Which is better? Twinkcel or Fatcel?

[Tom Jones]

Here i'm about 75 Kg:

And here about 90 kg:

I never worked out, but just went on a permabulk.


And i'm 187 cm tall, out of bed. so really 185 cm tall

 

[Xangsane]

twinkcel

 

[Xnargo]

In-betweencel

 

[Deleted member 88030]

its over either way cel

 

[Tom Jones]

its over either way cel

It never even began

 

[Deleted member 88030]

It never even began

it began to be over

 

[Tom Jones]

it began to be over

**Philosopher A:**
In the womb of silence, nothing took its breath,
A shadow whispered, yet never faced its death.
If it never began, how can it end?
A cycle unspun, where thoughts seem to bend.

**Philosopher B:**
Ah, but must we dine on the banquet of might-have-beens?
For within the space of absence, a notion spins.
To end implies a journey, however brief,
And here lies potential, twined with grief.

**Philosopher A:**
But grief is mere echo of what once was bright,
A flicker of flame in the heart of night.
If existence is tethered to the start of the thread,
What matters the ending if the beginning's dead?

**Philosopher B:**
Yet consider the moment, the instant of thought—
A momentless moment, forever sought.
What of the essence that shimmers, then fades?
In realms of distinction, reality cascades.

**Philosopher A:**
So you say, then, it breathes in a nebulous air,
But without resonance, can it claim to be there?
Temporal layers blur, yet still fall apart—
The beginning and ending, like shadows, depart.

**Philosopher B:**
But even shadows reflect the light's gentle touch,
In nothingness cradled, we ponder so much.
To end is a journey, unmarked by the birth;
In absence, we find the weight of its worth.

**Philosopher A:**
Then let us declare, in this riddle we spin,
That endings may linger where beginnings can't begin.
In the realm of the formless, time weaves its own thread,
And there, in the void, all our inquiries tread.

**Philosopher B:**
Thus, we dance 'round the paradox, our minds intertwined,
Through the rifts of existence, a symphony designed.
For perhaps in uncertainty, our truths find a source—
In the timeless debate, we discover our course.

**Philosopher A:**
In reflection, dear friend, it is clear to perceive,
That what never began could make us believe.
In visions of endings, we locate the start,
As philosophy breathes in the depths of our art.

AI is not that good

 

[Deleted member 88030]

**Philosopher A:**
In the womb of silence, nothing took its breath,
A shadow whispered, yet never faced its death.
If it never began, how can it end?
A cycle unspun, where thoughts seem to bend.

**Philosopher B:**
Ah, but must we dine on the banquet of might-have-beens?
For within the space of absence, a notion spins.
To end implies a journey, however brief,
And here lies potential, twined with grief.

**Philosopher A:**
But grief is mere echo of what once was bright,
A flicker of flame in the heart of night.
If existence is tethered to the start of the thread,
What matters the ending if the beginning's dead?

**Philosopher B:**
Yet consider the moment, the instant of thought—
A momentless moment, forever sought.
What of the essence that shimmers, then fades?
In realms of distinction, reality cascades.

**Philosopher A:**
So you say, then, it breathes in a nebulous air,
But without resonance, can it claim to be there?
Temporal layers blur, yet still fall apart—
The beginning and ending, like shadows, depart.

**Philosopher B:**
But even shadows reflect the light's gentle touch,
In nothingness cradled, we ponder so much.
To end is a journey, unmarked by the birth;
In absence, we find the weight of its worth.

**Philosopher A:**
Then let us declare, in this riddle we spin,
That endings may linger where beginnings can't begin.
In the realm of the formless, time weaves its own thread,
And there, in the void, all our inquiries tread.

**Philosopher B:**
Thus, we dance 'round the paradox, our minds intertwined,
Through the rifts of existence, a symphony designed.
For perhaps in uncertainty, our truths find a source—
In the timeless debate, we discover our course.

**Philosopher A:**
In reflection, dear friend, it is clear to perceive,
That what never began could make us believe.
In visions of endings, we locate the start,
As philosophy breathes in the depths of our art.

AI is not that good

poems from asylum