They were searching for the source,
The origin of the idea,
They combed through countless reams of text,
Immersing themselves in the antiquated records,
But whenever they thought they’d found it,
They found something which preceded it,
Something which had influenced or instigated it,

They meticulously traced back the idea’s evolution,
Each iteration intrinsically linked,
Until they came to the first writings,
The first thoughts of man committed to stone,
But what inspired these?
So they looked outward,
Towards other creations,
Pottery and paintings on the walls of caves,
Tools made from flint,

But these too were born of something else,
Catalysed by an unknown element,
Maybe it was man’s need to be remembered,
The innate drive to exist long after our demise —
Or maybe it went beyond that —
An animal instinct,
Bred long before humanity walked the earth;
Maybe they were one and the same…
Onward they continued,
Backwards through time,
From ape to bird to prehistoric bug,
Searching for the spark that ignited the flame,

Finally they reached the point that all life stemmed from,
The first cell,
An unassuming amoeba,
It was pure,
Simple,
Filled with potential it couldn’t comprehend,
It was hard to conceive anything coming from this,
Let alone everything,

They marvelled at it,
Basking in its promise,
As if waiting for it to reveal something to them,
Though they knew it could not,
At last they cleared their collective throat,
The taste of finality thick in the air,
The weight of the impending conclusion bearing down on them all,

“So I guess this is how dubstep started. Cool.”