When 70s Era Pre-AI Gibberish Burst on the Pop Charts

From the episode of "Formula Due" aired on December 8, 1973, an interpretation by Adriano Celentano of his famous "Prisencolinensinainciusol" in which he plays a professor who sings the song to his students.

The Rare Turtle of Willowshade Wood

In the early breath of spring, when the forest floor of Willowshade was soft with thawing leaves and the air smelled of earth and mystery, I had been listening to a podcast by a reptile expert named Tammy. Her voice, calm and sure, described a creature of mythic rarity—a turtle unlike any other—rumored to dwell beneath the mossy bones of old trees in the woods near my home.

Curious and quietly compelled, I invited DH, a fellow seeker and coworker, to come searching with me. We stepped into the woodland, past sleeping shrubs and bristling brambles, into the ancient green. There was something sacred about the silence there, punctuated only by the chatter of jays and the occasional snap of twigs underfoot.

After hours of wandering, we came upon a cluster of decomposing trees, collapsed atop stone slabs like the forgotten ruins of a secret temple. Beneath them was a dark hollow—more than a burrow, it seemed like a den carved with intent. I crouched, lifted my phone, and shone the flashlight into the gloom.

There it was.

A turtle emerged into the dim light, calm and unbothered, as if expecting us. It was no more than twenty centimeters long, with a shell of smooth, sandy beige edged in earthy brown. Strangely, tufts of fine hair adorned its back, and a furry tail followed behind. The turtle blinked once, slowly. It stepped into the light.

"Just like Tammy described," DH murmured. "Its head will change when it feels threatened. Watch."

The turtle paused. Its brow ridges began to inflate slightly, swelling as if breathing in presence. We watched, spellbound.

Suddenly, a stray cat padded into the clearing. The turtle, to our shock, sprang onto the cat’s back. The startled feline bolted into the underbrush, the turtle clinging tightly. DH and I gave chase, stumbling after them.

They raced toward a bluff, where the cat skidded to a halt and the turtle slid off, landing beside a pebbly patch at the bluff’s base. There, basking in the dappled light, was a lizard twice the turtle’s size. Its skin was rough and thorned like a horned toad, and its beak-like mouth opened with a hiss.

We froze, afraid for our little traveler.

But the turtle did not back down. It hissed in return, and a plate—like a crown of bone—rose from the ridges around its head, shielding its face and neck. It was a gesture of calm defiance.

The lizard hesitated. Then, without another sound, it scuttled away.

The clearing fell quiet. DH and I exhaled. The turtle turned back to us and blinked again. Then, as gently as it had arrived, it retreated into the stone-shadowed den.

We stood there for a long time, not speaking, unsure of what we’d witnessed—whether a creature of flesh or symbol, miracle or message. But we knew something rare had emerged from the forest that day—not just in the world, but in ourselves.

Note: The above story is based on a vivid dream I had recently. After writing my own detailed written account, I asked ChatGPT to fashion my description of the dream into a more engaging story.

FOTOR AI Samples

I find it fascinating to use pages from my sketchbooks as visual prompts for the FOTOR AI image generating App. I am impressed with the powerful image augmentation FOTOR gives me to make a variety of images based on both classic and modern styles. 

It's interesting to also note some limitations. For instance, FOTOR had trouble working with the features of the rotated face (top row, right side) on my original sketch. Even the standard Drawing Style filter would not render the rotated face completely. Some filters did better with the rotated face as you can see in the Watercolor style below.

In any case, I find the FOTOR app to be one of my favorite in fleshing out my sketch ideas or giving me an alternate look for my concepts.

Original Sketchbook Page

FOTOR App Caravaggio Style Filter

FOTOR App Monet Style Filter

FOTOR App Mini-Figure Style Filter

FOTOR App Drawing Style Filter

FOTOR App Watercolor (“Golden Hour”) Style Filter

The Trickster's Gold

 

Art created using Dalle-E through Chat GPT based on story prompts.

When I was a boy staying on my grandparents’ farm, my only companion was my dog, Skipper. With no other children around, we spent our days exploring the land together. One Summer afternoon, after a brief rain shower, we spotted a rainbow stretching across the sky. Its end seemed to vanish into my grandpa’s 80-acre wood, just beyond the cornfield.

Legends spoke of gold at the rainbow’s end. Without hesitation, Skipper and I raced toward the woods, eager to uncover the treasure.

As we entered the dense forest, an eerie feeling crept over me. Goosebumps prickled my skin. The sunlight barely filtered through the thick canopy, casting long, shifting shadows. Skipper’s hackles rose, and he let out a low, uneasy growl. Then, without warning, he lunged into a tangle of underbrush, teeth clamping down on something unseen.

A high-pitched cry rang through the woods. "Let me go!" the voice wailed.

I could barely make out a form struggling in Skipper’s grip. But as the dim light shimmered, faint rainbow hues flickered above us, and the outline of a tiny man in green took shape—a coat, buckled shoes, a hat tilted over fiery red hair. His emerald eyes blazed with fury.

“Tell your beast to release me! I beg of you!”

I knew immediately—Skipper had caught a leprechaun. And everyone knew the rule: catch a leprechaun, and he must reveal his gold.

"Not until you show me where your treasure is!" I demanded.

The little man thrashed and howled, tugging against Skipper’s iron grip. "Never!"

"Fine," I said, folding my arms. "Then Skipper and I will just stay right here—forever if we have to."

The leprechaun wailed, pleaded, and cursed, but Skipper held firm, his teeth locked onto the little man’s pant leg. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the creature slumped in defeat.

"All right! All right! Just make this beast let go!"

I hesitated. "How do I know you’ll keep your word?"

His eyes darted, desperate. "Here! A token of my promise!" He reached into his pocket and tossed two gold coins and a gleaming emerald into my hand.

The weight of the treasure was thrilling. I stared at it, mesmerized.

"Let him go, Skipper," I ordered, gripping the dog’s collar.

Skipper hesitated but obeyed. In the blink of an eye, the leprechaun vanished into thin air. His wild laughter echoed through the woods, growing fainter as it slipped into the wind.

My heart pounding, I uncurled my fingers to examine my reward.

Two acorns and a dried chestnut.

Skipper let out a soft huff, his eyes meeting mine as if to say, "I never would have trusted that fellow."

Happy Saint Patrick's Day!

“Dining” with an Imaginary Friend

 

Image created using FOTOR AI image generation program.

 

As a child, I would entertain imaginary friends at times. On one occasion, as the rest of my family watched TV, I folded a napkin to serve as a carnation and pinned it to my pajama lapel. With a glass of water in my hand and a candle on the table, I engaged in charming chit chat with a dating partner only I could see. I'm still a bit of a sap for romantic narrative.

Early Encouragement In Art Evokes Fond Memories

 

Photograhic style illustrated “reenactment” of my 8th grade mural-creating experience.
I found what I feel is a suitable quote shown to represent the one I lettered
which I can longer recall.

One of my earliest affirming experiences as a young artist came near the end of my eighth-grade year when my school principal assigned me to create a mural on paper, covering an entire 4' x 9' hallway bulletin board.

He had noticed my growing involvement in art over the past couple of years at our small Southern Illinois grade school, and I was thrilled to have such a large space to create.

For inspiration, I chose imagery based on a book that deeply resonated with me at the time—Jonathan Livingston Seagull by Richard Bach. The novel, an allegorical tale about individual empowerment, had gained popularity, and its message spoke to me.

Mr. Schwarm, our principal, generously allowed me to dedicate time each day to working on the project until it was complete.

Using pastel chalk, I created a scene of seagulls in various sizes and flight positions against a vast blue sky. On the far right, I depicted the largest and most detailed seagull, representing the book’s protagonist, Jonathan Livingston Seagull. On the far left, I lettered a quote from the book, though, oddly enough, I no longer remember the exact words.

The mural caught the attention of the Southern Illinoisan, a regional newspaper, which sent a photographer to capture an image of me standing next to my work and published a caption about me, the mural, and our school.

A friend recently sent me a screenshot of an archived copy of the photo. Though the reproduction quality is poor, the overall composition of the mural is still discernible, even if the finer details are obscured.

This experience remains a cherished memory—a testament to the encouragement and kindness of my principal and the supportive academic environment of my school. It was one of the first steps toward my future career as a graphic artist and art instructor.

At the top of this entry, I recreated a photographic-style “re-enactment” of that moment in memory of the experience by using an AI image generating app.

See a poor-quality copy of the original photo below, dated May 6, 1974 and appearing in our local Southern Illinoisan newspaper.

The Parable of the City in the Submarine

Once, there was a great city housed within an enormous, meticulously engineered submarine. Its founding fathers were masters of math, science, and ocean craft. With their wisdom, they built a vessel designed to run perpetually, requiring only basic and efficient maintenance, all carefully outlined in a clear and detailed manual.

As time passed, the first generation of founders gave way to the next. These successors faithfully followed the manual’s instructions, and the Submarine City flourished. The third generation, too, maintained the tradition, though some began questioning the relevance of the old manual. Still, enough skilled leaders and workers upheld its principles, allowing the city to thrive.

But as generations passed, fewer citizens saw the value in learning the skills the founders had used to build and maintain their world. New factions emerged, distrusting the manual and dismissing its maintenance protocols as outdated and unnecessary.

Then came a charismatic demagogue, rising to power on the promise of eliminating the “wasteful” effort, expense, and manpower spent on maintaining the Submarine. He and his followers imagined an ocean being kept from them—a freedom they believed had been unjustly denied. Given full authority to enact his vision, he installed screen doors on the Submarine.

That was the last generation before the fall of the Submarine City.

© O. Douglas Jennings