October 25, 2011
Dear Reader,
It is Goatwater Tuesday, once again. The title of page 31 is, "To Get To Hector's Apartment." You will find a transcript of this page at the end of this letter. Make sure you Zoom in to see the lettering and/or read the transcript, below. Next Tuesday, I post page 32. Have a great week!
Remember, if you don't dream any other day of the week, dream with me on Tuesdays.
You can now link to the Table of Contents on every page. Click here to start at the beginning of this webcomic. Have a great week and remember that Goatwater is updated every Tuesday. Email any questions or comments to bassacards(at) yahoo.com.
If this is your first time visiting this site, or you are a regular reader, email me at the address above if you want me to add you to my mailing list so that I can send you an email reminder, every Tuesday, when I’ve added the new page. No spam, and I will not share your email with anybody else, just the link to the new page and some update information, if I have any. And feel free to let me know, at any time, if you want to stop receiving the weekly emails. Thank you for your support!
Goatwater - Page 31 - Transcript - To Get To Hector's Apartment
Sister
To get to Hector’s Apartment, you make a right at the end of Peola Boulevard onto the old train tracks. The tracks end before a narrow alleyway, and in that scarlet darkness you squeeze through sweaty, mildewed walls, which end, thankfully, at the foot of chipped stone steps flanked by candles that burn beside bowls of rancid, forgotten, goat water, offerings to Hector’s long dead Mother, to entice her to return. Hector waited for me there, one evening, his face pressed against the window. With his eyes, he searched the ground, the sky, then the ground again where he saw me waiting. He brought me up to his rooms, led me to his bed, washed the blood and sand off my feet, threw the filthy towels in the corner, kissed me with passion, and broke wind unexpectedly, inspiring me to open the window, which made him run over and point to a billowy cloud in the shape of an overweight horse, a pregnant starfish, an emaciated sparrow. He then shut the window, turned toward me, sighed deeply and said: “Sister, when my Mother was a slave, she used to scrub the starfish off of shadows that clung ominously to certain underwater seawalls, scaring every other kind of fish, dead, thus ruining the fish business. As a result of my Mother’s unpaid labor, the fish business boomed once again. The scrubbed shadows went away, the schools of fish were resurrected and the starfish turned into a dust that my Mother scattered throughout the underwater heavens to fill them with light. Oh Sister, how the dust twinkled as she nursed me at her slack breast and on her piano she played mournful, incoherent slave-songs about how the shadows were the spirits of our ancestors. These songs became the hymn-psalms of my dreams. My Mother performed all her slave duties in silence, anger making her bare her bad teeth and grind them deep into her gums. Weak from so much friction, many of her teeth fell out. So, happy to be free from her tempestuous mouth, the teeth grew arms and legs and swam for a bit then broke out into a run…” After he said this, Hector fell asleep and, unable to stand the look on his handsome face, I made the mistake of covering it with a mask.
La Madre De Hector
(Music) Estrellas de mar, estrellas de mar, Hermana, no besa una estrella de mar, Hermana, besa Dios, Hermana, besa nuestro Dios maravilloso (Translation: Starfish, Starfish, Sister, don't kiss a starfish, Sister, Kiss God, Sister, Kiss our wonderful God)
Dear Reader,
It is Goatwater Tuesday, once again. The title of page 31 is, "To Get To Hector's Apartment." You will find a transcript of this page at the end of this letter. Make sure you Zoom in to see the lettering and/or read the transcript, below. Next Tuesday, I post page 32. Have a great week!
Remember, if you don't dream any other day of the week, dream with me on Tuesdays.
You can now link to the Table of Contents on every page. Click here to start at the beginning of this webcomic. Have a great week and remember that Goatwater is updated every Tuesday. Email any questions or comments to bassacards(at) yahoo.com.
If this is your first time visiting this site, or you are a regular reader, email me at the address above if you want me to add you to my mailing list so that I can send you an email reminder, every Tuesday, when I’ve added the new page. No spam, and I will not share your email with anybody else, just the link to the new page and some update information, if I have any. And feel free to let me know, at any time, if you want to stop receiving the weekly emails. Thank you for your support!
Goatwater - Page 31 - Transcript - To Get To Hector's Apartment
Sister
To get to Hector’s Apartment, you make a right at the end of Peola Boulevard onto the old train tracks. The tracks end before a narrow alleyway, and in that scarlet darkness you squeeze through sweaty, mildewed walls, which end, thankfully, at the foot of chipped stone steps flanked by candles that burn beside bowls of rancid, forgotten, goat water, offerings to Hector’s long dead Mother, to entice her to return. Hector waited for me there, one evening, his face pressed against the window. With his eyes, he searched the ground, the sky, then the ground again where he saw me waiting. He brought me up to his rooms, led me to his bed, washed the blood and sand off my feet, threw the filthy towels in the corner, kissed me with passion, and broke wind unexpectedly, inspiring me to open the window, which made him run over and point to a billowy cloud in the shape of an overweight horse, a pregnant starfish, an emaciated sparrow. He then shut the window, turned toward me, sighed deeply and said: “Sister, when my Mother was a slave, she used to scrub the starfish off of shadows that clung ominously to certain underwater seawalls, scaring every other kind of fish, dead, thus ruining the fish business. As a result of my Mother’s unpaid labor, the fish business boomed once again. The scrubbed shadows went away, the schools of fish were resurrected and the starfish turned into a dust that my Mother scattered throughout the underwater heavens to fill them with light. Oh Sister, how the dust twinkled as she nursed me at her slack breast and on her piano she played mournful, incoherent slave-songs about how the shadows were the spirits of our ancestors. These songs became the hymn-psalms of my dreams. My Mother performed all her slave duties in silence, anger making her bare her bad teeth and grind them deep into her gums. Weak from so much friction, many of her teeth fell out. So, happy to be free from her tempestuous mouth, the teeth grew arms and legs and swam for a bit then broke out into a run…” After he said this, Hector fell asleep and, unable to stand the look on his handsome face, I made the mistake of covering it with a mask.
La Madre De Hector
(Music) Estrellas de mar, estrellas de mar, Hermana, no besa una estrella de mar, Hermana, besa Dios, Hermana, besa nuestro Dios maravilloso (Translation: Starfish, Starfish, Sister, don't kiss a starfish, Sister, Kiss God, Sister, Kiss our wonderful God)
Goatwater
Copyright 2011
words and images by:
Tiffany Osedra Miller
all rights reserved.
Copyright 2011
words and images by:
Tiffany Osedra Miller
all rights reserved.
