December 27, 2011
Dear Reader,
The title of page 40 is, "Did I Say Navigator?" 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. I am taking a week off, so expect to see page 41 on Tuesday, January 10, 2012. Have a great week and a Happy New Year!
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 40 - Transcript - Did I Say Navigator?
Octaroon
Goodnight! May the hot-cats’ continuous whining and singing for love in the alleyway disturb your iniquitous sleep.
Goodman
Will someone please see me and tell me how I look?
Seaman
Did I say Navigator? Well, I meant Narrator, not for Capitan Itello, the runaway slave (have you seen him, by the way?) but for myself. Pah! My story, Goodman? My story is essentially a man’s story, full of piss and concubines, espionage, the slaying of sinners and savages, swashbuckling adventure, heroism and of course, Seamen. Lots and lots of tales of Seamen and Seawomen, I’ve met along the way. But I’m not here to recount those stories. No, I have here a book being written by someone spectacular. Blind as I am they have written it in a way that inspires an eyeless sort of vision. Put down the gun, Goodman, you think I can’t smell gun metal? What’s the point, anyway? Tamarind Head over here can’t exactly see you and, in her condition, she’d hardly be impressed. What’s more, she’s traaaveling.
Let’s see, I’ve just opened up the book anywhere and here is what it says: Through a hole punched by God in a wall of the world, inside a crack in the foundation of a slum-city of dreams where Carnival is King and every night is Saturday and every morning, J’ouvert, a woman arrives at the door of a respected Reverend, and begs him for a cup of goatwater. “Please Reverend, sir, I’ll give you anything for even just a little, as I haven’t slept in days and it helps put me to sleep.” Terrified, the Respected Reverend slams the door in her lovely face and prays away the innocent image of her breast. “Learn to respect the dead, young lady,” he calls out to her from the window, tossing her a red mask. “That is my prayer for you, ahem, ahem appropriate scripture, appropriate scripture ahem and amen.” The woman turns around and faces the funeral procession winding its way down Peola Boulevard and places the Reverend’s sour, rum-smelling mask on her face. “Emancipation!” she yells out before commencing to dance with the Reverend, who has snuck up behind her.
Dear Reader,
The title of page 40 is, "Did I Say Navigator?" 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. I am taking a week off, so expect to see page 41 on Tuesday, January 10, 2012. Have a great week and a Happy New Year!
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 40 - Transcript - Did I Say Navigator?
Octaroon
Goodnight! May the hot-cats’ continuous whining and singing for love in the alleyway disturb your iniquitous sleep.
Goodman
Will someone please see me and tell me how I look?
Seaman
Did I say Navigator? Well, I meant Narrator, not for Capitan Itello, the runaway slave (have you seen him, by the way?) but for myself. Pah! My story, Goodman? My story is essentially a man’s story, full of piss and concubines, espionage, the slaying of sinners and savages, swashbuckling adventure, heroism and of course, Seamen. Lots and lots of tales of Seamen and Seawomen, I’ve met along the way. But I’m not here to recount those stories. No, I have here a book being written by someone spectacular. Blind as I am they have written it in a way that inspires an eyeless sort of vision. Put down the gun, Goodman, you think I can’t smell gun metal? What’s the point, anyway? Tamarind Head over here can’t exactly see you and, in her condition, she’d hardly be impressed. What’s more, she’s traaaveling.
Let’s see, I’ve just opened up the book anywhere and here is what it says: Through a hole punched by God in a wall of the world, inside a crack in the foundation of a slum-city of dreams where Carnival is King and every night is Saturday and every morning, J’ouvert, a woman arrives at the door of a respected Reverend, and begs him for a cup of goatwater. “Please Reverend, sir, I’ll give you anything for even just a little, as I haven’t slept in days and it helps put me to sleep.” Terrified, the Respected Reverend slams the door in her lovely face and prays away the innocent image of her breast. “Learn to respect the dead, young lady,” he calls out to her from the window, tossing her a red mask. “That is my prayer for you, ahem, ahem appropriate scripture, appropriate scripture ahem and amen.” The woman turns around and faces the funeral procession winding its way down Peola Boulevard and places the Reverend’s sour, rum-smelling mask on her face. “Emancipation!” she yells out before commencing to dance with the Reverend, who has snuck up behind her.
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.
**scroll down to read the transcript to page 40**
