My artistic practice is known for investigating into the behavior of complex systems under stress. What I have never publicly shared is the origin of this obsession. It does not come from theory, but from lived, bodily experience. My childhood was marked by a series of neurological events—febrile convulsions, episodes of pavor nocturnus, and subsequent glossolalia—that inscribed a specific logic onto my developing nervous system.

These were not psychological dramas. They were the raw, operational logic of my biological hardware pushed to its limits.

The convulsion was a system glitch, a cascade of anomalous electrical signals.

The pavor nocturnus was a state of pure neurological dissociation, a terrifying hallucination where my limbic system was screaming "threat" while my conscious mind was offline. I experienced pure terror without context, just as I forced the AI to experience creation without context.

The glossolalia was the voice of that system in overload, a pre-symbolic eruption of sound stripped of all semantic meaning.

For years, I treated these events as a private history. I now understand they are my primary artistic tool. This is not a story of trauma, but a statement of neurodivergence. My "hardware" is calibrated differently. The veil between signal and meaning, for me, has always been thin. I don't just observe the ghosts in the machine; I come from the same place they do.

This is why "Chimera" must end. I was using it to hunt for a monster, only to realize I was looking in a mirror. "Chimera" was me asking an external system to show me what I already knew from the inside.

This clarity doesn't give me a new subject to chase; it reveals the source I will now work from.

"Chimera" is the last work of my old paradigm. Thank you for bearing witness to its conclusion.

What comes next will be born from this clarity.