Southeast Asia. Modern day. This morning the sound of traffic in the street, scooters and tuk-tuks, taxis and trucks, was so loud I couldn’t hear my dream. So I turned it off and went dowstairs. Taking in diesel fumes ‘til it hurt to breathe, I found a hawker-stall and ate. It’s 100 degrees already; soon the rain will come.
Created by
resilientgiant187

Southeast Asia. Modern day. This morning the sound of traffic in the street, scooters and tuk-tuks, taxis and trucks, was so loud I couldn’t hear my dream. So I turned it off and went dowstairs. Taking in diesel fumes ‘til it hurt to breathe, I found a hawker-stall and ate. It’s 100 degrees already; soon the rain will come.

Style Used
Ink in Water preview
Ink in Waterby @stylecreator
Flowing, diffusing clouds of color spreading through liquid space
Try This Style With AI

See More

Southeast Asia. Modern day. This morning the sound of traffic in the street, scooters and tuk-tuks, taxis and trucks, was so loud I couldn’t hear my dream. So I turned it off and went dowstairs. Taking in diesel fumes ‘til it hurt to breathe, I found a hawker-stall and ate. It’s 100 degrees already; soon the rain will come.
Southeast Asia. Modern day. Nearer to the city now, the bus thumps and bumps to a slower pace. Grinding gears mark spaces between dirty children, playing obliviously in the road. Neither village nor metropolis, outskirts have no identity: Just a blurry line of encroachment; a temporary half-life on the way to something more. Dust springs up from the tires of trucks headed both ways on the road. A little girl stands crying in a mud puddle; her brothers laughing from the sides. She has to learn rejection to participate in this brutal, belonging dance. A little life, and a little death for a product truly worthy of its name: a good woman is hard to find.
Southeast Asia. Modern day. The damaged and the broken ones; all rooted in the past, live life the way it always was, from their first day to their last. Motes of dust in beams of light, in the darkness of this day, we tip the hat and give a nod, for the truth we can’t convey. Everything is real, but nothing matters, anyway. Where life is only what must be, from the cradle to the grave. Everyone does what they can: Nothing less, but sure no more. Tip the hat and give a nod to the ones who’ve gone before. We tip our hats and give the nod to the world we’ve all ignored
Southeast Asia. Modern day. Back out on the open plain, our bus hurtles toward the city. Smokestacks and temples rise up from the earth; two visions competing for the sky. The woman on my right holds a chicken in her lap; rural wealth for a city friend? On my left a Buddhist priest sits in quiet repose and presides over the world.
Southeast Asia. Modern day. Afternoon rain forces us into the coolness of the little house, surrounded by rice paddies, where Grandmother assembles strings of Christmas lights; bound for somewhere. Young mother watches three children grow, and wonders: What will their lives be? Can’t dream of what she’s never seen; can’t see what she can’t dream.
Morning city scene in Petaling Jaya. A 10 year old chinese boy and his grandmother. As they weave through the narrow sidewalk, taxis zip by, buses screech to a halt at stoplights, motorbikes wend their way through the stopped traffic, trying to get a head start when the light turns green. People in the informal businesses set up along the sidewalks call out greetings in a mix of Cantonese, Malay, and English. The sky, still soft with the remnants of dawn, and yet already heavy with humid heat, hinted at another sweltering afternoon ahead.
An Asian Slice At the dark end of an alley on a moonless night, A youth squats low to the ground, turned toward the wall with his face in his lap. Someone might think he’s sleeping. He’s smoking heroin. Soon he’ll fall over and soil himself, and stay right there until dawn. Back at the neon-lit mouth of this dark alley, hookers walk back and forth, hurrying to get past the alley, either for fear or because is smells so bad. Eyelids, all painted golden, Asian whores always look like they’re made of candy. Candy it is; but a snarling cat awaits its prey.
An Asian Slice At the dark end of an alley on a moonless night, A youth squats low to the ground, turned toward the wall with his face in his lap. Someone might think he’s sleeping. He’s smoking heroin. Soon he’ll fall over and soil himself, and stay right there until dawn. Back at the neon-lit mouth of this dark alley, hookers walk back and forth, hurrying to get past the alley, either for fear or because is smells so bad. Eyelids, all painted golden, Asian whores always look like they’re made of candy. Candy it is; but a snarling cat awaits its prey.
Place this text in the foreground of my newly generated Vintage Film Burn image… “Dawn, gentle, beginnings of a new day lighting our paths and illuminating our way…. I’ve always thought of you with love and warmth and hardly questioned why… always felt a special bond that’s led to years of friendship and smiles… I found in you the gentle spirit of a certain truth and could NOT look away because in you I saw proof…..of HIM…” Also include an image in the background of a soft sunrise seen over an ocean’s horizon A Dawn to Remember….by JPRussell
An outdoor scene on a street in town. A White Mom with her two Asian (Chinese-looking) children are standing in front of a store. Mom is talking to the girl, who is making a fuss. She is unhappy about something, and crying. Her brother is looking on. Mom is about to say something.
An outdoor scene on a street in town. A White Mom and African-American Dad with their two Asian children are sitting at a sidewalk cafe. The mood is warm and safe. Everyone has a drink. Mom and Dad are talking to the boy, who is making a fuss. He is unhappy about something, and crying. His sister is looking on. Dad is about to say something.
Personal POV scene. Me and Jesus in the desert on a cool morning at daybreak walking toward a bright star. Jesus is wearing old clothes and carrying a satchel. I’m wearing old clothes and sandals just like Him. The air is cool and crisp. The sky is bright blue on the horizon with deep purple fading into black at the upper atmosphere. The air is crisp and clear. It’s like the desert in California looking east toward Arizona. There are desert hills on the north and south sides and mountains in the distance.
This day, though, I hiked another autumn wood. Eastern Europe ancient; overgrown. So thick the view was dark at just a few feet off the path. All red and yellow; orange and brown, a million trees, each one in blazing preparation for long, frozen winter. I cannot but recall my friend’s words, lasting long, though he did not, and the instant truth that follows. Looking upward at the fiery canopy, matched against the bright cerulean sky beyond, I embrace autumn! Winter surely comes one day, but spring beyond. I have a winter to prepare for, but it is not yet.
urban street with city activity
Personal POV scene. Me and Jesus in the desert on a cool morning at daybreak walking toward a bright star. Jesus is wearing old clothes and carrying a satchel. I’m wearing old clothes and sandals just like Him. The air is cool and crisp. The sky is bright blue on the horizon with deep purple fading into black at the upper atmosphere. The air is crisp and clear. It’s like the desert in California looking east toward Arizona. There are desert hills on the north and south sides and mountains in the distance.
Nayoma washed his bowl and sat down in a meditative state. I’ll meditate first, then practice Bushin no Jutsu, then Body Flicker, then wall walking. After that, I’ll take a cold shower and sleep. He opened his eyes, jumped out of meditation, and formed the hand signs for Clone Jutsu. A puff of smoke appeared, and a clone popped up right in front of him. It wasn’t perfect — its earlobes were stretched oddly — but it was still a success. Well, not so perfect… but with time I’ll correct my mistakes. Hmn, I guess I really had it easier than Naruto. I’m sure even Kibe‑sensei couldn’t do this on his first try. The clone disappeared with a puff of smoke, leaving Nayoma standing there, satisfied but already thinking about the next step.
Inside a home in Petaling Jaya, Wing-Sun, a 10 year old Chinese boy sits cross-legged on the cool tile floor, watching the delicate tendrils of smoke rise from the joss sticks his father has just placed in the family altar’s bronze urn. The flickering candlelight casts shifting shadows over the framed portraits of the ancestors, their solemn faces gazing out from another time. Wing-Sun's father, dressed in crisp slacks and a neatly pressed white shirt, murmurs a quiet prayer, his voice low and rhythmic. Beside him, Wing-Sun’s mother clasps her hands together in a quiet moment of respect before adjusting the jade bangle on her wrist. Their morning ritual is a quiet, practiced thing; one they perform, and Wing-Sun observes, every day.
This day, though, I hiked another autumn wood. Eastern Europe ancient; overgrown. So thick the view was dark at just a few feet off the path. All red and yellow; orange and brown, a million trees, each one in blazing preparation for long, frozen winter. I cannot but recall my friend’s words, lasting long, though he did not, and the instant truth that follows. Looking upward at the fiery canopy, matched against the bright cerulean sky beyond, I embrace autumn! Winter surely comes one day, but spring beyond. I have a winter to prepare for, but it is not yet.
urban street with city activity
20because they formerly did not obey, when God’s patience waited in the days of Noah, while the ark was being prepared, in which a few, that is, eight persons, were brought safely through water. 21Baptism, which corresponds to this, now saves you, not as a removal of dirt from the body but as an appeal to God for a good conscience, through the resurrection of Jesus Christ,
Ancient Jerusalem street scene during the feast of passover. A feeling of festivity. Pilgrims walking in the marketplace. Vendors in booths on both sides of the street. Bright spring day with good weather.