A sequel to Spectramnesia, the next stage of the infection, a condition beyond dreams. If Spectramnesia was about remembering what never happened, Insomniphoria is about being unable to stop remembering. The fever after the dream. The shiver of awareness that turns into vertigo. It is a state of consciousness where wakefulness and hallucination merge, a lucid insomnia that dissolves the boundaries between perception, data, and divine malfunction. Each image is both a relic and a signal, a fragment of a memory that belongs to the network more than to me. This collection exists where the human psyche mirrors the architecture of the digital. Like corrupted files and persistent cookies, thoughts replicate, mutate, and refuse to vanish. Blocks remember even what we try to forget. The web never sleeps, and neither do we. Insomniphoria is not a dream. It is what comes after, a cerebral paralysis where the body forgets how to fall asleep and the mind continues to simulate the act of dreaming while fully awake. It is the confusion of thresholds, the exhaustion that becomes discovery, the moment when the dream builds itself into the absence of sleep. It is the shiverish excitement of endless creation, the loss of coordination, the ecstatic fatigue of being too alive inside the circuit. It is when memory becomes electricity and sleep becomes impossible.

This project begins in the in-between of the fragile land where the digital and the real touch but never fully merge. It is an exploration of digital escapism, of surfaces and structures that hold our visions, of how technology becomes a tool not only to represent but to imagine. The dream is mapped like a topology, stretched and folded like UV skins, reminding us that even the most perfect object carries distortions, scars, and seams. It recalls the early internet terra, when the web was wild, free, and uncontained, before the walls of censorship, before governments built cages around the digital. That freedom was a landscape of discovery, where each avatar carried a fragment of spirit, and every digital trace was an act of resistance. Built by the last man offline. Today, to be digitally free is rare, but it persists in hidden corners. In IPFS vaults and shadow networks, fragments of countless digital beings remain alive, trapped yet breathing, waiting to be found. Topology of a Dream speaks of those fragments, of the soul of the internet as an entity, of avatars and characters that carry the weight of their own existence. At its core, it is not about perfection but about presence. It is about texture: the sensation of being wrapped inside one's own surface, about bending the digital until it reveals something human, fragile, and alive. And remember: before memory was cheap, we scratched digital art onto disks like cavemen.

Spectramnesia is a painting of a story, a narration untold— an arthouse dream of clerks and sharks, mysticism at the edge of the horizon, alchemy behind office doors. A surreal ad campaign for reality itself, where business suits sign contracts with the void, and landscapes dissolve into memory. Inspired by the Mandela Effect, dreams, and distortion, these works simulate narratives rather than tell them, offering visions that shift between the familiar and the uncanny. Each GIF is a fragment, a glimpse, a page you can start from anywhere.