Grimes - Genesis

You can never tell what day it is when you’re enclosed in a Dominican resort for eight days. Strange feelings - freedom from the city, freedom from asphalt and subway trains. We are all protected within the gates and under the same sun, which eats my skin up and spits it out without regard. And just a few minutes away are some of the poorest communities in the world. Modern guilt manifests itself in tips for wasted food, or to the bartenders working all day and night to satisfy our alcoholic needs. First it seems nice, then you realize they’re playing the same CDs every day. I can waste an hour because I have so much time to waste, and we are all pacified by the power of free wi-fi. A wedding is happening but it’s the least of our worries, a mere blip in the ordinance of weekly time. Workers continually painting and reprinting fixtures, preparing for the new batches of human beings going through the resort every week. What made us special ? Nothing, probably. I am the only one who craves the shade, the breeze, the clouds. Occasional rain. Even the birds are different here. Maybe there’s no point in fixing my hair if the humidity destroys it anyway. I live for the wind that cools us down, and the distant murmur of beachside music and sounds. False-front a la carte buildings. Murky green ponds. Restless bartenders when the going is slow. I am easing off of the pressure that tells me to consume anything and everything, I am trying to pace myself in case I am called upon to be reasonable and responsible. The very thing we wanted to escape from. We look to the waves, always grabbing, always reaching at us, while we sat towards it, indifferent.