"What is the void?" you ask yourself, wondering what the thing is that you seem to be missing from your existence as a modern day human.
And you theorize the void is the absence of survival consciousness, or whatever it's called when an animal's sole focus, day in and day out, is eating, not dying, fucking, drinking water, shelter, not necessarily in that order.
And you feel that's a really good guess, but you're not sure how to replicate those things when you spend all day sitting behind a machine in a lonely office around uninspiring people, then go home to a small, lonely apartment occupied by a smidgen of worthless consumer items and a dog that is your only friend in the world.
You feel the void when you wake up, when you go to sleep, when you walk around nude in your apartment hip thrusting so your penis slaps against your lower belly and eventually swings back down to hit your balls which cases pain, when you type things into the machine, when you walk around populated places and look at people and smile, when you sit alone wondering too much about these types of things.
And you think of things that might fill such a void.
Things that were invented to do so; canned occupations designed to move a person seamlessly from birth to death.
"Hopefully they won't notice the void," a person inventing a thing to distract from the void might have said at the time s/he invented the thing.
But it's always there, begging to be filled.
And you can never fill it, you just have to take it.
And you wonder if everyone else feels it too, and you conclude they do but don't know how to label it.
And that makes you feel smart, like you invented self awareness and should be praised and win some kind of prize and have statues built in your likeness.
Then when The Future Explorers come, they'll know that you were a person who other people loved so much they built a thing to capture his essence, at least how they saw it.
And they'll debate for the rest of their existence why the statue depicted you sadly hunched over jacking off into an empty soup can.
Where the biggest question will be, "what was he planning on doing with that can afterward?"
And as you sit surrounded by other uninspiring, ordinary, boring consumer types eating bread topped with tomatoes and cheese, you feel the void in all its glory.
Like, if it could take form, it would be an angry minotaur with a flaming sword poised to cut your head off and shove it up its ass.
And it would be angry because it wants you to kill it, but you don't know how and not sure if you'll ever be able to.
And the best solution you can come up with as you take another bite and stare into the void is, "I should be doing scary shit, that's living"
Because the long ago human was scared almost daily.
Scared of getting killed by another human or animal or whatever.
Scared of not finding enough food or water or shelter.
Scared that his genes wouldn't live on, but not too scared because Nature doesn't give a fuck if a person or animal is fit enough to reproduce, She's only interested in the best of the best.
And the thought rattles around in your head, scrambling your brain, but not quite strong enough to defeat the comfort of the office chair, the delicious taste of the infinite food in your mouth, and the warmth and safety of the room you're in.
Then you return to thinking about what kind of porn you're going to jack off to later