Random AI-generated images #21


In this modern world of soulless art that has been digested by a chain of ideologues before it reaches the general public, unbiased neural networks come forth to bring us pure, innocent beauty, as well as raw madness.

I have posted many, many entries that feature AI-generated images. Check them out.

I think often about spelunking down some hole.
Never forget.
The neural network can come up with cool flag designs, but that shouldn’t surprise anybody at this point.
Also shirts that few people would wear.
Imagery related to my dream of becoming the king of Castile. Only owls would be allowed to live in the kingdom.
The prompt for these ones were, “ghostly sloth haunting zoo.” I’m happy.
Intriguing designs for wraiths in some RPG.
Only an AI would come up with this shit.

We’re Fucked, Pt. 80: AI-generated images

To render moments of this chapter, I relied on a neural network that churns out mesmerizing masterpieces as long as you pay that artificial intelligence a monthly wage for it (which is fine; great work should be rewarded). A second neural network, one trained on anime and furry shit, also helped.

The following images are related to chapter 80 of my ongoing novel We’re Fucked.

I have posted many, many entries that feature AI-generated images: check them out.

“I rest my forehead on the windowpane, that barely insulates the office from the cold of this November sunset.”
“Our star is a cream pie on which someone has landed ass-first, splashing its pinkish-orange filling all over the sky.”
Anime AI’s interpretations of the previous prompt. Thank you, that was exactly what I was picturing.
“The fat storm clouds that drift by are dyed the color of dried blood; mixed with the charcoal-black of the clouds themselves, they resemble stains on the clothes of plague victims.”
Somewhat useful reference pics.
“Sound waves pour from the speaker of my cellphone down my ear canal.”
“The forms of the two females, sculpted in obsidian, stand on the carpet of that remote living room, framed against the shapes in relief of the cabinet and the widescreen TV.”
“I’m craving something sweet, warm and moist.”
“The clock is ticking on the evening hours, and I need to progress my programming tasks for this job that sucks the joy and wonder out of my life.”
“Her full lips must be brushing the plasticky surface of her phone, spattering it, blessing it, with microscopic particles of saliva.”
“The Ice Age gifted us an Asian kid tempered in the boreal cold, who survived her skirmishes against an ensemble of Paleolithic megafauna.”
“My voice comes out in a croak, as if a lump was blocking my throat.”
“She must have been cuddling with you all afternoon, so she has likely forgotten that I exist.”
“A porcelain-white vine of lightning, twisted and barbed, has streaked through the thick belly of a storm cloud, burning its image into that gray slug filled with rain.”
“I imagine myself as a critter caught outside during a storm in the tropics: a tree snail clinging onto a mangrove to weather nature’s wrath.”
“Her worried voice sounded like a cat meowing at a screen that shows her missing owner.”
“Help me, Nairu! I’m trapped in this futuristic device!”
“Jacqueline’s laugh comes through like a bell pealing over the hilltops.”
“They would consider you a delicious breakfast buffet, the tastiest and nuttiest prey in their hunting ground.” I worry about what these AIs believe the Ice Age was like.
“Those beasts weren’t monsters, though. Just misunderstood.”
“Those storm clouds resemble an avalanche of dirty snow sliding across the sky in slow motion.”
“Glad you’re keeping her fed and warm in that glass-encased bubble while I risk my life in this forest of cement and metal.”
“I hope you chose one of the classics, instead of the turds they’ve been pushing out since they got gobbled up by that demonic mouse, a slobbering beast that has hijacked children’s imagination.”
“A drifting cloud has unveiled the moon and its silvery haze: a thinning scab on a bruised sky.”
“Poor thing, you must feel like I called from another dimension.”
“I rub my eyes and take a deep breath to scrub from my mind the yearning for another cataclysm, one that would leave this planet exposed to the starlight.”
“My statuesque queen of love and lust.”
“Ah, the classic tale involving a murderous cowboy and a clueless space marine.”
“The 3D humans in that one would traumatize me even now.” Anime AI was disturbingly good at producing cursed 3D characters.
“I wouldn’t have wanted my toys to know what I did in the privacy of my bedroom.”
Triceratops voyeurs.
“When she speaks again, her giggle-like tone warms everything within its reach, like the heat emanating from the belly of a giant furnace.”
“You should have locked up the stuffie, locked him away and kept your shameful secret a secret.”
“Plenty of love is flooding from both of our hearts towards the tiny sweetie that you took out of the ice.”
“I’m picturing her assemblage of dildos and vibrators doddering around in her wardrobe like stoic, limbless soldiers, leaving trails of lubricants with each stump-step.”
“I imagine myself sitting at the edge of mommy’s bed, facing my reflection in the mirrored wardrobe as her dildoes and vibrators knock and knock on the inside of the door, vying for the privilege of joining me in a muggy session of self-worship.”
“Lightning zigzags along the night sky, and as its glare whitens the windowpanes, I’m left with the afterimage of a black blot suspended in the air between the glass and the opposite office building.”
“The blot is accompanied by the blurry images of the long desk, the three chairs and the rectangular glow of my monitor.”
“At the other end of the office, on the lily-white wall, a tar-black stain is growing like ink bleeding into paper, like oil leaking from a deep puncture hole.”
Lightning-lizard!
“Lightning-lizards lurk outside, spreading out their glow into the room while jagged hairline cracks hover in front of me, superposed to the vision of the office and its flickering ceiling-mounted lamps, as if I were encased in scratched glass.”
“The black blob on the wall, engulfing a larger patch of white, pulsates as it swells, bulges out in viscous globs like a toilet backing up, and oozes down in gooey tendrils.”
“Light-snakes from the ceiling-mounted lamps are wriggling on the slimy, visceral mass.” Not at all what I meant, but I won’t complain.
“A glistening murk has gouged a hole in my skull and is crawling through my gray matter like a centipede.”
“I’m bobbing up to my nose in a gelatinous sea that tastes of vinegar and fish guts.”
“I shiver at the flapping sound of fat membranes uncurling, at the feel of viscid tissue-matter sticking to my skin.”
“Lightning bolts illuminate the waves in stroboscopic flashes, making them resemble a seething kelp forest, while I thrash my limbs around to stay afloat against the churning currents.”
“A honeyed voice breaks through, floods my mind and envelops my thoughts like a welcoming womb.”
“I miss the taste of her silky skin, like an ambrosial mixture of rosehip and milk.”
“I picture the inverted triangle of prominent features that make up Jacqueline’s ivory-white visage: her penetrating cobalt-blues at the two upper vertices, and her full lips at the lower vertex.”
“She’s standing in front of me in her peacoat and turtleneck sweater as the November wind tousles her hair.”
“Jacqueline is my sole lighthouse, a beacon amidst the storm of insanity that rages inside and outside of me.”
“A croaking voice pours forth through the speaker embedded in my neck, where the voicebox and throat structure must be housed.”
Goddess of delights, mistress of dreams.
“Overvoltage probably fried the electronics in my brain.”
“A tar-black blob has encroached upon a huge chunk of the wall.”
“A hole that sucks all hope through its bottomless whirlpool.”

Henry Darger (AI-generated images)

Don’t know about Mr. Darger? According to Wikipedia:

Henry Joseph Darger Jr. (April 12, 1892 – April 13, 1973) was an American writer, novelist and artist who worked as a hospital custodian in Chicago, Illinois. He has become famous for his posthumously discovered 15,145-page fantasy novel manuscript called The Story of the Vivian Girls, in What Is Known as the Realms of the Unreal, of the Glandeco-Angelinian War Storm, Caused by the Child Slave Rebellion, along with several hundred drawings and watercolor illustrations for the story.

The guy was likely autistic, was neglected throughout his childhood, and lived the rest of his life in isolation. On and off, he believed that girls have penises.

As it pertains this entry, the serious neural networks that produce images were trained on Darger’s stuff as well. So let’s bring this motherfucker back from the dead, shall we?

Check out the following images while listening to the song that Neutral Milk Hotel made in his honor.

Below are dinosaur-themed images in the man’s style:

What if Darger had lived long enough to discover virtual reality?

The following are depictions of the brutal Glandeco-Angelinian war: