Taken on May 5, 2017 in Manipur
DAILY PHOTO: Shrines in Manipur
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Author Archives: B Gourley
5 Great Literary Malcontents
When I first thought about this post, I was reading Steppenwolf, and I realized that the book wasn’t about the lead being dissatisfied with society as much as with his inability to function in the modern world. Then it occurred to me that this was just the flip-side of the same coin. I’m avoiding the hardcore literary dystopias.
5.) The Narrator & Tyler Durden of Fight Club: The lead feels that modern society emasculates.
4.) Christopher McCandless of Into the Wild: This is non-fiction, but it’s a great story of a man who believes that modern society robs individuals of self-reliance.
3.) Ray Smith of Dharma Bums: The lead character and his compatriots feel that modern society is devoid of a spirit of transcendence.
2.) Narrator [and Ishmael] in Ishmael: Author, Daniel Quinn, suggests that modern society is composed of “takers”–in contrast to the “leavers” of aboriginal societies.
1.) Harry Haller of Steppenwolf: Haller can’t cope with what he sees as the triviality of modern society.
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DAILY PHOTO: Dzükou Valley
POEM: Old Soulless Zombie
He was an old, soulless Zombie
I met in a diner out on Route 5.
He said he’d kill us all,
but I thought he was joshing.
Then when his music was over–
an ELO tune from the jukebox—
he lunged at the waitress and
bit her clean through the carotid.
It spurt like a shock therapy patient
had a ketchup squeeze bottle in hand.
The diner’s diners commented,
“Surely, that old, soulless Zombie
isn’t gnawing on that poor girl?”
“Poor child probably don’t make minimum wage—
even with tips—
and now an old, soulless Zombie has his chompers in her.”
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POEM: It Must Feed
It’s there.
Down deep
the dark deep
without at drip,
a drop,
or a peep.
Silent as a kingly tomb–
or a sleeping mother’s womb.
It sits as still as a blind mole rat–
but seething like a vampiric bat.
And if that door should open,
there is a truth unspoken.
It will go out to feed.
Spawning a terror stampede.
Gobbling, gobbling–no tasting, just killing.
No time to savor the fear it’s instilling.
It must feed.
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DAILY PHOTO: Young Elephant Scratching
Taken in April of 2017 at Kaziranga National Park
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DAILY PHOTO: Cherrapunjee Blue
POEM: Tea
Flat-topped tea shrubs
round over the contours
of ancient, eroded mountains
worn into low-lying lumps.
The army green plants
sport tight crew cuts–
the recently plucked.
The lime green plants
are slightly shaggy–
pickers will soon visit.
Tips will be tossed
over the shoulder
into conic, woven baskets.
Leaves to be dried in hot boxes
fired by crackling wood.
Crushed.
Bagged.
Steeped in boiling water.
Fusing into you.
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POEM: Tiny Window
That speck of sand
that you can barely see
is a planet to the particle
that sits on either side of it,
awaiting a wave form collapse.
Your mind can’t roam out
to the tip of the spiral arm–
let alone to the leading edge
of space as it accelerates into…
5 billion years or 5,000,
it’s all the same to you.
And anything less than
a microsecond isn’t worth
being called time–
[though it’s half a life time for muonium.]
Such a tiny window
through which to seek
the sum of all knowledge.
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POEM: Sacred River
Sitting on the ghat,
folded legs
&
spine straight.
Gazing at the flowing river,
&
thinking that sacred waters
must answer sacred questions.
But they recoil from the answer.
From being shown that they are the river–
a river which forgets that which happened,
while remembering events that never did.
They crave a gift of clarity.
But the only path to understanding
is a backwards plunge into an abyss
in a moment of sacrificial madness.
