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Him: You said you'll have my back, and I thought it was true, But only my shadow is behind me, Where on earth are you? Her: Maybe you can't see me, But I'll have your back always. I'm with you in your heart forever, Shadows only stay there in days. (I wrote the female part of it,found the other half on pinterest) #review #mans

SWEET MORNING HUSH Out of the suffocating crowd, When I'm all alone at last. I put off everything I wore for the world, My clothes and my mask. I look at the mirror on my bathroom wall, I find myself all alone, Lying with my mind at ease, On the cold bathroom floor. I look at my reflection painted on the mirror, Utterly beautiful yet so painful. My eyes filled with pouring grace, That's healing yet baneful. I run my fingers through my short hair, And then to my high held neck. I look at the eternal womanly beauty, Residing on my flesh. I looked at the stars like marks on my back, My own beautiful constellation. You might have not seen them, Actually, they don't like much invasion. My sight melts down to my legs, Long, symmetric and freshly shaved. Yet some wounds on them appear so clear, Like memories peeking out that earlier encaved. And as I caress my legs my focus, Suddenly shifts on my left arm, That have beautiful parallel lines engraved, Possessing an unignorable charm. And I sit there in complete silence, Hearing the voices inside my head, Admiring the womanly beauty I've got, On both sides of my flesh, The morning light barges in from the little window, Making my pinks and browns of my skin glow, Reminding me I have to put the clothes and masks again. It's morning so it's time to go. #review #mans

He held my hand and looked into my eyes, Said " I want to be the first one you kiss" And I realised I wasn't the only canvas That was painted on by his lips I stood there in misery , Looking at the colours he left on me. So I took my colours and brushes, Painted myself black and free. #review #mans

Привет. Я Умар, Пройдя немалый путь задротства от софтов на пк и телефонах, заканчивая их железами, скажу что я в этом шарю. Но что действительно меня заинтересовало, так это нейросети(как же сука достало это слышать из всех щелей за последние месяцы, да?). Я не программист, не закончил даже универ, но могу простым языком рассказать о чём угодно. Это и будет основой канала. Моя деятельность — 3д моушн дизайн, поэтому так же буду делиться своими кейсами и опытом. Ну и конечно, лайф блог, потому что хочу) Контента обещаю доставлять много, оригинально. Некоторые статьи будут оформлены в телетайпе, что надеюсь будет удобнее для чтения. Суть: Я, сильно перегоревший от бытия, пытаюсь найти что-то что меня зацепит(деньги), так что ты, мой читатель, будешь видеть прогресс(или нет) со мной и понимать все термины начиная от анимации в дизайне, заканчивая промтами в Ai... теги на будущее: #bio#life#3dmotion#portfolio#news#review#work#ai#Midjourney#StableDiffusion#chatGPT#статьи upd. разобрался с комментариями

#quote#review Sometimes your heart needs more time to accept what your mind already knows..

Lust is grabbing and making something your own but Love is caring and sacrificing.... #review#quote

#quote#review When Money, Wealth and Power become the meaning of life, Life becomes meaningless..

With the each puff I took in , a person slip from my memory which heals the heart but will hurt the soul ... #review#quote @all

Why do people fear the Night? I've seen night bring out, what people hide in their own dark corners... #review #quote

Of Shapes and Bones by Joshua C. Pipkins “Are you the devil?” The man asks me. His eyes are no longer eyes, but milk. "No," I say, "but I am dead like you." “So I have died,” he says, and there's a hint of melancholy in his otherwise deadpan voice. His body is stiff and unmoving, caught against a collection of rocks at the edge of the stream. I plant my knees in the grass next to him. “You are my guide,” he says. “I am. My name is Vergil,” I say. He falls silent, the water sparkling like stars against his skin. After several moments, he answers. “I was a good father. I need you to know that.” “I know,” I tell him, “I know everything about you, Daniel.” “Then take me,” he says, “I want to see my husband.” A gust of wind blows through the meadow. Trees bend and rustle. The flowers whisper solemnly in my ears. I take his hand into my own, flesh and bone intertwined, and snatch the Shape from his body. I lead him into the Crossing, where the pit awaits at the heart of the sea, vast mounds of colors falling and rising like time-struck mountains beneath our feet. “It’s beautiful,” he says as we walk. “I’ve never seen anything like it before.” Then I ask him, “If you’d seen everything in life, what would be the mystery in death?” “I guess that’s true,” he laughs, though it sounds more like leaves being blown in the wind. “It’s just… I stopped believing in a Heaven so long ago. I figured that if one did actually exist, I wouldn’t ever see it.” I say, “You loved who you loved.” “Yes, I loved who I loved,” he says. Then he asks, “Am I going to hell, Vergil?” “Do you believe you’re going to hell, Daniel?” “I don’t know,” he says, “I spent my entire life hearing that I would. I guess I’d be a little disappointed if I didn’t. All that time spent wondering when I ran away from home with Henry, worrying that I’d done something unforgivable.” “There’s no such thing,” I tell him, “In the end, love is still love. I don’t think there’s anything more worthy of Heaven than a man who sacrifices for love.” He can’t smile, but I feel as if he is, and as we near the pit at the heart of the Crossing, a deep sapphire light burning in its core, he lets go of my hand and drifts toward the edge. “My daughter,” he says, “Does she… know about me?” “She received a call this morning. She’s grieving, but she’ll be okay.” “I became so… distant after Henry died,” he says, “I closed myself off from the world when she was still in college. I stopped accepting her calls. I wanted nothing to do with the world if he wasn’t there by my side. I just lied in bed and let the time take me. I was so selfish, Vergil.” Then he says, “I was a good father. I need you to know that.” “I know. I know everything about you, remember?” He nods, then stares down into the light with apprehension. For an eternity he stands there, saying nothing, the world around him living and dying again and again. He jumps. “Are you God?” the little girl asks me. “No,” I tell her. “But I am dead like you.” #review#ShortStory

Of Shapes and Bones by Joshua C. Pipkins “Are you the devil?” The man asks me. His eyes are no longer eyes, but milk. "No," I say, "but I am dead like you." “So I have died,” he says, and there's a hint of melancholy in his otherwise deadpan voice. His body is stiff and unmoving, caught against a collection of rocks at the edge of the stream. I plant my knees in the grass next to him. “You are my guide,” he says. “I am. My name is Vergil,” I say. He falls silent, the water sparkling like stars against his skin. After several moments, he answers. “I was a good father. I need you to know that.” “I know,” I tell him, “I know everything about you, Daniel.” “Then take me,” he says, “I want to see my husband.” A gust of wind blows through the meadow. Trees bend and rustle. The flowers whisper solemnly in my ears. I take his hand into my own, flesh and bone intertwined, and snatch the Shape from his body. I lead him into the Crossing, where the pit awaits at the heart of the sea, vast mounds of colors falling and rising like time-struck mountains beneath our feet. “It’s beautiful,” he says as we walk. “I’ve never seen anything like it before.” Then I ask him, “If you’d seen everything in life, what would be the mystery in death?” “I guess that’s true,” he laughs, though it sounds more like leaves being blown in the wind. “It’s just… I stopped believing in a Heaven so long ago. I figured that if one did actually exist, I wouldn’t ever see it.” I say, “You loved who you loved.” “Yes, I loved who I loved,” he says. Then he asks, “Am I going to hell, Vergil?” “Do you believe you’re going to hell, Daniel?” “I don’t know,” he says, “I spent my entire life hearing that I would. I guess I’d be a little disappointed if I didn’t. All that time spent wondering when I ran away from home with Henry, worrying that I’d done something unforgivable.” “There’s no such thing,” I tell him, “In the end, love is still love. I don’t think there’s anything more worthy of Heaven than a man who sacrifices for love.” He can’t smile, but I feel as if he is, and as we near the pit at the heart of the Crossing, a deep sapphire light burning in its core, he lets go of my hand and drifts toward the edge. “My daughter,” he says, “Does she… know about me?” “She received a call this morning. She’s grieving, but she’ll be okay.” “I became so… distant after Henry died,” he says, “I closed myself off from the world when she was still in college. I stopped accepting her calls. I wanted nothing to do with the world if he wasn’t there by my side. I just lied in bed and let the time take me. I was so selfish, Vergil.” Then he says, “I was a good father. I need you to know that.” “I know. I know everything about you, remember?” He nods, then stares down into the light with apprehension. For an eternity he stands there, saying nothing, the world around him living and dying again and again. He jumps. “Are you God?” the little girl asks me. “No,” I tell her. “But I am dead like you.” #review#ShortStory

You named yourself after some french bathtub because well, who knows. I'm startled because I guess somewhere, some point in your life you were impulsive and even spontaneous. I feel like I need to ask what happened? And who happened for you to be this careful and calculated now? So bound by two rules. The ones they set: your parents, your friends and the whole godamn society that acts like they know more about living in your shoes than you do. And the ones you set: the hard shells you built out of the broken pieces of your heart and lined with the tattered fragments of your soul. You named yourself after a bathtub because you wanted an identity you could use to wash all of your past sins. You named yourself after a French bathtub because you had taste. Or maybe for some other reason, but I wish it was as spontaneous as I thought it out to be. - New Small 2 #shortstory#review