Heaven Delayed, Heat Delivered

Heaven Delayed, Heat Delivered

       by Puggerladder

bottoms up

bottoms down

to the sky

to the ground

you get on

don't you dare
off when other's

still in air

Pears with their bottoms blunted from the unbearable heat pressing upwards and plowing them down to earth, as eventually they do fall. Why pears, you may well ask, you who, too, have studied literature and the art of writing suggestive economy. Pears, womb stories, poems. The word "vagina" need not be spoken. The penis here remains unmentioned. Sperm and their hazardous perambulation require no recounting. Fellatio, cunnilingus, normally precedent to literary acts of womb, neatly stay put in our quiet memories. Thrusting, jabbing, pulsing, lashing, driving, lunatic pelvic mustering, need not enter our picture. Breathless speech, often of the most unpredictable sort and subject, specifying cravings with an exactness unheard of in ordinary conversation, extant as a rule in good salacious figuring, now stands out of earshot of the text. Yes learners, pear blunts our bottoms, too, despite the absence of, as well as in the presence of, heat.

       That's where she got "plow" from, did H.D. From "Piers Plowman." Blunt the pears, plow the earth. Very little is known about Hilda Dolittle except that, according to her mother, she practiced her name. There survives one odd story about her, though, that may well bear repeating, salient as it is to analyses of her work. Her vagina was twisted by a severe blow when she was ten and resulting from a falling bale. Her brother had been building a play fort out of hay bales, as young boys are wont to do, and had it up in height to thirty feet. He was putting on the finishing touches, a roof and some bales on that to keep the boards secure in the wind. Since he was out of sight high up, and H. D. was down below, and since they were a good two hundred yards from home and she had to go so badly, she squatted over a board lying there and watched the liquid as it ran down along the wood.

       She was happily peeing, transgressively as I have said and so with exquisite pleasure, when something happened that she found almost unbearable for the remainder of her life to recount. She later told me, her uncle, whom she trusted with such confidences, that all she heard was a loud whizzing sound from above, and the very next thing something struck her a staggering blow to her bottom. The terrible recoil lifted her bodily up above the ground some twenty feet, knocking her against the bale wall that then began to collapse. She fell back to earth unconscious yet screaming in pain. Her brother, unhurt by the fall despite the great height, landing on hay and incidentally on his sister, frantically dug among the broken bales until after quarter of an hour of hearing distant muffled shouts of "my vagina, my vagina," he found H. D. in a heap under the bottommost bales. She had not been injured by the falling objects but only by the board. This fact the family, reflecting on the matter, eventually concluded.

       The offending hay bale, descending from the full height of the fort ceiling, had narrowly missed H. D. squatting there and landed on the end of the board itself. And being just there a declivity in the earth, the said board, effectively a teeter-totter, leapt up as it were and whacked H. D. such a stroke to her nethers that she found herself forthwith propelled skyward and then hurtled back to earth with resounding force. Her poor, tender vagina, in the very act of secret peeing, got lacerated and hurt by the tragic wood to such an extent that during the next two weeks, in a sort of private agony, it twisted itself into an odd and awkward shape, which meant that H. D. had grave difficulty making water at all in her twenties and thirties. She stopped the habit altogether in her early forties. She died at the slender age of forty-two. When she did pee in those years before her untimely death she found it most successful to lie on her side and do so supine, for that was the direction her vagina now faced. It was upright when it was sideways, poor thing!

       Sideways vaginas are not new in history or literature. On the contrary, a fair number are encountered by the literary traveller. One is to be found in that rascally Gargantua and Pantegruel, shortly after the passage in which the baker curses the shepherds. Another appears in William of Orange's personal letters to her majesty, Queen of England, leaked to the press of the time by some retainer. One sees vaginas bruised and hurt and misshapen also in the book of the Maccabees, if you own a copy of The Holy Bible with the Apocrypha in it, where the lovely Viriam goes to slay the enemy king who is drunk and camping in expectant triumph outside the gates of Davidium, his slobbering soldiery bored and imbibing to pass the time till the entry into and spoilage of that great city. A vagina of unusual proportions due to trauma is furthermore to be discovered in the writings of Augustine of Agrippa, the late second century historian who lacked all decency and modesty, telling as many stories as possible about that specific delicate part of the female person. His actual book on the subject, for those who might be interested, is entitled Pertes Netheres de Femme Inflammé, a  copy of which may be obtained in our local library by filling out a requisite for special titles held in the "Precious Volumes" section of the library archives.