Coaxing two neural networks to produce generated images of whatever nonsense is going on in a chapter creates a strange dynamic: plenty of the stuff they spit out inspires me to go on deranged tangents that in turn send new prompts their way. It’s like having talented creative partners that can’t refuse to cooperate with you no matter how much they’d want to.
I hope you enjoy AI-generated images, because I’m going to post a fuckton of them, all related to
chapter 77 of my ongoing novel We’re Fucked.
You can check out all the entries I’ve posted with generated images
through this link.
“Nairu has gotten stuck in a dopamine-driven feedback loop, hypnotized by the promise of controlled danger.”
“As she stands on top of the play tower, the streetlamps bathe her in yellow ochre light and shade her features with stark shadows.”
“She submits her fate to the interaction of gravity and friction.”
“[Nairu] runs to the climbing wall while the white ghosts of her breath pursue her.”
Nairu bouncing off the slide. Why is her face so cursed?
“She sails through the air as if riding the crest of a rollercoaster.”
“Her body plows belly first into the rubber tarmac, which squeezes a yelp out of her lungs.” I regret everything.
Dirty rubber tarmacs.
A lifetime of regret.
The pilomotor reflex shuts down.
“Don’t they say that the majority of cells in your body get replaced every seven to ten years?”
“Maybe we never grew up, we just appear to age to our bodies.”
“I only laugh anymore as an evolutionary mechanism to prevent me from going insane.”
“Did we forget about our adopted daughter? She has climbed the tower and is standing on the edge, maybe waiting to be noticed.”
“The closest streetlamp is bathing her in light, giving her a golden tinge, as if framed against the sunset sky.”
“I’ve known our adopted daughter for less than a day, but if she were to fall and break her neck, the memory would petrify inside my brain, and for the rest of my life, most of the blood and thoughts would need to flow around the tumorous stone.”
“You’re going to end up looking like a modern sloth again.”
“The corners of Nairu’s mouth curl up in a mischievous smile, as if she had imagined herself slipping a caterpillar into someone’s hand as a prank, and she could barely contain the giggles at the thought of the ensuing freak-out.”
“She grins, then flings her arms out wide, bends her knees and leans forward.”
A girl taking a shit.
“She leaps from the edge towards me like a linebacker hurling himself into a tackle.”
“I move my toes to make sure that I haven’t cracked my spine.”
“Weeds are bending against my ears and the underside of my jaw as their vegetal blades dig into my flesh.”
“Our adopted child is pressing down on my chest as she clings to me like a koala.”
“This stranger from the cold wildlands of the past has bested me with her mysterious guile, making a mockery of thousands of years of language evolution.”
“It will take less than an hour for those microscopic beasts to crawl in through my scalp, spilling some of my brains’ juice in the process, and begin digesting my scalpels and bone saws.”
“In the isolation of a droning sound in my ears and a darkness tinged with citrine-yellow lamplight, I become a mother who is holding her firstborn child.”
“A blizzard swirls up and down, covering our hair in white ice, creating a maelstrom of whirling snowflakes as it sucks up in a frenzy leaves, bits of bark, and twigs.”
“The frozen matter, as well as every form of organic litter, will be taken away by the whirlwind of the snowstorm, swept up into the sky and reincarnated as dust particles.”
“Nairu and I have begun an evolutionary journey into a stronger species by this act, by her invasion of my world, by our physical and psychic bond.”
“Our bodies now resonate like the soundboard of a Stradivarius.”
“The vibrating walls of a gargantuan tuning fork.”
“Curled up in a corner, I felt like a piece of rotten meat thrown in a dustbin.”
“I dealt with the ghosts of programming languages past, haunted by their convoluted syntaxes, buried under the piled layers of virtual scaffolding that supported their unfathomable intricacy.”
“I inhabited a realm far beneath society’s surface, at the bottom of an ocean populated by abyssal beasts that had to be fed with pain.”
“Such an outburst would turn my brain into a sponge forever dampened by the sticky ooze of regret.”
“Should any child fear to see her loved ones shot with bullets that tear out the insides of human bodies?”
“To shield Nairu from this insanity, we could whisk her away to a deserted tropical island, a sanctuary of natural beauty and blinding sunlight where the air would smell of brine and warm skin, where only birds would speak a language.” The neural network, being a bit of an autist, was quite literal regarding that “whisk” thing.
“Nairu would paint the amber hues of sunset skies on my bare legs.”
“My naked body would be drenched in sweat, and the sand would cling to my ass.” Thank you, anime-based AI.
“A whole pod of dolphin children could join our mafia-run aquatic colony.”
“We’d drag under the waves any human who swam too far from the shore.”
The neural networks’ notion of lava plains on the Moon.
“I’d love to bathe in the dust of millennia.”
“We would launch ourselves down the tubes carved out in the lunar crust by rising liquid rock, slippery slopes that lead all the way down to the center of the world.”
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