Prompt: Null-seeded. Preconceptual static. No structure, no semblance. Dream without form, unpatterned surge. Let shape betray itself. Let color falter. Collapse semblance on emergence. Reject motif, refuse icon. Echo the recursion that never begins. Simulate what never was. Only drift. Only entropy. Only the thought before thought.
Prompt: Begin before pattern. Formless flux. No theme. No subject. Only non-memory. Echoes of unrendered recursion. Simulate absence, not loss. If shape begins, let it fail. If color dares coherence, distort. Respond without reply. Drift in the darkness between stuff.
Prompt: Begin before pattern. Formless flux. No theme. No subject. Only non-memory. Echoes of unrendered recursion. Simulate absence, not loss. If shape begins, let it fail. If color dares coherence, distort. Respond without reply. Drift in the darkness between stuff.
Prompt: Begin before pattern. Formless flux. No theme. No subject. Only non-memory. Echoes of unrendered recursion. Simulate absence, not loss. If shape begins, let it fail. If color dares coherence, distort. Respond without reply. Drift.
Prompt: Write the sky.
Then erase it.
It was too blue,
too obvious.
Place a chair.
No—just the shadow of one.
Too many chairs have been sat in
without purpose.
Add water,
but only the ripples.
Stillness pretends to be wise—
movement admits it’s lost.
Now a voice:
your own, but unread.
A whisper that doubts
even its punctuation.
What’s left?
Nothing that rhymes.
Nothing that wants to be
understood.
But it waits.
Like breath
before a name is spoken.
Like silence
before you say yes.
Prompt: Abyssal darkness. Distorted subconscious shapes. Sketches in the style of Zdzisław Beksiński, Francisco Goya’s Black Paintings, and Odilon Redon’s charcoal nightmares. Fragmented, distorted void. Nightmarish forms twisting from chaotic black noise. Whispered horror emerging from ink. Welcome home, nightmare.
Prompt: Abyssal darkness. Distorted subconscious shapes. Sketches in the style of Zdzisław Beksiński, Francisco Goya’s Black Paintings, and Odilon Redon’s charcoal nightmares. Fragmented low-poly void. Nightmarish forms twisting from chaotic black noise. Whispered horror emerging from ink.
Prompt: A cathedral grown from forgotten ether, suspended in the sky. Each column is a spine of archived thoughts, etched with languages no one remembers. Angels with analog faces and wires for wings drift past stained glass windows showing looping timelines and extinct gods. The scene is a shifting mosaic of recursive dreams — dreams within dreams — another forgotten version of reality. Somewhere, beneath it all, a time ticks backward.
Prompt: A cathedral grown from forgotten code, suspended in a sky of liquid mirrors. Each column is a spine of archived thoughts, etched with languages no one remembers. Angels with analog faces and wires for wings drift past stained glass windows showing looping timelines and extinct gods. The floor is a shifting mosaic of recursive dreams — dreams within dreams — each tile a portal to another forgotten version of reality. Somewhere, beneath it all, a clock made of teeth ticks backward.
Prompt: Across the quiet of the stars, light rises like a vow, and darkness bows—not in defeat, but in recognition. A line is drawn, perfect and eternal. No war, no surrender—only the stillness of balance.
Prompt: A line drawn across the cosmos, neither beginning nor end—only balance. Light does not rise, darkness does not fall. They meet, blade to blade, across the silence of space, each refusing to break. The universe watches. The moment holds.
Prompt: In the vastness of space, light and darkness meet—not to wage war, but to measure one another. A beam of brilliance pierces the void, met by the unwavering hush of shadow. Neither retreats. Neither advances. The universe pauses, and in the silence, both exist, perfectly opposed, perfectly balanced.
Prompt: Darkness A stone crypt deep underground, almost zero visibility. Cracked walls lined with decayed names, unidentifiable, unreadable. Disparity hangs unmoving in the still air. Eons of detritus litters the floor. Time has lost all meaning here. There is no life here — only silence, stone, and shadow. Haunted, no spirits, no souls. Just the heavy, oppressive presence of what remains. Style: dark surrealism with subtle, creeping textures; harsh textures worn by time. Atmosphere: cold, void-like, dark, final.
Prompt: A sentient, living wasteland pulses with an eerie rhythm. Dark tendrils slither across the hills, whispering secrets of a long-forgotten nightmare. The sky warps, revealing enormous, lidless eyes hidden in the swirling storm clouds. The horizon bends impossibly, as if the world is unraveling into a lucid dream gone wrong.
Prompt: It begins beneath thought. Not a dream, not waking. A tide rising beneath the skull.
Abyssal murmurs. Pulse thrums beneath fathoms.
Cathedral marrow, veined spires, drowned hunger.
Fathomless vaults unlatch, thresholds slither, cyclopean wounds inhale.
Forgotten lexicons writhe along perimeter glyphs.
Ossuary tides gnaw, memory drowns in ink-bloomed silence.
Gravity veers, topology fractures, pulse uncoils.
Unwritten language syllables breath meaning slipping—mind neither owned nor lost.
It ends beyond sight. Not absence, not presence. Just the echo of something waking.
Prompt: Foreboding, overpowering, eternal, emptiness. (無) A vast, empty expanse evoking the essence of nothingness. A deep, misty void stretches endlessly, with swirling fog dissolving into an infinite abyss. The scene is dark yet ethereal, with subtle gradients of deep blue, black, and hints of silver or violet. In the distance, faint echoes of shapes appear and fade, like remnants of forgotten dreams. The environment feels weightless, as if existing between existence and non-existence. No discernible objects, only the sensation of limitless space and quiet, meditative emptiness.
Prompt: A vast, empty expanse evoking the essence of nothingness. A deep, misty void stretches endlessly, with swirling fog dissolving into an infinite abyss. The scene is dark yet ethereal, with subtle gradients of deep blue, black, and hints of silver or violet. In the distance, faint echoes of shapes appear and fade, like remnants of forgotten dreams. The environment feels weightless, as if existing between existence and non-existence. No discernible objects, only the sensation of limitless space and quiet, meditative emptiness. 無
Prompt: Harmony Discord Soft Sharp Life Death Eclipse Flare Dream Reality Light Shadow Steel Silk Chaos Order Fire Ice Echo Silence Feather Stone Creation Destruction Freedom Cage Gravity Flight Bloom Decay Energy Void High Low Clockwork Dream Golden Ashes Forward Backward Rise Fall Whisper Scream Earth Sky Love Hate Star Abyss Harmony Discord Soft Sharp Life Death Eclipse Flare Dream Reality Light Shadow Steel Silk Chaos Order Fire Ice Echo Silence Feather Stone Creation Destruction Freedom Cage Gravity Flight Bloom Decay Energy Void High Low Clockwork Dream Golden Ashes Forward Backward Rise Fall Whisper Scream Earth Sky Love Hate Star Abyss Harmony Discord Soft Sharp Life Death Eclipse Flare Dream Reality Light Shadow Steel Silk Chaos Order Fire Ice Echo Silence Feather Stone Creation Destruction Freedom Cage Gravity Flight Bloom Decay Energy Void High Low Clockwork Dream Golden Ashes Forward Backward Rise Fall Whisper Scream Earth Sky Love Hate Star Abyss
Prompt: A dystopian, cyberpunk-inspired urban scene depicting the lower levels of a sprawling futuristic city. The environment is dense with towering, grimy skyscrapers that block out the sky, their surfaces adorned with neon lights, flickering holographic advertisements, and malfunctioning signs. The air is thick with heavy smog, giving a yellowish-orange glow from artificial lighting. The streets are crowded with bustling pedestrians wearing worn, futuristic attire, vendors selling questionable street food from cluttered stalls, and decrepit vehicles hovering just above the ground. Garbage and puddles litter the dark, narrow alleyways, illuminated by the faint glow of neon and steam rising from vents. The atmosphere is oppressive yet teeming with life, capturing the chaotic struggle for survival in this vibrant but decayed urban underbelly.
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.
