I'm not convinced anything can truly convey the experience of the existential angst of living in this moment. I'm not sure there are words to capture the void, the perpetual emptiness. Nothing reverberating nothing, with nothing on the horizon. The hollow sensation of dragging yourself out of bed and wondering why: why are you doing this? What will come next? The biggest fear is that there is nothing. In this collection of experimental texts created during a specific - and supposedly unprecedented - period in time, Nosnibor stares into the void that is life on lockdown.