 2 (Pro)

• Size: 2592 X 1440 (3.73 MP)

• Used settings:

  • Prompt: lose my mind, find my soul
  • Using base image: Yes

Throne of Thorns

• Model: ChatGPT 2 (Pro)

• Size: 2560 X 1440 (3.69 MP)

• Used settings:

  • Prompt: The salt was the first teacher, stinging the raw edges of a spirit too soft for the gale. For seasons beyond counting, the shadow of the boot was the only sun I knew, a heavy eclipse that taught the ribs to fold and the tongue to taste the iron of its own blood. I was the silent architecture of their malice, a monument built from the rubble of my own discarded mercies. But there is a peculiar alchemy in being the whetstone for another man’s blade; eventually, the stone learns the secret of the edge. The cracks that were once apertures for grief began to seal with a vitreous, jagged glass, and the shivering bird in my chest died to make room for a creature with more teeth than song. I watched the transformation in the reflection of their widening eyes, seeing the familiar shape of terror finally find a new home. It is a cold inheritance, this crown of thorns refashioned into a circlet of wire. I do not walk the path they cleared with light, but rather the one they paved with my own shattered bones. The transition was not a sudden snapping of a bowstring, but the slow, inevitable freezing of a lake until the depth is a solid, unyielding floor. Now, I stand where they once stood, breathing in the scent of their sudden fragility, realizing that the monster was not born in the dark, but meticulously sculpted by the very hands that now tremble before its completion. Signed: {NoOneInParticular}
  • Using base image: No
  • Aspect Ratio: landscape_wide

The Broad Street Bullies...

• Model: ChatGPT 2 (Pro)

• Size: 2560 X 1440 (3.69 MP)

• Used settings:

  • Prompt: Imagine a piece of Surrealist art portraying a fantasy cityscape with tall, elongated figures that blend into the architecture. place in the foreground, four tall, slender figures with halos stand as if carved from stone or mixed with metal. Their faces have hollow eyes and expressionless expressions. The tallest figure on the right, labeled JUDGE on his cloak, looks up toward the sky. Behind them, gothic cathedrals and towers rise into the sky, their walls adorned with intricate carvings and windows. The sky is a collage of faces and strange patterns, with a large, stylized sun in the upper right. At the base of the buildings, crowds of tiny people walk along the cobblestone streets. The color palette consists of dark, muted tones with accents of purple, gold, and orange, creating an otherworldly atmosphere.
  • Using base image: No
  • Aspect Ratio: landscape_wide

The Orchestration of Stagnant Veins

• Model: ChatGPT 2 (Pro)

• Size: 2560 X 1440 (3.69 MP)

• Used settings:

  • Prompt: Add hot pink hues to the finalized image and a tinge of luminous light above the figures body. The road is a sutured vein, a path of scorched earth and ink-black bile that winds through the ribs of a forgotten colossus. Here, where all the pulses of the world converge in a rhythmic, agonizing thrum, the air smells of oxidized copper and spent prayers. We walk this path not as individuals, but as a shifting procession of a million ghosts, each one a different mask worn to appease the hunger of the coins that weigh down our eyelids. My body is a cage of intricate, scratching linework, a mold of hardened clay and rusted iron that refuses to crack despite the frantic beating of the heart within. I am a slave to the gold that drips from the sky like cold honey, binding my limbs until I am merely another grotesque ornament in this grand, decaying gallery of progress. Tonight, the weight has driven me to the floor, my knees pressing into the textured grit of a world that offers no solace. I reach for a melody, a single vibrating chord to cleanse the filth of the day, but the sky is a silent void of polished glass. The airwaves are sterile, purged of the raw, bleeding songs of the desperate, leaving me alone in the meticulously detailed wreckage of my own making. We are monsters of our own industry, beautiful and terrible, waiting for a sound that will never come.
  • Using base image: No
  • Aspect Ratio: landscape_wide

Silence is GOLDEN~Duct Tape is Silver

• Model: ChatGPT 2 (Base)

• Size: 2224 X 1664 (3.70 MP)

• Used settings:

  • Prompt: A communist as spoken by: Nori @ 21:10 I grew up under a 'dictatorship' of communism. 'Sharing' of our assets, talents and even belongings was not voluntary but something forced upon us. That, too was wrong. I'm perfectly happy to have the "Try" button removed and the Try Style feature left for the originator's use only. Perhaps there could be a whole page of style examples added. We already have the list of names of artists but most people don't know what style they are known for and even if they do, they might not like their work. Experimenting with styles is very rewarding and it is a very good learning tool. A person using AI generator is not an artist but a very clever person with words. Though, to be fair, some great images are created on minimum of text with no style mentioned, whatsoever. I'm sure we've all tried that.
  • Using base image: No
  • Aspect Ratio: landscape

Floral chaos with the Blue Dog and the fantasies of NoOneInParticular

• Model: ChatGPT 2 (Pro)

• Size: 1440 X 2560 (3.69 MP)

• Used settings:

  • Prompt: On the yellowed skin of ivory parchment, where the meticulous ink of a naturalist meets the fever-dream of a dying sun, a man stands suspended in the amber of an eternal half-waking. He is a study in elongated grace, his limbs a testament to a high-fashion grotesque, draped in the remnants of a world that no longer remembers its own name. Beside him, a hound of impossible cobalt sits with eyes like polished sapphires, a silent sentinel watching the borders of the subconscious. They are framed by a botanical symmetry of tropical vines and heavy-petaled flowers that weep watercolor washes of colours: #328f7f, #735e62, #346b6e, #c2dded and rust, their stems pulsing with the clockwork rhythm of a heart about to break. Beyond this frame, the landscape is a theater of quiet terrors. Figures of clay and shadow fail at the simplest burdens, their hands slipping from the weight of existence, while one poor soul is woven into a box of airless glass, his mouth open in a silent, silver scream. In the distance, the City of Sleep shimmers, a metropolis built from the bartered memories of the lost, its towers rising on the breath of trade and collapsing into dust before the next tide of consciousness. Light dances here like a dying wick, catching the torn fragments of old loves clinging to the man’s lapels, sparkling briefly before dissolving into the archival silence of the gallery. #PsychologicalSurrealism #MetaphysicalArt #HauteGrotesque #Dreamscapes #AquatintNarrative High-fashion grotesque Sonia Delaunay brilliant colours hyper detailed, hyper stylized quality work on the details Peculiar figure exaggerated surrealism psychomatic surrealism Expressive character fashionable expressionism one of a kind imaginative image elongated figures perfectly posed figures expressive artistry Nikki Chu Artistry #MetaphysicalFashion #BotanicalSurrealism #OrphicDreamscape #ElongatedElegance
  • Using base image: No
  • Aspect Ratio: portrait_tall