Ursula

Over the dark and barren landscapes of a city somewhere in the Arctic Circle, we hear the story of a man who dreamed he was a woman, an oneiric reverie that allows him to be in two opposite places at the same time. It is a beautiful metaphor, as well as a eulogy, about accepting what seems illogical, instead of looking for meaning, one that finds comfort in the darkness and restlessness that disturbs sleep, turning it into a space for the subconscious to rise Over the dark and barren landscapes of a city somewhere in the Arctic Circle, we hear the story of a man who dreamed he was a woman, an oneiric reverie that allows him to be in two opposite places at the same time. It is a beautiful metaphor, as well as a eulogy, about accepting what seems illogical, instead of looking for meaning, one that finds comfort in the darkness and restlessness that disturbs sleep, turning it into a space for the subconscious to rise Over the dark and barren landscapes of a city somewhere in the Arctic Circle, we hear the story of a man who dreamed he was a woman, an oneiric reverie that allows him to be in two opposite places at the same time. It is a beautiful metaphor, as well as a eulogy, about accepting what seems illogical, instead of looking for meaning, one that finds comfort in the darkness and restlessness that disturbs sleep, turning it into a space for the subconscious to rise Over the dark and barren landscapes of a city somewhere in the Arctic Circle, we hear the story of a man who dreamed he was a woman, an oneiric reverie that allows him to be in two opposite places at the same time. It is a beautiful metaphor, as well as a eulogy, about accepting what seems illogical, instead of looking for meaning, one that finds comfort in the darkness and restlessness that disturbs sleep, turning it into a space for the subconscious to rise