The Sound of the Drums

Good evening ladies and gentleman

The drums…the drums…the never ending drums. The beat, the thud, the tone, the sound resonating through the darkest parts of your soul. Again, again and again, the same beat. 4 drums. Like a number sequence you can’t quite shake off. 1111.1111.1111.1111.1111…

You drive to make the sound go away. The endless noise, living in a world where people are talking so much and sharing so much nothing is precious anymore, nothing more than a commodity for barter. Yet still, no matter what we do. The drums….the never ending drums.

This information age, a phrase i’ve used and obsessed over for far too long now, is a symptom of the monotony of life. When everything sounds and feels the same, when the patterns become habits, when all you can hear is the drums. The drums that wake you, the drums that put the same food in your mouth, that give you the same conversations for the same amount of time, before you go home and watch the same shows until you get to the point of barely being able to keep your eyes open anymore. Only to go to bed and do it all again tomorrow.

I choose to believe for life to evolve from a simple existence- the key component is information. In the information age this is tricky, because there are two types of information. There is information, the useful tools and subsequent knowledge that is going to give you the tools to get up, carry on, keep it moving and be able to evolve. Then on the flip side, information’s dirty little secret, the twin kept in the attic out of shame, with more of a presence in the world than ever before….disinformation.

Or as the former president of the United States would say- “fake news.”

There is so much…everything in the world. The world is so full of stuff and noise, power, pain and beauty. It’s just so full and we continue to grow as a species, physically and intellectually so quickly we can barely keep up with production. From “how to make your fortune overnight” to “meet sexy new partners in your area” to “for the small fee of $99.99..” We live in the greatest time to be alive for so very many things, all written up to make life look so easy- as if it is all going to be handed to us.

Everyone has an idea, everyone has a scheme. Everyone’s idea about how to play the game, they think, is so much better than yours, than mine. Whatever they think they’re going to do, they hope, will lessen the sound of the drums. The endless drums, the hope that tomorrow won’t be like today.

The information age will tell you so much…and so little. The world is selfish, it doesn’t care about you- it doesn’t need to. Its only need is to sustain itself, and giving you the time of day isn’t ever going to be a part of that sustenance. You, I, all of us- we are in is a giant machine and you are, right now- a cog. A piece of a machine, the day a revolution of that cog, the drums the sound of the machine. A machine that demands productivity in order to create money, to give us the means to do what we can to dull the sound of the never ending drums.

This age doesn’t want us to be successful, because for there to be productivity there needs to be people to work the machine. You are there everyday, listening to the sounds you know by now. The phone rings, the pitter patter of keys across the office as you flash to the videos you were sent of you children growing as you sat at your desk trying to focus on anything but the sound of the never ending drums.

How does one listen to the sound of the never ending drums for so long and find a way to carry on? To work, power and struggle through those days, confident and consistent in the belief that you can find a way to live beyond that sound, the endless sound.

1111.1111.1111.1111…

How does one live a life worth living? How do we evolve from the monotony of existence? Is it even possible? Is it possible to get away from the sound of the drums?

Do you simply have to solve the puzzle? Slot the pieces of the jigsaw together and hope you recognise the picture looking back at you?

Yours, with love as always.

D.R x

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