You Are In A Maze Of Tweeted Little Passages, All Alike

I’ve been browsing my Twitter archive from May 2013 looking for things related to The Belmont Goats that might help the social media I’m doing for them during their anniversary this year, and I just want to say two things.

  1. Jesus fucking Christ, I tweeted every single thing that I was doing, nearly moment by moment.

  2. Toward the end of that May, apparently I watched a 1953 movie called The Maze.

Nowhere did I bother to tweet an explanation for watching this movie, and I’ve completely forgotten everything about it. Here, for the hell of it and the record, is my experience of The Maze as tweeted in May 2013.

  • I will now watch the 1953 movie The Maze.

  • The movie opens with a “KEEP OUT” sign. Is it telling me something as the viewer?

  • The house’s stomach just growled.

  • Whoa, breaking the fourth wall.

  • An engagement party with an acrobatic dance performance? I assume that’s not the bride.

  • That shadow seemed to be located to the fore.

  • What the framing?

  • Creepy smiling bellman.

  • ”Are you sure this is the right place?” No, he drove you to the other unimproved ancient Scottish castle.

  • Wow that’s a lot of light from one tiny candle.

  • “If you must have help, don’t engage any more women.” Why, how many fiancées does he have?

  • So they think to lock Kitty and Edith in their rooms, but ignore the secret passageway into the wall?

  • Why do these bats sound like annoying little yippy dogs?

  • Yes, when something terrible is happening in a dank Scottish castle, the answer is to INVITE MORE PEOPLE OVER.

  • A HORTA.

  • He’s reading a book called Teratology. That’s not suspicious at all.

  • “None of your inches are square.” Vavavoom.

  • They are discussing Fuzzy Wuzzies.

  • “There’s no furniture in here at all.” Except for that, and that, and that.

  • “It’s a piece of seaweed. And a bowl of tomatoes.” Weirdest monster ever.

  • If they lock everyone in their rooms, why do they have to hide the monster behind a blanket?

  • And now, five full minutes of silently wandering a hedge maze to the distant sounds of a pool.

  • Holy shit it’s a merman. No, wait. Giant rubber frog.

  • Why is the giant rubber frog bleating like an elephant.

Then I seem to have stopped. No summation, no concluding note or observation. The next morning, though, did include the following.

  • And in the middle of the night something fell in my bathroom that could not possibly have fallen on its own.


  • Pummeled by dreams all night; woke feeling repeatedly defeated.

Really, all that’s left is to decide whether or not I should watch it again, ten years later, or leave my forgotten movie-watching experience forever to be defined by the above.