end of Maze

Maze 2:17:2

Journal # 04.04.17 + Maze 2:17:1

Good to get yourself on 'a mission from god'  (Akroyd and Belushi). Or a mission from the buddha, or just on a spiritual mission. You can rise above this mundanity, all the plastic bullshit we encounter out in the world. I tell you what! I would not even get out of bed and didn't!  For several years rarely! I was shooting plastic into my arm. I was snorting plastic up my nose. I was fucking plastic dummies! I was smoking plastic. I was seeing plastic. I had to railroad myself into my personal mission from god. god was lowercase matte finish and unrefined. god had to be a weed that would drop roots and take hold. god only came when i fertilized my soil with shit! Wet plasticine dream semantics. And that's why I do what I do. Not that I don't love you. I do. You deserve every bit as much higher altitude, greater bandwidth consciousness as anybody! Settle at your own risk. I did and I could not get out of bed anymore. What gets you out of bed in the morning? The answer was nothing. Maybe plastic for a time. Still I decided to live, I don't know why. 12.12.12 came and went, and my heart kept pushing the blood through my extremities. My altitude was underground. So I was an unusual kinda freak and I'm sure I still am. But I was no pushover and they would have to make room for me. I ate my spinach and took my pills, so I could get out of bed and get on a mission. The mission was clear. You see it everyday. You can find me. Right here...  MAZE 2:17:1 final chapter... a reading...

Maze 2:16:4

from desperation circle to unique and united on a sunday morning

We are robin eggs. Pretty and fragile. Colorful. Me and my older brother. You and me. Our mothers and fathers and sisters and cousins in this permanence come to meet us, this sun come shining upon us, the same light we all share from the birth of every day, the peak heat midway and stumbling through the certain changes, scratches on our vinyl, scars etched upon us, all shook up we are the same.

Being born is our decided fortune
Dying, our collective fate
Sleeping into dreams
Dreaming to awake

Waking into a nightmare only the mind can indulge, only the spirit can turn around, and no one said it would be easy. Whenever I let myself coast, when I indulge easy comforts, my world becomes a run down motel with vacancy. You wouldn't wanna stay there. There's no ice in the ice bin, the vending machine steals your change, and the only inhabitants live on desperation circle. There's cable tv with no HBO and the remote is sticky with no batteries. You have to take the bedspread and cram it out of sight, it's so goddam ugly. Like an unrenovated Ramada Inn in Delaware circa 1982. Don't pry into the corners you might find some broken glass with chore still inside it. The economic disparity, here I cannot hide it.

Can we get along
I need to get along with you
But I'm gonna have to work for it
I'm really uncomfortable

Yes we can and no we cannot, text messaging cause we are too blocked to call. We firewalled one another off for survival. The lines formed on our faces from all the trying to see eye to eye, all of the emotions like waves over all our lives and our faces, no we cannot and yes we can, ground ourselves into it, be there for me and be there for you,  and yes and no and I don't fuckin know what emoji to send anymore... is there a smiling Buddha? And there the colors go, running again like they do, and the white clothes turn blue. And the off whites do too.

The waves break over us
The foam like ginger ale
Hissing. A snake
Trying to stomach it
Digest it whole

The am radio days away in a last quarter rocking chair of tranquility, and no and yes and it doesn't matter how anymore but we tolerate one another, good to you and good to me, fruits and vegetables, oatmeal in the morning, bacon and eggs, spinach, shrimp, salmon, and yes and yes and yes I will share mine with you. We are in the same world, we share the same world, the blue and green one from space, the system in place. Television light slaps us in the face, cool blue like my offs and my whites, too.


And not only tv is to blame
We are all at fault
So let's get over it. Don't you wanna be your very best today? Your most kind and most fascinating and most helpful? I do. I know you do, too, cause we share the same sun. Our spirits can arise and make do if we wanna. The very best of each of us, united, unique and united.

Maze 2:16:3

Review: The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo

The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo by Stieg Larsson
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

Great book. Very sad that Stieg Larsson did not survive to see the success of his Millenium series. Apparently he had a heart attack after climbing 7 flights of stairs when the lift was broken down at his office. This was not long after he had submitted his manuscripts to his publisher. Conspiracy? Bad luck? It feels natural to wanna question everything after reading The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo, which is a story about a missing girl and a magazine editor hired by a wealthy industrialist to look into her disappearance. Digging into the family crates will be complicated and dangerous. He hires the title character, the girl, to help him hack computers and keep him loving company on an island where he is housed to do his research in the 'back and beyond' of rural Sweden. Generations of the family he is hired to investigate live there with their long established animosities, in-fighting and secrets. Meanwhile our stud journalists beds almost every woman he encounters (the only part I thought to be slightly less believable and a little annoying) with ease. The title character has her own secrets and a painful personal history, but she is quite wonderful and lovable in her antisocial and eccentric ways; at one point in the narrative he suggests she is a high functioning autistic (aka Aspergers). Her story intertwines with the main narrative, and recaptured my attention whenever the story became a bit dull (which was rare) or oversaturated with the intricacies of high finance (it helps if you have an understanding of business when reading this story, but it's not necessary). The writing is clear and easy reading for the most part. I found there was great action, a compelling plot and characters. Big business is mostly the enemy, in irresponsible hands. I was rooting for the journalist and the hacker the whole time, particularly the girl. Fascinating character. I liked this book enough to have it while I sat in the dentist chair getting my teeth drilled. I was given a few minutes between sessions while waiting for the novocaine to kick in, to read the final 80 pages. One last thing: the author apparently witnessed a gang-rape of a young girl by some other kids when he was a boy, and, according to his girlfriend (who has been fighting his estranged family for years for the rights to his literary empire) this colored his worldview because he always regretted not intervening. She says he was a feminist. This would explain the statistics he wrote below the chapter titles which relate to sexual crimes against women in his homeland. And be prepared to experience graphic representations of such violence within the text. Great book! I may very well go on to the next, but I would also be content to stop here, because the book stands well on its own. Great ending!

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