Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows

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Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows

It is 06:17 am and I’m done. I’ve finished the book after having read it through the night. And even me, never a big fan of the series, am strangely content. No, I’m not elated. I’m not even sad that the series has come to an end and that perhaps there will be nothing more. No, I’m just content. Content that I’ve finished a rollicking good read. Something that I was not expecting to say as I plodded my way through the first half of the book, through pedestrian prose and middling dialog. But from that point on the book picked up like a beast unleashed. And I found myself getting caught up with the events hurtling towards their singular conclusion. Who had time to pay attention to the language then? Who had time to stop and raise eyebrows at the derivative ideas that drove the story forward, the horcrux which was eerily similar to Tolkien’s great ring, the parallel quest of the Three and the Fellowship and many more similar literary devices and themes? There will be critics in the days to come who will go into excruciating detail over such things. But in the end I’ve to give Ms. Rowling credit where it is due. She excelled herself with the second half of the book and gave a fitting and cinematic end to the series (I can only imagine how exciting it would be for many to eventually see all that easily translatable action on the big screen). The last fifty or so pages passed by in a blur of breathless action and never ending danger. Even if the end is to be expected and perhaps mocked at she brought it to a close with confidence and without resorting to mawkishness.

Yes, read the book. Not just the fans but those of you who look down their long noses and wrinkling brows at a world gone crazy in the grip pf Potter mania, get off your high horse and immerse yourself for a few hours in a world which while inevitably simple is exciting. Take off that chip from your shoulder and place it aside for a few days. While you may justly mourn the death of good children’s literature, put it off for a few page turning hours and give yourself up to the hollow but unique charm of the book. I assure you, like me, you will forget time between those pages.

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The Gender Wars

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On the outskirts of an echoing sob
I found you weeping big fat tears.

It was your legs that were spread
out, your cleavage that called,
I only opened my zip.

My breasts are too small doctor. Can
you fix me up with some silicone? I want
to push these bad boys out.

You were looking at me. I know you wanted it
so bad babe. Don’t blame me. You needed me to
take you in the car, somewhere in the shadows.

More lipstick here. This neckline is too modest. Where
is my lucky bra? I hear this perfume is divine and in
thirty steps you can have your finest fantasy fulfilled.

Take this. Take that. Yes, just like that you bitch.
Make some noise. Move some more. Don’t lie
there like a tub of lard. Don’t bite your lips.

Girlfriend, you need to run them on a string.
The power is between your legs. Uncross
when the shopping season starts.

Twenty three is my magic number. I’ve
been to more ports than Captain Nemo.
They all love my twelve inch tortoise!

On the outskirts of a suppressed sob
I found you breaking beer bottles.

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