We’re Fucked, Pt. 78: AI-generated images

Some neural networks excel at recognizing patterns in data, and as if that wasn’t enough, they can extrapolate those patterns into new data. In practice, the AIs involved in this entry study images (millions, perhaps billions of them) and produce new images based on the patterns they have recognized, patterns that you wouldn’t understand even if they explained them to you. Plenty of those images are masterful paintings and compositions far better than anything you will ever create with your mess of a human brain haphazardly cobbled together by evolution, that still believes you are fleeing from predators in a savannah. That’s just how it is. Learn to use AI-generated images as inspiration, because you’ll only rage against the machine in vain.

Anyway, if the measure of density of a chapter is how many images it manages to inspire, chapter 78 of my ongoing novel We’re Fucked is hella thicc. Some of the pictures look like anime because one of the neural networks studied anime-like stuff exclusively, plenty of it perverted.

You can check out all the entries I’ve posted with AI-generated images (twenty-nine so far) through this link.

“The breeze blows on the grass and weeds like a whistling ghost.”
“Its cold seeps under my corduroy jacket and leeches the warmth from my bones.”
Anime mommy
“[…] her ivory-white face, that hovers above me like an earthly moon.”
“Her cobalt-blues, beneath which she conceals a thousand secret fountains and grottoes, are piercing deep into my psyche as if to flush my demons out of their hiding spots.”
“I’d love to stare up in silence at this divine being for the rest of my life; any words would mar the silence.”
“Humans have to acknowledge their mental states through verbal constructs on a regular basis, to distract themselves from the certainty of their impending doom.”
“A nice glow-in-the-dark shine.”
“This Paleolithic creature deserves a bit of paradise, with food to eat, a wide-open sky, trees for shade, and grass for chewing.”
“My mind gets inundated with images of that boreal forest from which I snatched our girl.”
“Nairu’s abandoned kin must have prayed to their gods and devils to be spared from the unspeakable apocalypse that befell them.”
“I wish I could leap forward another ten thousand years and disappear from this sickening age of mass destruction and despair.”
“As Jacqueline crouches, she smooths her plaid skirt over her thighs, then she lies down sideways beside me, resting her face on her palm.”
“The close-up of her regal visage in the dark makes me feel like a cat snuggled up by a radiator.”
“I take a whiff of her fragrance, a flower garden blooming with myriad blossoms.”
“Isn’t it nice to feel the grass beneath us and hear the sound of the wind in the trees?”
“She nuzzles my nose with hers.”
“I’ll have to avoid turning into the kind of mom that forgets her daughter’s name, locks her out in the freezing rain, keeps her chained in the cellar, or hands her over to a warlord.”
The Earth becomes a burnt cinder drifting in the void.
“the zest of a dog that comes across a mud puddle in a park and rushes to turn itself into a swamp monster.”
“The wind gusts a long-ass moan through the leafless tree branches as the night takes a chillier turn.”
“The three of us huddle together like house cats napping in a wrinkled blanket.”
“My limbs feel heavy and stiff, like sacks of sand strapped to my torso.”
“I close my eyes and unmoor my mind, which has grown fuzzy with drowsiness, so that it paints on the canvas of soft blackness whatever insane spectacle it pleases.”
“The first pinkish streaks of morning light stain an ethereal sky.”
“A yellow sun appears, spreading waves of liquid gold.”
“The sky cracks open as if a projectile punched through the stratosphere.”
An angel descended from heaven.
“The beast’s leathery snout gleams with its own sticky sap.”
“When the beast lets go of the paper, it unfolds itself with a dry crackling sound and takes off like a sparrow that had gotten captured and imprisoned in a birdcage.”
“The decrepit paper flutters towards me.”
“The paper’s edges are browned and torn, and its coarse surface is sullied with bloody fingerprints, but it contains spidery handwriting in fading red ink and an archaic script.”
“My name is Dialectos, which in your language means ‘tongue.'”
“My soul is sustained by the constant stream of dark matter that suffuses every atom of the universe.”
“I enclose in my wings a tiny sliver of the blackest metal, found at the center of your Milky Way galaxy, where countless stars spin like pinwheels of fire.”
“In the realm of the unseen, you humans and other beasts are like flies upon a wall.”
“Leire, your ancestors’ bloodlines can be traced to the sphinxes that used to roam your continent like sentient wildcats.”
“[…] you kidnapped her, upending her life forever, to bring her past the barrier of the Younger Dryas apocalypse into a world of steel-boned cities.”
“A world of steel-boned cities, lightbulbs, telephones, radios, televisions, submarines, airplanes, rockets, computers, guns and atomic bombs.”
“You have violated the sanctity of time and space.”
The riverlike course of fate.
“I promise to reward you with a salary of dark matter.”
“Under your care, if the child grows into a lovely woman, your name will be inscribed in the Hall of Ancestors at her place of birth.”
The fiend that haunts the nightmares of children.
“I will cast you back in time, into a frozen cave where you’ll meet a future self.”
“That I promise and swear on the ancient blood that coats every blade of grass.”
“The paper curls itself into a bowtie, then flies away towards the dawn’s light.”
“I smile to the darkness of my mind.”
“I imagine my heart hardening to the extent that a thousand years of suffering couldn’t crack it.”
“I want to slice my head off with a kitchen knife, then hold the decapitated head in the sky so that my eyeballs and mouth, dripping red-and-green goo down on humankind’s face, could scream one thing to everyone, even those who loathe me: ‘I love you.'”

One thought on “We’re Fucked, Pt. 78: AI-generated images

  1. Pingback: We’re Fucked, Pt. 78 (Fiction) – The Domains of the Emperor Owl

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