Ever since I start­ed mess­ing around with AI last sum­mer, won­ders did not cease. Nei­ther did dis­ap­point­ments.

This site is my way of com­ing to terms with my stum­bling and ram­bling and down­right in in in of all al is … at a loss. But still! I’m not sure any­more if it real­ly was sum­mer. A real sum­mer. Maybe it was some mashed-up con­glom­er­ate of weird sea­son s that no one can put their clum­sy fin­ger on.

Two months ago, I dove head­first into AI image gen­er­a­tion. I was hooked immediately—the idea that I could con­jure up any scene, any char­ac­ter, any world with just a few words was intox­i­cat­ing.

But there’s a catch: no mat­ter how many times I tweak my prompts, some things just refuse to be fixed. Hands with too many fin­gers. Eyes that stare in oppo­site direc­tions. Shad­ows that defy the laws of physics. It’s like the AI has a mind of its own, and its mind is a sur­re­al­ist night­mare.