Black Venus 精彩片段：
Overture and Incidental Music for A Midsummer Nigh
By the Pucks phallic orientation, you know him for a creature of King Oberons.
Hairy Puck fell in love with Golden Herm and often came to frolic round the lovely living statue in the moonlit glade, although he could not, happily for the Herm, get near enough to touch because Titania forethoughtfully had thrown a magical cordon sanitaire around her lovely adoptive, so that s/he was, as it were, in an invisible glass case, such as s/he might find herself in, some centuries later, in the Victoria and Albert Museum. Against this transparent, intangible barrier, the Puck often flattened still further his already snub nose.
The Herm removed his/her left foot from its snug nest in her/his crotch and placed it on the ground. With one single, fluent, gracile movement of transition, s/he shifted on to the other leg. The lotus and the snake, on either arm, stayed where they were.
The Puck, pressed tight against Titanias magic, sighed heavily, stepped back a few paces and began energetically to play with himself. Have you seen fairy sperm? We mortals call it, cuckoo spit.
And no passing, clayey mortal, tramping through the wood on great, heavy feet, scattering the fairies who twitter like bats in their fright, just as such a mortal could never hear them, so he would never spot the unafraid Herm, sticking stock-still as a trance.
And if you did chance to spy him/her, you would think the little yellow idol was a talisman dropped from a gypsy pocket, perhaps, or a charm fallen off a girls bracelet, or else the gift from inside a very expensive cracker.
Yet, if you picked up the beautiful object and held it on the palm of your hand, you would feel how warm it was, as if somebody had been holding it tight before you came and only just put it down.
And, if you watched long enough, you would see the golden sequins of the eyelids move.
At which a wind of strangeness would rise and blow away the wood and all within it.
Just as your shadow can grow big and then shrink to almost nothing, and then swell up, again, so can these shadows, these insubstantial bubbles of the earth, these "beings" to whom the verb, "to be", may not be properly applied, since, in our sense, they are not. They cannot be; they cannot cast their own shadows, for who has seen the shadow of a shadow? Their existences are necessarily moot -- do you believe in fairies? Their lives lead always just teasingly almost out of the corners of the eyes of their observers, so it is possible they were only, all the time, a trick of the light. . . such half-being, with such a lack of public acknowledgement, is not conducive to any kind of visual consistency among them. So they may take what shapes they please.
The Puck can turn himself into anything he likes: a three-legged stool, in order to perpetrate the celebrated trick ("Then slip I from her bum, down topples she") so beloved in the lower forms of grammar schools when the play is read aloud round the class because it is suitable for children because it is about fairies; a baby Fiat; a grand piano; anything!
Except the lover of the Golden Herm.
In his spare moments, when he was not off about his Masters various businesses, the Puck, wistfully lingering outside the Herms magic circle like an urchin outside a candy shop, concluded that, in order to take full advantage of the sexual facilities offered him by the Herm, should the barrier between them ever be removed -- and, unlikely as this eventuality might be, the Pucks motto was "Be Prepared"! -- if there was to be intercourse between himself and the Golden Herm, then the Herms partner would require a similar set of equipment to the Herm in order to effect maximally satisfactory congress.
Then the Puck further concluded that the equipment of the Herms hypothetical partner would need, however, to be attached in reversed order to that of the Herm, in order to procure a perfect fit and no fumbling; the Puck, a constant inquisitive spy on mortal couples come to make the beast with two backs in what they mistakenly believed to be privacy, had noticed there is a vexed question of handedness about caresses, so that all right-handed lovers truly require left-handed lovers during the preliminaries to the act, and Mother Nature, when she cast the human mould, took no account of foreplay, which alone distinguishes us from the beasts when we are being beastly.