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    an exploding head revealing all the dark and sinister and lustful thoughts that were buried inside

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    an exploding head revealing all the dark and sinister and lustful thoughts that were buried inside
    better reign in hell than be a thrall in heaven
    a gorgeous young woman in a semi transparent red gown wearing knee high roman sri-lanker sandals walks through a town of toy houses. the houses look like a toddler played with plastic and metal construction kit parts, and crammed together all wrong parts and colors. the woman destroys the houses as she goes and behind her is total destruction.
    extremely detailed, absurdres, raw photo, best quality, a mouthwatering perfect photo of a otoro fatty tuna nigiri, served on an artsysqure black plate with a knob of freshly grated wasabi. the ray skin grater and the wasabi root are neatly arranged on a wooden board together with tiny bowl of soy sauce
    lives, all mortal lives expire, souls go to their doom in flames forever more.
    a tall and sweet woman walking through the streets in business attire with stockings, skirt, white blouse and blazer on a rainy day, her hair a nd clothes are dripping wet and her makeup is runny, but her mood is still bright woman, very tall, rain, wet hair, runny makeup, smile, sweet face, long hair
    the liquid time of shut summer afternoon, through the window shades sunbeams trickle into the room, illuminating the lazy dust partcles in the air, so they seem like miniscule fireflies. the shadow of the ceiling ventilator makes its way slowly along the floor and the walls. on the table is a near empty bottle of whisky. a hand holds a full glass of it with a big melting icecube. the hand belongs to a woman with ash blonde hair and empty eyes. she is past her prime but still retains a shimmer of her former beauty. her lips are curled in a self deprecating smile as she reminisces the crossroads of her life choices and where she thinks she lost her way. woman, drinking,
    Hwær cwom mearg? Hwær cwom mago? Hwær cwom maþþumgyfa? Hwær cwom symbla gesetu? Hwær sindon seledreamas? Eala beorht bune! Eala byrnwiga! Eala þeodnes þrym! Hu seo þrag gewat, genap under nihthelm, swa heo no wære.
    A young dark sorceress weaving signals of black flames around her, hellbent on burning the eldritch creature lusting after her curvy body to fine ash
    extremely detailed, absurdres, raw photo, best quality, a smiling female receptionist in her dark red uniform at the reception of a kyoto grand hotel. on her neat hair she wears a beret and her skirt reaches down to her knees. the overall atmosphere is friendly and welcoming with warm lights and a luxurious flair
    Ich sage euch: man mu﷿ noch Chaos in sich haben, um einen tanzenden Stern gebären zu können. Ich sage euch: ihr habt noch Chaos in euch.
    So will ich ihnen vom Verächtlichsten sprechen: das aber ist der letzte Mensch.« Und also sprach Zarathustra zum Volke: Es ist an der Zeit, da﷿ der Mensch sich sein Ziel stecke. Es ist an der Zeit, da﷿ der Mensch den Keim seiner höchsten Hoffnung pflanze. Noch ist sein Boden dazu reich genug. Aber dieser Boden wird einst arm und zahm sein, und kein hoher Baum wird mehr aus ihm wachsen können.[ Wehe! Es kommt die Zeit, wo der Mensch nicht sehr den Pfeil seiner Sehnsucht über den Menschen hinaus wirft, und die Sehne seines Bogens verlernt hat, zu schwirren! Ich sage euch: man mu﷿ noch Chaos in sich haben, um einen tanzenden Stern gebären zu können. Ich sage euch: ihr habt noch Chaos in euch. Wehe! Es kommt die Zeit, wo der Mensch keinen Stern mehr gebären wird. Wehe! Es kommt die Zeit des verächtlichsten Menschen, der sich selber nicht mehr verachten kann. Seht! Ich zeige euch den letzten Menschen.
    the liquid time of shut summer afternoon, through the window shades sunbeams trickle into the room, illuminating the lazy dust partcles in the air, so they seem like miniscule fireflies. the shadow of the ceiling ventilator makes its way slowly along the floor and the walls. on the table is a near empty bottle of whisky. a hand holds a full glass of it with a big melting icecube. the hand belongs to a woman with ash blonde hair and empty eyes. she is past her prime but still retains a shimmer of her former beauty. her lips are curled in a self deprecating smile as she reminisces the crossroads of her life choices and where she thinks she lost her way. woman, drinking,
    extremely detailed, absurdres, raw photo, best quality, a watercolor painting of the tokyo skyline at sunset as seen from odaiba island
    a tall and sweet woman walking through the streets in business attire with stockings, skirt, blouse an blazer on a rainy day, her hair is wet and her makeup is runny, but her mood is still bright
    an exploding head revealing all the dark and sinister and lustful thoughts that were buried inside
    extremely detailed, absurdres, raw photo, best quality, a mouthwatering perfect photo of a otoro fatty tuna nigiri, served on an artsysqure black plate with a knob of freshly grated wasabi. the ray skin grater and the wasabi root are neatly arranged on a wooden board together with tiny bowl of soy sauce
    a close portrait photo of an ethereal beauty, a cyberpunk girl bathing in neon light, her eyes are black as obsidian and a cruel smile plays on her lips, slightly exposing her pointy fangs, as she is searching for her victim,
    Where now the horse and the rider? Where is the horn that was blowing? Where is the helm and the hauberk, and the bright hair flowing? Where is the hand on the harpstring, and the red fire glowing? Where is the spring and the harvest and the tall corn growing? They have passed like rain on the mountain, like a wind in the meadow; The days have gone down in the West behind the hills into shadow. Who shall gather the smoke of the dead wood burning, Or behold the flowing years from the Sea returning?
    So will ich ihnen vom Verächtlichsten sprechen: das aber ist der letzte Mensch.« Und also sprach Zarathustra zum Volke: Es ist an der Zeit, da﷿ der Mensch sich sein Ziel stecke. Es ist an der Zeit, da﷿ der Mensch den Keim seiner höchsten Hoffnung pflanze. Noch ist sein Boden dazu reich genug. Aber dieser Boden wird einst arm und zahm sein, und kein hoher Baum wird mehr aus ihm wachsen können.[ Wehe! Es kommt die Zeit, wo der Mensch nicht sehr den Pfeil seiner Sehnsucht über den Menschen hinaus wirft, und die Sehne seines Bogens verlernt hat, zu schwirren! Ich sage euch: man mu﷿ noch Chaos in sich haben, um einen tanzenden Stern gebären zu können. Ich sage euch: ihr habt noch Chaos in euch. Wehe! Es kommt die Zeit, wo der Mensch keinen Stern mehr gebären wird. Wehe! Es kommt die Zeit des verächtlichsten Menschen, der sich selber nicht mehr verachten kann. Seht! Ich zeige euch den letzten Menschen.
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