"Let's be blunt and materialize an identity", she says. "Given the complicated account of artistic production that I've been tracing, this seems refreshingly straightforward." A lost script that, nearly a decade forgotten, resurfaces from a drawer in Sweden only to find itself in the hands of a Canadian publisher. A project that could've never have been, nor perhaps shouldn't be, seeing it dwells in the somewhat arrogant restlessness of a fleeting and unpledged moment. But there's poetry there. The premise of this text and its poetic imagery thus emerges from the elusive space between nothing and everything, metaphor and metamorphosis, philosophy and poetry. Here, taking place in the everyday dialogue between two people, perhaps a reader and a writer, ambiguously confined or freed to each other and a textual room, in the foreground of poetic loss, artistic dissolution and a Scandinavian coulisse of city, sea, air and autumn. A place, liminal, that contains literature, beds, and unadjusted words. Not to mention weaving dolphins.